#sub priest

[transbunnyboi]

Thinking about this againnn OUGHH

Kissing and making out with a priest and convincing him that me fucking him is fine and good, actually!! since my dick is made of silicone, it doesn’t count!!

And if he wants to be extra sure that it’s okay? He just shouldn’t cum !!

So I end up pinning him onto the ground by his hands and fucking him while holding him up by his hair. Making him pant and drool and beg for me to let him cum since he can’t without being touched. Him losing his grip on sanity since I just keep going and him praying for me to let him finally cum all while he’s still dressed all pretty and we’re in the back of the church.

[crypticdesire]

thinking about fucking a priest while they wear this…

thoughts of dom amab reader and sub priest ahead !

thinking about tightening their collar and caressing the figure of jesus, reminding them how easily they disrespected the sacrifice for their sins because they’re so desperate to be touched.

it’s truly pathetic that someone of their status would give into the lure of physical pleasure rather than remain obedient to the one they vowed to dedicate their life to.

they’re practically begging for god’s wrath, so they at least deserve your sadistic punishments. you touch their skin with your lips and stimulate their carnal desires but they should be constantly reminded of their sacrilege, unable to be fully satisfied.

the chasity device they wear reminds them of their sin that is corrupting them, the feeling of the attached urethra rod emphasizing what a whore they are for submitting to another human when they have a higher purpose of pleasing god.

a lighted candle represents god’s presence, every drop of wax on the priest’s neck and chest feeling like jesus weeps over them, shedding scorching tears for the suffering and divine justice the priest has so readily subjected themselves to.

if they ever hope to redeem themselves, you’ll have to train them to be obedient again. they can start by taking the whole length of your cock into their mouth, cockwarming you as you pray for god to have mercy on them.

their cries of god’s holy name should drown out the creaking of the wooden pew you roughly fuck them against, and their eyes should remain open and fixed upon the alter.

they should beg god to allow them to withstand these trials lest members of their congregation find them fucked dumb and shrouded in the colorful lights of judgement that the stained glass windows cast on the sacred floor of the house of god.

[zestyhades]

“So you’ve come to confess? How long since your last confession?”

“Lustful urges? God always gives us trials of temptations my child. These urges are but God’s way of testing you”

“Thoughts of one of the father’s at the church? Do tell me more my child. You think of them doing what to you?”

“I see… the work of those against that is all good and holy surely have a dramatic hold on you for you to have these perverse thoughts… come out of the booth and see my eye to eye my child…”

“Ah look at you. The devil surely has a hold on you look. Look at those legs quivering and the lustful thoughts behind your eyes… I see you falling more and more into these temptations… we must act quickly”

“Stripping you and having you on the alter is necessary I’m afraid. These practices are unorthodox, but they are necessary to cleanse you before the almighty lord. Now… take the girth and length of a holy messenger of God and let’s purge you of these feelings”

“Shhh it’s okay my child. You’re doing well. I can feel how hard the devil has a hold of you. The feeling of you dripping out of your cunt is sure proof that the methods are working”

“I know it’s a lot to take, but if you wish to stay a child of the church, you must endure. Hold on for just a little longer. The seed of a priest is the only thing that can purge you now. You must submit to me my child”

[storebrandprozac]

ooohhh priest kink where you’re unknowingly corrupting him. he just can’t stop himself from staring at you, at all the places on your body where your clothes fit a just little too snug. listening to you in the confessional and desperately trying to ignore the feeling in his gut and the tent in his pants. your voice is just so pretty, he wonders what you sound like when it’s late at night and you’re alone in your bed.

maybe you’re not religious, maybe you only sometimes show up on sundays. it’ll feel like a rarity to him. like you’re an angel blessing him with your presence. he constantly extends every conversation so you won’t leave. and you’re completely unaware of the effect you have on him, only thinking about how the priest at the local church is extremely friendly every time you make a visit.

[bitesized-pup]

Need a starving, desperate, pathetic priest to bury himself in my cunt and let me ride his face. He's certain he's going to hell but I'm fucking his mouth so nicely and I taste so good and my little moans and whines are so cute he can't help himself but to eat me out and cum untouched 🫶

[writtencrone]

The Devil Still Has A Halo

You're a priest in a small-ish village, and your life has been relatively peaceful. Yes, you had a bit of a rough past, but you've passed that now. All of this changes when a new parishioner joins your congregation and starts asking questions. Stray dogs go mute at the site of him, house animals in his neighbourhood go missing, and it seems like someone is hunting him. Still, you don't connect all of this to him because, well, he seems like such a polite young man.

Demon Oc x Bottom Priest Reader

Religious guilt, anal sex, improper items used as lube (olive oil...wine...), allusions to fires, burns, physical violence, low-key body horror implied, dubious consent (?), strange penis (it got ridges...)kind of monster-fucking? You do it on the Altar, allusions to past violence, allusions to past gang activity on readers part, dracryphilia, lying, spanking, choking, manipulation, stalking, blackmail, threats, degrading behaviour, lots and lots of religious guilt and religious discussion, injury discussion (bruises), and violence, biting, and mentions of previous fire, and minor religious delirium

One thing about me is that I will never proofread or write a story chronologically. Goodnight chat.

Also, discussions around religion, the nature of god, the nature of good and evil.

The question of sin was always an easy one for you. Your principles were always sound. You leave the door to the old church rectory open for homeless people, you’ve stood outside of shops and gathered food for the community fridge.

In your down time you visit orphanages, participate in outreach programmes for foster kids, and you play puzzles. When the summer is just so, and the evening is bright, you slip off your clerical collar and leave it curled on your drawing table. You take your car keys and drive up the dirt brown road to the highest point in town, and overlook everything. Up there, you find yourself marvelling at the creations of God, and, more so, you feel your blood pulse under your skin.

Sin was mere daily weakness, so everyday you regaled against the small impulses of debauchery and lived the RIGHT way.

It was Autumn when your perfect life was changed. Fitting. The season for change, and like all the worst sorts of changes it started with something old. It started with a friend.

“Star,” you called out. “Could you take these donated items down to the children's home, if it’s not too much. I just finished organising them, so I figured it would be best to get it down sooner rather than later. I can do it tomorrow, but—”

Star clicked her tongue at you, and her silver piercing was visible. Star was one of the newer members of the church, that being that she had only been in the village for a year. She was… troubled. Withdrawn. You were glad to see at church, happier still to see her name on the volunteer sheet.

So, there’s you, Star, and the quiet evening of the town filtering in through the colourful depiction of Jesus being betrayed in the garden.

“Sure,” She tells you. “Just help me load it into the boot of my car.”

So you do, and whilst you’re out there on the old cement road, the cemetery to your right and a little beyond it — your home — you spot a faint pair of headlights winding down the road. They must have taken a different turn, and you watch that light disappear into the forest. Then you think nothing of it whilst you wave Star goodbye .

The old rectory, though still standing, had a nasty fire incident a decade or so prior. That’s to say the old priest was so old that he fell asleep and forgot to turn the stove off. It was a small miracle that no one died, but the old priest retired to a monastery and you were brought in to replace him. You hadn’t left since.

The night is alive with crickets, the drone of cicadas, the occasional rustle and skitter of lizards across landscapes and into bushes. In the distance, a stray dog barks.

The Church had been saying they would make you a new rectory for a while (since you arrived). Since then, you’ve been renting a small two-room cottage. It isn’t much, but you didn’t really need much since all you did was sleep, and sometimes eat, there. Maybe you should start checking the locks more often, because when you entered and flicked on the lights there was a man in a cassock lying on your sofa.

Father Ananda Teppikat, christened Michael, colloquially “Moo”, was an old friend from the days you were student. Time may change everything, but his… debauchery. Was persistent. He was perhaps one of the more liberal pastors, and it was liberal-nature that kept him from becoming a fully fledged priest.

Although he claimed he was fine with it, the way he was lazily sprawled over your third-hand sofa told another story. The half-empty beer bottle on your coffee table added a narrative twist to that story.

“Moo,” you seethe. “What are you doing?”

Moo shifts, and murmurs something along the line of. “Sleeping.”

In the end, you don’t have the heart to force the guy up. So, instead, you resolve to confront him in the morning. When you do, you have to contain yourself. Sin is found in everyday irritants, and Moo was a test personally sent from God.

He explains, whilst nursing a headache and fighting with a packet of ibuprofen (you eventually take the pack from his hand and push the pills out for him) that he’s been sent to assist you with any and all things – also that he got into a fist fight at his last parrish and needed to be sent away whilst things cooled down.

Then, he leaned across the small table and informs you that—

“-- I’m also hunting demons for the Bishop.”

You have to put your tea down before you choke.

“Okay Moo,” you say, instead of calling him insane. It’s the little things in life that help you attain inner peace. “Maybe you still need to sleep off some of this booze.”

At this he gives you a look. It’s as if he was aware of the absurdity of this claim, but told you anyway. The disappointment in his eyes tells you that he thinks that, quite frankly, you’ve failed.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

Whilst you leave him to the aftermath of his booze binge, you head off to start preparations for morning mass. It’s a weekday, so you’re just expecting the usual retiree and elderly crowd of people – those who come in before they open their tuck shops, or go to their food carts, and sweet sellers. Imagine your surprise when the first person through those doors is a young man.

He would be handsome if not for his black eye and the bulbous swelling along what was probably a nice cheekbone if facial symmetry has any justice in this world. There was a still wet cut at his lips, and his jaw was bruised. It was as if he had been battered. His clothes finished the story — a fur lined black puffer jacket, horrible for this humid weather, an artistically torn black shirt and trousers with so many chains he jingled a little when he moved.

He was fresh off the scene of some high-end night club. Black hair is long enough to dust his shoulders, and has an artistic white streak shooting through it.

You look at him, then retreat to a side room. When you come back out, you have an ice pack wrapped in a towel, and some ointment.

Now you were closer to him, you noticed he was shorter than you.

“Most of what this church has was gifted by its parishioners,” you say, in lieu of hello. “Please, take a seat. You look tired.”

That was also true. When you approach him, he flinches. You stop, reconsider.

“Don’t be afraid,” you reassure him. “The house of God is a refuge to everyone. Come, sit down. I can’t say that the house of God is an urgent care, but I can say that I can drive you to—”

“Shut up,” the man rasped, collapsing into one of the pews. “And give me the ointment, Father.”

Tch. Young people these days have a foul attitude. Still, you handed over the items with a placid forced smile. The youth had enough reasons not to go to church these days, a priest with a foul attitude need not be added to the list of reasons.

“My offer still stands,” you remind him before stepping back .

“Why?” the man broke off into a laugh. “I’m a stranger, look at me. You must know what I am, what I’ve done.”

“The confessional is always open,” you remind him. “And, how are you a stranger to God? I’m just doing his bidding.”

Yeah, don’t mind little old me – you stepped away from the figure who was now pressing that ice pack to his face. You had to light the candles, and prepare the wafers for communion (Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, Sundays – your communion schedule. You had it tacked up on your refrigerator, alongside drawings from some of the children), and…

The man stays throughout all your actions, your mundane chores, from sweeping the church, wiping down the altar, and dusting the saints’ halos.

“Does your back hurt sitting like that?” You ask, playfully.

The man doesn’t respond, he just stares at out with his black eyes that are somehow a shade too dark.

It’s only when the first few parishioners start to file in that he takes off, and you’re ready to accept that this was the end of it. That he would go back to whence he came from. Instead, he came back wearing his Sunday best. A crisp white dress shirt, straight black trousers, and shoes so shiny they gleamed with every step he took. It all accentuated a rather handsome figure — just an innocent observation from your part.

That cold and aloof man was gone with the clothes, and although his face was bandaged and the swelling had lessened considerably he smiled around it when he greeted elderly parishioners.

You don’t know exactly what game he’s playing, but you do remember reading about scammers who target the elderly. Seeing that man who was once so expressionless seemingly light up at the chance to help an elderly woman to her seat is nothing if not deceptive.. It would be best to keep an eye on him for that purpose. Only that purpose. Of course.

Your sermon starts as they all do, with a parable. Then it’s followed by collective reading from certain chapters in the bible, all in the faded itineraries. You watch as an elderly man takes the younger bible, giving him his at the right pages.

Then you’re talking, explaining, and there’s something magical in this. In how your voice rises into the high ceilings, and how you can see the belief and faith of your parishioners follow. Soaring upwards to a great, great—

“Father, I had a question!” A familiar voice called out, interrupting your discussion on Abraham and sacrifice, and just who was this person.

It was the beaten man - a young adult. Whatever. He was standing up, and you could see how half of his lip curled upwards.

“If god is so loving, then why has he destroyed nations?”

This is a common question, and eye question, so why was it that under that dark gaze you felt yourself falter.

“Let me answer that question with another one: Who built those nations?” You asked in turn. But it wasn’t enough. There was meant to be something more descriptive, more poetic, in the utter old testament devastation. It was meant to say something, something you couldn’t put your tongue to.

The man could see you struggling, and he smiled. Then he sat down, and did nothing more.

It can’t be worse than that. You console yourself whilst hurting to pick up where you last left off.

When you invite the congregation to come up for communion, you did not expect to see the dissenting young man among them. Asking questions does not make you a sinner, it merely makes you curious. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. When it’s his turn to receive the wafer, he kneels before the altar.

When you offer him the bread, he merely opens his mouth. His tongue lolls out in what is nearly obscene – it only obscene to someone weak. You let the wafer fall onto his expected tongue, and when he closes his mouth he licks his lips.

That’s not the worst of it. No. What’s the worst of it is when he takes a sip from the chalice of wine, a stray drop artfully rolls down his chin and onto his exposed collar bones. You stare.

Oh. Oh no.

When did he even get time to unbutton his shirt, you had been watching him this entire time.

After you had bid farewell to most of the parishioners, one lingered behind. He leans against the doorframe, the bird bath bowl of holy water stands beneath you.

“So, just because he created it — it means he can destroy it?” the young man asked. “Seems like god is more of the angriest toddler, but who am I to judge.”

“Yes,” you say, tilting your head at him. “Who are you? I’m Father (L/n), apologies for not introducing myself sooner.”

“Weise,” the young man kicked off from the wall and offered you his hand. “You can call me Weise. It’s a foreign name.”

You take it. His skin is soft, like it had never known trouble.

“Ah,” you say, in lieu of a remark about city kids and traditional values going as well together as magnets of opposite ends being smushed together by a resilient child. “Well, Weise, I believe that destruction is a metaphor for might. God can build and destroy nations, why can’t he take care of you?”

You let go of his hands, but he holds on for a second longer. His finger grazes along your wrist.

“You want a guy like that to take care of you?” Weise barked a laugh. The appearance of a respectful, but curious, churchgoer is dropped around you. “Seems like you’re attracted to red flags, Father (L/n).”

“I think you misunderstand,” you say. It’s hard to put it into words, his feelings in your chest, your faith, your doubts, your own struggles, and how faith was a line through them. “He can do anything, anything.”

“Yet he does nothing.”

“We’re standing here, talking, breathing, and a thousand other microscopic functions that keep up going are all operating fine enough. Isn’t that something?”

“Ah, but we won’t mention all the horrid things in the world.”

You smile. This is something you’re familiar with — the question of why do we have free will when all we do is destroy.

“We all have our challenges, some greater than others.”

Weise doesn’t seem to be as amused by this little debate. He smacks his lips, irritated.

“This feels cliche. Doesn’t this feel cliche to you, Father (L/n)? You ever watched films? Of course you don’t, look at you—” Ouch? You're not that old. “This is just such a cliche.”

“Well, if you’d like to switch it up as it’s known, you could volunteer?” You suggest, mostly because you need all the manpower you can get. “See God's work for yourself, come to your own decisions. It’s all good for us to sit here and discuss, debate, but practice and life experiences are the only true way to—”

“We weren’t debating, we were arguing,” Weise snaps.

“We were?” You ask, thrown off kilter.

Weise tuts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine. I’ll sign up for your volunteer thing — Why doesn’t it work with you? Why are you so impossibly irritating?”

You force a smile.

“The sign up sheet is on the bulletin board.”

Weise doesn’t say much after that. He only signs the sheet and walks away, stepping into a sleek car and driving off. It’s only then that you realise — the forest is dead. The cicadas have been silenced in their perpetual hum, and the stray dogs you feed after mass haven’t arrived.

What’s happening?

It's not just the animals. Moo has been moving things in your house. Your dishes are going missing – not going into the sink or anything, just going missing. You've lost just about everything. A cup, a plate, a spoon, a fork. Before Moo came, you had at least two of each now you scrape by with just one.

Worse, you're feeling sort of…watched. You draw your blinds earlier than you normally do, you stay out later with the church – but even there you feel the heavy weight of watchful eyes peering at you.

It culminates in the shower – or. Your bucket bath. It’s not even like you lived in an absurdly rural place, you were just on the outskirts of the city. You could have showers. It was just that the cottage was so old, and the new house that was never coming was meant to have a shower – and well. You just. Always forgot to get one installed. Sad times. Sitting in a tub and pouring water over yourself.

(A/N: author is also an asian who has taken bucket baths - and in every good protagonist there is a little bit of the author. This is where I leave my little bit.).

You pour a pauldron of water over your sudsy hair, and through the watery, drowned, blur you swear you see two eyes staring at you.

You don’t go to bed until you’ve said five hail marys.

Over time, you watch Weise recover and integrate into the community.

When his bruise is a blooming purple you are organising children's toys and clothes — separating the usable from the unusable and organising each one and he listens as you fret over the Papal Legate’s visit.

“It’s unlikely he’ll come here,” you say, tossing another unusable childrens onesie into the recycling bag. “But everyone is in such a tiff about it.”

“Yeah, you and two other people,” Weise snickered, folding girls shirts (for ages 8 to 9).

“Surely there’s something you must care about as well. Or, someone,” you say, carefully watching him.

He looks away, letting his hair fall over his face. If his face betrayed anything, you wouldn’t get to know.

“Once, but that doesn’t matter.”

“It always matters,” you say. “Even when it’s not supposed to.”

You want to reach out, put your hand on his shoulder, tell him everything will be okay. Instead you open another bag of donations. When he lifts a heavy bag his shirt rides up, showing that soft stomach and a flash of belly button. You resist the urge to run your hands down him.

When his bruise is a garish green, you’re both collecting food for the community fridge. Somehow, despite the fact you’ve arranged the rota so that you and Weise only clash a respectable amount of times, he somehow always swaps, or fills in, at just the right time to be by your side.

You watch him talk so passionately to a passer-by. He convinces her to donate some canned food, and waves her off. Only when she’s suitably far enough, and it’s just the two of you, his face falls into a cold neutral look.

“You know, the point of charity is that it needs to be freely given,” you say. “You don’t need to put on an act for it, just be honest. This isn’t a competition.”

You watch him roll his eyes.

“Everything is a competition, and I’m going to win,” he says with a nearly frightful look in his eyes.

When his bruise is yellow he tells you that he ran in a bad crowd, got kicked out of his parents house for it, and doesn't have anywhere to go. You're sitting in the church after mass, something that's become a part of your routine, and talking about religion.

You felt your hand twang with a sympathy so strong its gaze soared above all of the other remarks made by Weise.

“I'm sorry. You're welcome to stay with us at anytime –” yes, us, because to an extent you were a community leader. “ — I… also got into some trouble in my youth. But I found solace in a church, and that's what sent me on the path to priesthood.”

To be that mentor, that shining white hand to tug Weise into God's good graces. You smiled at him with all the appreciation in the world.

“Wow, I never knew you were a bad boy Father?” He joked, and you laughed more for the sake of it. He threw his head back, and the long stretch of delicate throat bared itself.

You ran your tongue over your teeth.

By the time his bruise is brown you think you’ve built a real connection with him. Worse, your attraction to him grows. Every slight movement, every flash of skin or midriff sends a gross flash of heat up to your head and down to your groin.

It’s a test. It’s a challenge. It’s Freud or something psychological because this friend who sees you as a mentor is not an appropriate— you’re a priest. None of this is appropriate. He feels safe enough to be his true self around

And here you are, jerking yourself off to memories of unblemished necks, midriffs, the slight pant he makes when he's worked too hard. You still don't know if you want to fuck him or be funked by him, mostly because you didn't linger on the idea of it for too long.

When you cum you stifle your cry into your pillow panting and struggling – riding the aftershock. Suddenly, you felt watched. You turn to the window, you'd left the curtains whide open.

Maybe it was just God, you reassure yourself whilst cleaning up. Then you realised you thought ‘just’ god like you hadn't spent the better half of your life preaching his word, pouring over his wisdom. The shame consumed you – you needed to confess.

Unfortunately, you couldn't quite spare the half an hour drive to the next nearest priest so instead you turn to the increasingly annoyed Moo.

You catch him in the living room, consulting brown files and clicking away at a laptop that looked too new for a priest's salary.

“Moo,” You start. Then you stop. Moo was only a pastor, he couldn't take your confession as a representative of God.

“What!” He snapped, sliding his files into his bags. “God, can't you see I'm busy. Why do you send this fool to bother me.,”

Your shame is momentarily forgotten in front of his audacity.

The regret comes shortly after, and Moo stumbles his way through an apology before leaving. Spouting something about a lead. You leave as well, because the feeling of being watched is tooo much. You will find solace in a walk, through the forest, looping through town. You make your way up a familiar street, and you recognise the name.

It's Weises’ address.

You immediately turn around. This has gone far enough, you need to go back. Go back to when you were good, when you were happy with the stars in the skies and not watching the light in his eyes twinkle.

A cry of pain stops you, and you're going before you can really process what is being said.

“Be cast down foul demon!” You hear Moo call out and you round the corner into a dingy alleyway. It's impossible to think that anyone can live here, but there's an open door and you catch half of Moo and someone else Sprawled onto the ground.

You know it's Weise because of the way he cries, and covers his delicate, sensitive, face. You're pulling Moo off as he's screaming verses from the old testament, and Weise rolls onto his side weeping into the floor.

“Y/n!” Moo calls. “You don't understand – he's—”

There's a sickening crunch when your fist makes contact with his jaw.

When the police come you renounce your ies to him, and when you visit Moo in prison you let him know that the church has evaluated the report you gave and has decided to - for lack of a better term - cut him loose.

It's all a blur. Moo's delusions, your aching knuckles, all of it seems unreal compared to the fresh bruises on Weise's face.

“I’m sorry you had to experience that,” you say, meeting his eyes. “I hope this doesn’t dissuade you from coming to church, but I would understand if it has impacted your view of religion. You were attacked by a crazy zealot. Either Way, I— myself and the parishioners would certainly appreciate your attendance, and miss you for the lack of it.”

The man took your hand in his, and squeezed. “Of course, father, but there’s one thing more than Pastor Michael’s actions that had altered my view on religion.”

Then he didn’t stop, and you were beginning to lose sensation in the tips of your fingers. When in this situation, your non-confrontational attitude took hold. “And what is that?”

You loosen your hand, but he held tight and tugged. Your shoulder began to ache. He was peering down at you, and now that the sun was rising you could see that his expression was frighteningly blank.

“The good priest may just be a pervert,” he whispered, the ghost of a smile rising from the dead to grace his lips.

You tugged your hand away from him, but he held on tight Too tight, and his palm was fiery with its warmth.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Feeling exposed?” he croons like a therapist who may or may not actually care about the answer. “How does this make you feel dear Father (L/n). The fact you helped incarcerate a man who was probably right.”

If it were any darker you could have tried to excuse what you saw as just the shadows, just the fatigue. Yet, in the colourful light of the final meal you see Wiese change. Moo's chants of demons and devils suddenly seem delirious.

You watch as slender ivory horns sprout from his forehead, as a tail flicks behind him. Worse, the sound of his bones cracking to give him the hind legs of some feline creature would haunt him forever. You yelp, and Weise’s suddenly sharp nails are dragging along your wrist – leaving angry red lines.

“What's wrong, Father (L/n)?” He whispers, his face paling. “I thought you said god loved all his creatures, and you're here to do god's work. Shouldn't you love me too?”

“Get behind me, Satan!” You cry, because what else are you meant to say? The fact that Moo was right, and you had just ruined an innocent (eh…) man's life over a lie. Over a demon.

“Only when you bend over,” Weise cackles.

His grip loosens, and you wheel back. You're going up the aisle now, and he's following. His tail swishes slowly, but you're looking beyond that – you're looking at the effigy of the crucifix carved into the stone wall above the entrance. You're praying.

Your lips are moving, mouthing the hail Mary and you're praying with all your soul – like you used to when you were young and hungry. You're praying that this isn't real.

“Weise, is this really you?”

You ask, appalled. Your eyes finally meet his. His new, inhumanly pale skin has eaten at his bruises (were they ever real) and his eyes are pitch black (was anything real?).

“I always have been me. I never lied to you, Y/n.”

You let out an audacious laugh, because what was this if not an audacious lie.

“I'm seriously I never lied. I did run with a bad crowd, but in my defence Satan - Lucifer - whatever he calls himself these days – was a fun guy before all the fire and brimstone. The smell of sulphur, which smells of rotten eggs, would do that to anyone.”

He rolled his eyes. Like he was complaining about the weather and not— the fall of angels? You choke out a what.

But then he's on you, walking faster than his short statute should allow but he's in front of you now, smiling like the cat who got the cream.

“You jerked off to the image of me,” He exposes you, casually.

Worse, he takes out a Polaroid of you curled in bed, your hand around your cock and your cassock pulled high for easy access. Even though your face is in your pillow, people will still know that it was you.

“What do you want?” You ask, raw.

“Entertain me,” he crooned. “I could be human again, if that's what you need to get your rocks off.”

He doesn't tear you apart and ravage you on the cold, stone, floor. No, the demon makes you undress yourself. He whispers pretty, appreciative words of endearment as you strip. He wraps the rosary around your wrist as if you might break if it's too tight. Then he was on you, pushing you down onto the altar.

He does become human.

The demon doesn't force you to do anything, he just sits in the front pew and smiles.

“Was any of it real?” You ask.

He shrugs, and you let your cassock drop although your chest is caving in.

When he fingers you it's gentle, accompanied by coaxing tugs at your cock. You jolt with every impact. He pours whine over his enticing fingers, easing the initial burn. Before he enters you, puts the flared opening of the whine bottle to your hole, and you moan as heat boils in your abdomen.

His penis is big, bigger than it should be. It has a line of ridges across the top, and they catch on your hole as he enters you. He encourages you to breathe through it all, and you wheep.

Your mouth opens, and sounds you never knew you could make pour out. The demon does not ravish you. He takes his time, fucking you into the marble altar. You feel it all throughout your body, you feel how tight you are around him.

You're taught, ready to snap.

“Go on then,” he said, slowing to incremental. “Fuck yourself on me.”

His fingers pinched at your thigh, then your hip, then his hands are on you in a fascination that is much more wholesome than the situation you're in.

You make this low keening sound — this sex, this defilement, this sin has returned you to your base instinct. To the saliva pooling at the corner of your mouth, the tears rolling down the sides of your face spurred by every slow, hard, thrust. Your fingers were curled along the edge, and your tailbone bit into the cold marble.

Before you realised, you were hitching your hips in tandem. You were riding this storm in every literal way possible – and the pure mind-numbing pleasure was building. You let your head fall back against the marble, surrendering. You’re sorry, but you’re enjoying this too much to ever stop.

“Please,” you half-sob.

“What?” Weise stops moving and you actually whimper. “What did you say? Did the lowly scum speak — silly little Priest. Why would you do that when all you have to do is shut your disgusting mouth and take what I give you.”

You hear it all and quietly imagine your dignity and pride packing up, telling you they love you but they can’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself, and leaving you with a child (the shame) as you became so achingly hard against Weise.

“Please, just fuck me— mmph– I feel like I’m dying—” you whine, throwing your head back.

“Oh, please. You’ll know when you die,” Weise whispered, reverentially. Like he was sharing a secret. He leaned in close, resting his chest against yours. “It will be so much worse than this.”

You are naked in the early morning of the church, and this is a new madness you never knew you were capable of.

His hands work his way up to your throat and give a testing squeeze. Your breath hitches, and you whimper when he pulls away.

“It will feel amazing. For you, and for me.”

Then he pulls back his hips, and the tip of a strange cock catches on your hole. He moans, and you let out a little whimper. Then he slammed back in, and set an obscene yet steady pace. Every thrust, every obscene squelch, down to the predictability of the fullness and the ridges along his cock against you – in you.

It’s obscene. You turn your head into the crook of your arm, abashed. His hands trail down to your chest, grazing over your nipples. Even that place is set ablaze in the light of all of this.

“You would bleed so beautifully,” he croons, his hands curling just under your rib cage. “So deeply, so holy. Your suffering would be divine, don’t you want that?”

This dirty talk was weird, and maybe he saw some of that distaste on your face because he hitched one of your legs on his shoulder and tried to fuck the second-hand embarassment out of you. If you weren’t being railed so hard you were losing sensation in your legs and lower extremities, you would almost get the sense that maybe this guy just has some self esteem issues. Might come with the whole demon thing.

Then he raised his hand and struck your behind. You yelped, and he did it again. Each time the sharpness increased, and the remaining stinging sensation numbed your mind.

Instead, he turns you on your side so you're facing the altar cloth you had just laid out. Each thrust sent the cloth and the candelabra you had spent so long polishing to the ground.

“Wait–hm—” you shudder. “Pick it— pick itt—” You can barely choke out a sentence around all the pleasure building inside you.

You feel every thrust in the back of your throat.

“Seriously— can’t you just focus on me,” he scolds, tugging at your hair. Your scalp burns and you moan louder than you thought you could or would.

Somehow, it was nice to let go of all your inhibitions. The wider world faded away as all that became important was how badly you needed this right now. When you come it almost startles you – it feels like you had been going forever and now you were at your destination with little else to do other than twitch and realise that some stains are never going to come out – especially that semen stain on your altar cloth. You let out a wanton cry.

Weise fucks you through it, he pins you down as you writhe and moan and proclaim that it’s too much, because it really is — and he hunched over your turned figure to put his teeth to your neck. When he comes he bites down so hard you’re too busy wailing to notice just how much of his seed there is until he pulls out, soft, and you feel it cascade down your thigh in rivulets.

You flop onto your back. Sweating, debauched, and probably experiencing the world’s worst case of post-nut clarity. You had been fucked, not a first for you but it was the first in a long Time. You were bleeding from it, shaking, and spilling yourself across the altar like a final meal.

Weise whistles whilst he pulls up his trousers and tightens his belt. He looks down on your panting figure with something akin to hunger, then he says.

“No, I want to savour you. If I could, I would do after care but uh.. I don't want to, also you have church in an hour. I'm not the cuddling sort of guy.”

And that's that. You have to pick yourself up, limp over to a bathroom, reset the altar and try to stand without your knees shaking throughout it all.

🍽

Moo's cell was damp, unkempt, and stunk of horse shit. Still, it was his alone. Knowing the Church, this was either a final mercy or something more sinister.

Of course, the church he knew what very different from whatever you knew. As a pastor he was elevated beyond status, and initiated into the Hunters of Heaven, purely because he was discrete.

This time he hadn't been, and it was likely he would never hunt another demon again (if he was lucky).

The door clicked open, a guard held it for a blonde man. The man simply nodded to the guard, and the guard stepped out.

“Hello Moo,” the man said, tilting his head towards him.

Everything about him was almost adonic. Strong jeekbones, elegant round eyes, proud … everything, last he remembered.

“What do you want,” Moo said, not meeting his eyes.

The man clicked his tongue.

“Well, since you're so eagre I'll skip the formalities. Your work is no longer required from us. As a gesture of kindness the church will pay your bail, but you will be stripped of your garments. Permanently.”

Moo snorted. “Let me guess, the moment I leave this cell I'll be jumped by a gang of ruffians. No one will be arrested, terrible accident.”

“Or you could stay in here and, well, the official report will read something like ‘suicide’.”

“Die or die, hmm…what a difficult question. Give me a day to think about it.”

“You don't get a day, not after the little stunt you pulled. Screaming demon, god, Moo, you're insane and need an insane ending to end this.”

Moo fell silent. Nobody wanted to die, not really. There was a third way out of it.

“What if I told you I knew how to lure more of them to us, rather than the other way around?” Moo asks, his eyes sliding over to the other. “Would that guarantee my survival.”

“Depends—”

“No ‘if’, ‘buts’, or ‘depends’. My survival comes first, you'll get your information later. You have my word.”

The man was skeptical, and he had the right to be. Moo had given his word at the initiation ceremony, before God and his closest stand in – and he went back on it.

Still, the two men have history.

“I'll check with the deacon,” he says, then he leaves.

--

That little bit at the end was a semi-intro for the priest oc! I do love a good manipulative relationship, I wonder how Weise and Reader's relationship can work going forward? Pt 2 probably won't have a lot of smut...

[gh0stlightss]

꒰ ꒱ ⠀priest!sam⠀ ૮ ა ܍

This fic contains erotic depictions involving religious themes. ♱ ── ̟ !! If this is a sensitive topic for you, please proceed with caution or skip this work. †

◞

𓏲𝄢 you knew it was wrong, you both did. After all, it had been going for way too long..

That knowledge hung between you like incense smoke-thick, cloying. impossible to ignore. Ilt had been going on for too long, this slow, sinful dance, this quiet unraveling of vows. You couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it began, but you remembered the afternoon in Father Sam's study with perfect, aching clarity.

It started with a whisper of lips against his, tentative, testing. He had pulled away at first, his voice trembling. “No... we can't.” His eyes were soft, wounded-like a man already grieving a sin he hadn't yet committed. But when you looked at him, wrecked and pleading, his resolve crumbled. His touch found you, His touch was hesitant at first, trembling as his fingers brushed your cheek, as if you were something holy he had no right to touch. But then his lips met yours again, tender and slow, like a man savoring his last taste of grace before the fall, reverent, as though he could absolve himself later if only he worshipped you gently enough, you were clinging to each other, mouths grew desperate, greedy. He walked you backwards, locking the door before pressing you against it, his lips trailing fire down your throat.His touch was hesitant, but with your guidance he touched you just like he had dreamed. You undressed slowly, torturously each undone button a fresh agony for him. When the lace of your bra was finally revealed, his breath caught. His fingers clutched his rosary like a lifeline, as if begging forgiveness for the sin of finding you beautiful. But you took the beads from him, draping them around your own neck, letting them rest against your skin like a claim. His devotion, now yours.

His hands learned you like scripture, soft at first, then bolder, mapping every curve as if committing you to memory. “You're.. so beautiful,” he whispered, voice breaking. You guided his hand to your breast, and he melted under the sensation, his touch tentative at first, then bolder, his thumb brushing over the lace, then you stepped out of your skirt, revealing matching lace beneath, his throat worked. He didn't hesitate this time,his hands traced your thighs as if you were something divine.

And when you stood bare before him, he looked at you as if you were the answer to every prayer he'd ever choked back, He didn't take you, he worshipped you.

His lips traced your stomach, his gaze lifting to yours like a sinner seeking absolution. And when he finally slid inside you, he swore he saw God. Tears glistened in his eyes, his hips stuttering, his breath coming in ragged whispers. “You feel..so..heavenly.”

It wasn't just the wall,it was the desk, the floor, every surface consecrated by the way he moved against you, his hips stuttering, his hands clutching you like you were the only thing keeping him from damnation. You guided his fingers to your clit, and he touched you like his sole purpose was to unravel you, his breath hot against your neck as you moaned his name.

And when you gasped “Sam” for the last time, he lost himself completely spilling inside you with a broken whimper, his forehead pressed to yours as if begging for forgiveness.

Afterward, he held you like something precious, his lips brushing over your skin, the rosary still draped around your neck you were his penance and his prize. His words soft, broken, yet gentle.

The next morning, you sat in the pews, your fingers idly tracing the beads now hidden beneath your blouse.

Father Sam stood at the pulpit, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering..until it found yours. His breath hitched when your fingertip touched your lips, a silent promise.

His words never faltered, but his hands trembled.

And after?

He was at your doorstep, your house becoming his new sanctuary.

⋆.˚ 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 : I know I haven't posted in soo long but I'm finally free from college and needed a bit of a break, I'm not gonna lie this was an old draft I was working on because I haven't had many ideas, I'm also working on a request so I'm so sorry if that is taking so long for me to finish, I'll try to be more active and catch up with moots, and also thank you so much for the support even while I was gone <3

<3 sdt @regretdean @legalmente-loca

[transbunnyboi]

Ohhhh god I cannot stop blushing thinking about this and I usually don’t post stuff like this but >\\\\\<

Convincing a priest that it isn’t sex unless he cums, and since I have a pretty cunt it’s completely okay that I’m a man!!!

so he gets to use my boycunt, him whimpering and trembling above me as he fucks my brains out on a pew. Him panting and crying because I’m so tight and warm and he’ll never forgive himself for giving into my seduction. I keep reminding him that if he doesn’t cum, it’s okay, and if he does, then, well, it’d be his fault.

I cum all over his cock as I stroke my t-dick, clenching around him even more before he forces himself to pull out so he won’t cum.

Seeing him every single night after that, edging him over and over and over…

[illmasc]

feeling a very primal urge to be mounted rn

[hounds-of-cain]

Priest + hole inspection

He's gotta show he's pure, so at the end of every day, his cute little cunt is opened up with a speculum and throughly inspected. He squirms and cries because it hurts, and much to his shame, he's getting aroused. He hopes saying it hurts will make the inspection stop so he can avoid the father superior seeing his hard t-dick. It's too late, though.

The father superior noticed and is now softly kissing the poor priest's t-dick, making him cry and beg God for forgiveness. Eventually, there are no more prayers coming from the priest. Instead, there are moans. Sweet, sinful sounds of pure ecstasy. The pain of being opened so wide mixed with his t-dick getting sucked and jerked off is enough to make the priest squirt.

He passed inspection. He's still pure and is in the graces of God. Tired and frankly overstimulated, the priest goes back to his room to pray. Excited for tomorrow's inspection.

[iluvtboytummy]

Imagine being a little demon boy tempting a subtop priest to sin... wagging my tail, bending over to show off my unholy cunt, wiggling my hips like the ungodly whore I am... Come on father, you know how good it would feel, don't you? This is the divine intervention I need... plus, fucking a demon doesn't truly count as breaking your vow, so you're gonna cum in me all I want

[ftmslvttblog]

Going to the confessional but not knowing that the priest behind knows exactly what I've been up to, and when I don't mention it he calls me out for it.

He tells me he knows I've been slutting myself out, posting vulgar pictures on the internet, writing such dirty things, rubbing my pussy to strangers, begging to be bred and filled.

I would be so embarrassed, my cheeks flaring red, hot to the touch, but regardless, his words would go straight to my groin and I would start rubbing my thighs together.

He says that I might have been forgiven if I admitted to it but now he has to punish me.

Obedience is a virtue god loves, he tells me as he pounds me from behind, hands on my mouth to muffle my moans.

He doesn't even know he is taking my virginity. That thought alone almost makes me cum.

[bitesized-pup]

On a bit of a priest kink movement but I wanna have some older man whispering breathlessly in my ear as I grind on him fully clothed. It's not a sin if we aren't touching skin to skin, right? He's shaking and gripping my waist hard enough to bruise and moaning prayers for forgiveness in my ear til he's cumming with my name on his lips instead of the Lord's

[jesuistrestriste]

Missing the Mike Faist priest kink era 😭 still wait for the«  see you in the next Wednesday service » ahaha I’m wondering if the locals suspects their relation or not( do they see each other outside his service ?)( Is he jealous when he sees other guys flirting with her before his church service starts ? ) 👀

OH MY GOD

an ask about "kneel" ???? im gonna cry

no let's talk about it because i never did a pt. 2 or anything

i think that a majority of the locals don't really suspect that the reader is messing around with the priest (they idolize him + see him as a nonsexual figure), but they do look down on her b/c of her visible promiscuity (i.e. the hickies and etc.)

they might notice her wearing shorter skirts to services, and crossing her legs/squeezing her thighs together incessantly throughout his sermons. someone might even catch a glimpse of soft bruises and red handprints on her ass after she bends over to pick something up in front of them the day after mass. and they're like omg? what is this young lady getting herself into? and who in this town could stand to do such vile, obscene things to her body? (as if it's not their precious priest)

i dont think they see each other outside of services/the church b/c they dont want to risk drawing attention to their "special, secret relationship". but! he does give her his phone number and she calls him sometimes when she thinks too much about him and gets wet :( he has talked the reader through touching herself on multiple occasions. tons of verbally guided masturbation over the phone as she lays on her bed, her hand between her legs, with an opened bible next to her. yeah.

he had gifted her that bible after the second time they had sex. not necessarily to indoctrinate her into the religion, but to give her a representation of something that was important to him. it was his subtle way of trying to connect with her. but it kinda backfired b/c now she gets hot and flushed when she reads the words "God" and "peace" and "faith". he basically pavlov's dog'd her. classically conditioned.

because she lost her virginity to him, she's definitely very attached. she tells him that she isn't, but its a total lie and he knows it too. she gets jealous when women, young or old (doesn't matter), come up to him after services all smiley and ready to talk to him about their problems. reader usually gets red in the face and pouts in the back pew as she watches their interactions closely. she worries a lot that she isn't the only person in the town that the priest is intimate with, but she is. he's fairly attached to her too. and because she's a pretty young woman, divorced dads and older teen boys will often try to flirt with her before the priest's regularly scheduled homily, and he has to gather all the restraint in his body not to insert himself between you and them.

they are very cute + sacrilegious. ugh.

[gurugirl]

Don't Speak

*images are for aesthetic only

priest!harry x subby!reader | soft dom!harry x bratty/sub!reader

Summary: Y/n accidentally says something in front of everyone at prayer group that gets her in trouble with the priest.

A/N: I know it's been so long since I gave y'all any priestrry but I missed him and his pet so I was compelled to write this! Hope you enjoy! And if you're tagged it's bc you are either on my main general taglist or you asked to be tagged in anything for priestrry (even tho it's been so long) just let me know if you want to be removed and I will! xoxo

Word Count: 2,692

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, religious mentions, smut, sub/dom dynamic, spanking, punishment

Forgive Me, Father masterlist

She hadn’t meant to say it in front of everyone during prayer group. It didn’t have to mean anything if no one read too much into it. She was only responding to a simple question but she said we.

We plan to eat after the meeting.

We, as in the mention of herself and Harry. The two of them doing something together. She hoped they interpreted it as her saying -with someone other than Harry. But she also looked at Harry directly when she said it. Maybe no one saw that.

But Harry certainly did. And the look she received from him was scalding. She knew she was in for it once everyone had gone.

No one followed up to ask who was the other part of this we she spoke of. She wished they would. She could say anyone and make up a little lie. Her brother. Her roommate. Anyone. But no one asked.

And she wasn’t sure if the room felt tense or if it was just her. Because after she said it, she felt like everyone was suddenly looking at her differently. And of course, the way Harry was warning her with his eyes wasn’t helping matters.

So she kept her head down and her mouth closed until the end. And when everyone began to leave, like always, she walked out of the house and to the side to wait until everyone was gone.

And even when the coast was clear she hesitated for a moment. But ultimately going back inside with Harry to face whatever kind of reprimand he was going to give her was better than waiting and wondering about what he might do. Perhaps she could plead her case.

Stepping into the living room she found Harry folding up the metal chairs and placing them tidily in their little wooden cubby behind the couch. He walked across the room without even a glance in her direction and into the kitchen with a glass. Standing still in her spot she could hear the glass being placed in the sink and then his footfalls as he began to walk back to the living room.

“Father, I’m sorry. It just slipped out. I don’t think anyone noticed–“

“Go stand and face the corner. Don’t speak.”

She gulped and gave a quick nod as she scurried toward the corner of the living room and let her limbs fall loose as she waited for the priest to finish what he was doing. She wanted to protest. To tell him it was an accident and to go easy on her but she knew better than to resist.

Minutes stretched on as she listened to Harry cleaning up and moving back and forth from the living room to the kitchen before she heard him approaching behind her and then stopping.

She could feel him standing behind her but he kept silent for a beat or two before she felt his breath at the back of her neck, “Tell me what happens if someone finds out about us, Y/n.”

She inhaled a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes closed, “Well, you could face expulsion from the church. Everything you’ve worked so hard for that you love the most would be gone. Or they’d transfer you and after penance, you’d have to promise to permanently end our relationship.”

The floorboard creaked as Harry stepped in closer and she felt his warm hands at the tops of her arms, “I could lose what I love, yes. But if it came to choosing you or the church do you know what I would do, pet?”

“Father, I would like to believe you’d choose me. But I would understand if you chose the church.”

“Do you doubt how deep my love for you is?”

Y/n opened her eyes and took a deep breath, the plaster of the white wall in her view, “I don’t doubt how deeply you love me. I feel it every moment. But I also know how deep your love is for God and for your vocation.”

“I’m angry that you let it slip out like that so freely in front of everyone. But I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I want you to know that I’ll always choose you. Over everything else. Over my priesthood. Over God. You’re the most important thing I have.

A stray tear escaped her eye as he pressed his chest into her back and suddenly lifted his hands and she felt her red leather collar being placed on her neck as he adjusted the buckle, “Besides, I’ve slipped up too haven’t I? When I thought no one was watching. But you slipped up in front of many sets of eyes and ears. Let’s hope they didn’t notice the way you looked at me when you said it.”

She turned to look back at him to respond but one of his hands gripped the back of her neck, “Face the wall. I’m not done with you yet. As much as I understand it was a mistake, there are consequences for your actions, pet. Take off this dress.”

Biting her lip she silently pulled the fabric over her head and Harry noted she was not wearing panties. He imagined she did that on purpose. She often enjoyed leaving things uncovered in case they were in a situation where he could just take her. But she was cheeky too so maybe it was just to get a rise out of him.

“No panties while we were all sat here praying to our Lord. Fucks sake, Y/n.”

The first strike to her bottom had her wobbling forward, palms on the walls, and bending slightly at the waist. She was used to being spanked and when he did it with his hands it was a treat. She loved his hands on her. No matter how they were touching her.

Another open-palmed swat and then another had her dipping her head and closing her eyes as she braced herself.

She felt his hand smooth up her spine and press down between her shoulders, “Bend down further. Keep your hands on the wall, legs together. Think about what you can do to not make the kind of mistake you made today while I get your paddle.”

A big gulp was pulled down her throat as Harry stepped away. What could she have done differently? Maybe just be on top of her thoughts at all times? Never waver in front of people? She wasn’t sure. How was it possible to not accidentally slip up once in a great while? She had been so good all this time. Never doing anything that would really tip anyone off. The slip-up was bound to happen at some point.

When Harry returned she felt a kind hand rub over her bottom, “You get five on each side and no crying. Once I’ve given you five you’ll tell me what you could have done differently and if you haven’t come up with something you’ll get another five on each side. Understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Count for me.”

Every strike to her sensitive bottom had her keening and gasping. She counted each one, five on each side (so ten really and she would have complained but now wasn’t the time).

“Now, tell me. What can you do to make sure that never happens again? How can we avoid it?”

She took a deep breath, still reeling from her stinging bottom and knowing she was about to get five more (ten more) because she hadn’t come up with an idea quite yet.

“Uhh… I just need to think harder and not let myself really look at you… uh… I can keep my mind sharp so I don’t say things I shouldn’t on accident.”

“No. That’s not it. Count for me.”

The next round hurt more. The smooth leather landing against her sore ass had her arching her back away from him and hissing between numbers she pushed from her lungs. Every one biting a little more than before.

But when she got to her final five (ten) she thought of an answer that she felt would suffice and nearly hopped up with a grin, but knowing better she stayed in her position.

“Have you come up with an answer for me?”

“I can just not speak. I’ll say my throat hurts and keep my mouth closed the whole meeting.”

“That will only work once or twice. But every meeting, pet? You can do better than that. Count for me.”

She let her tears slip out of her eyes as she racked her brain for the answer he might want. Every number she counted got lost in her fuzzy brain and the ache from the paddle on her bum started to numb and the shift in how it made her feel manifested in arousal, which the priest did not miss as he could see her pussy with the way she was bent for him; That obvious glisten beginning to seep out from her labia.

“Tell me what you can do to avoid making comments like you did today.”

She inhaled and moaned softly, “I think that I should maybe not come to all the prayer meetings. I can stay in my cage if I’m feeling a little off maybe? Then I won’t have the opportunity to at all. And me not being at all the meetings would be good I think. Because no one is always at every meeting. Probably good for me to sit back for a while.”

The paddle fell to the floor and she felt Harry’s hands gently caressing her bottom, his fingers gliding over the raised skin left behind from the paddle, “You are so smart, pet. See? That’s perfect. Don’t move from your spot. Keep your thighs together.”

She heard the clank of his buckle and smiled to herself. She loved it when he had his way with her. She didn’t even care what he was about to do, she welcomed him wherever and however he wanted.

When his hands returned to her back and gently pressed over her bum she sighed as he leaned over and kissed her shoulder blade, “I love you. I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” she listened as he spoke and could tell he was stroking himself behind her the way his voice was wavering, breathy. “No matter what happens, you’re mine and I’m keeping you, okay?” His voice hitched up just a bit as he scraped his cockhead through her folds. She was tempted to spread her thighs but she resisted since he’d been very clear with her to keep them together.

“Yes, Father,” she breathed as she felt his smooth tip collecting her arousal, gliding up and down through her crease.

“And since you didn’t do it on purpose and I’ve given you 15 spanks as punishment,” 15 on each side, she corrected in her mind, “I’ll let you come but you may not move. I don’t want you spreading your legs to keep steady either. I’ll hold you up if you start to fall.”

The sudden slicing of his wide cock through her delicate pussy entrance had her groaning and dropping her mouth wide open. She was so wet and gushy already. She felt her arousal seep down to the back of her thigh as he began to thrust into her, juices leaking down from her opening.

Harry’s hand landed on the wall next to her head as his other clutched her hip tight, thick crown splitting her in half, and it all felt even tighter inside with her thighs pressed together. But her legs started to sway as he took heavy strokes, hips smacking against her ass. A deep moan vibrated from his chest and the way she was squeezing around him was like heaven. If he had to go to hell for his sins it would be worth it. She was worth everything to him.

When the priest noticed his pet having difficulty keeping steady he pushed into the brim, filling her completely, and gently nudged and nudged deeper into her, rutting in with hips pasted to her ass, “Being so good for me, pet. Keeping your legs together as I asked. Feels so good with you around me…”

She could hear the tightness in his voice. Her priest was enjoying her pussy. His pussy. Everything was his. All of her belonged to him. She kept her palms on the wall as he fucked into her, keeping his body tucked against her, spreading her open completely and fitting right up against her cervix like she needed.

“Want to be good for you, Father. Want to make you happy and give you everything I can. You own every single part of me.”

He groaned and rutted forward making her inhale sharply, “I do own you don’t I pet? That’s why I call you my pet. Because you’re mine and you always will be. Isn’t that right?”

No one would have ever guessed the pair stood together in the corner fucking in the small living room had the kind of secret they did. No one would have ever guessed the man was a priest and the girl on his cock with the red leather choker was his dirty secret. His divine secret. No one would know the kinds of sinful things they did together every day. If they glanced at the marks on her bare bottom they wouldn’t have assumed they were from the hands of a priest.

“Yes! Father, I’ll always be yours. I’m your possession, your property…”

They both panted as Harry’s cock worked its magic inside of her hot cunt. The wetness of her walls surrounding him and coating him was the perfect spot for him to snug into and spill his seed into.

Her lip curled up as she coughed out a loud moan and arched her back, eyes closed and in sheer bliss from her insides being rearranged. She was weak for him and her orgasm couldn’t wait any longer.

“Please! Can I come, Father? Oh my god…”

He could feel her shaking, thighs trembling so hard he had to hold her hips on both sides so she didn’t tip over.

“Aww poor thing. It aches, doesn’t it? Little pet needs to have her release, doesn’t she? Got all stressed out after misspeaking. You can come. Give me your orgasm, Y/n. Let me feel you… want to feel you milking my cock…”

Harry’s own strong thighs were beginning to quiver as his balls began to squeeze up against his body, his release just moments away.

She cried out and tensed as she spasmed and clenched around him, wave after delicious wave of wet orgasm gushing from her until she felt his grip tighten and then his chest brush into her back, his lips on her shoulder, “Come for me, pet. Holy fuck…”

He groaned at how her walls pulsed, beckoning him to come, sucking his cock deep into her tummy with every squeeze until he growled and bit down on her skin, cock pumping and throbbing inside of her.

The priest had considered not letting her come at first. But he was glad he changed his mind because there was nothing better than to have her siphoning his come from his cock as she fluttered around him and her pretty voice whined and begged…

His hot come began to leak out of her pulsing hole as he thrusted in and when he stood back to watch as he pulled out and plunged in again he saw her cream coating him.

Her legs were still wobbly as he pulled out and gently turned her in his arms and pushed his lips to hers. She felt his warm hands on her face and she knew she had nothing to worry about with her priest. He loved her and she knew it without question. Misspeak or not, he wasn’t going to just give up on her because of an accident.

Bumping his nose to hers he whispered against her lips, “I’ll always choose you. Over everything. Don’t ever doubt my love for you, pet.”

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[uncensoredmuttz]

cw: mentions of religion (specifically christianity)

disclaimer: i am not religious in any sense (i consider myself agnostic), so keep that in mind. this will not become a common theme… i just haven’t been able to get this fantasy out of my mind

i’m currently obsessed with the idea of being corrupted by a priest. this man, who’s supposed to be your guide to the lord and teach you about faith, instead turning you into the filthiest little whore.

maybe you started attending church to reconnect with god or dedicate yourself to religion, or maybe you just wanted to try it out. but now, you go because you enjoy being the priest’s personal sex toy, especially knowing it’s all happening in the church under god’s watchful eye.

everywhere you go, you have memories of what he’s done to you — bending you over the altar and spanking you till your cheeks are red and bruised when you’ve sinned, lying you on your back and fucking you till your braindead as a reward for memorising hymns, or having you on your knees beneath the pulpit and sucking him off while he prepares for the following sermon.