Camilla Ch. 060byMawrGorshin©
For almost all of his existence, Father Don Josiah led a cloistered life. From his childhood days in St. Mary's all-boys Catholic school to his ordination as a priest, his devoutly religious mother ensured that women, for him, would be only respectable ladies and nuns. They would always be fully dressed: the only female nudes he'd ever see were statues, to be enjoyed aesthetically, not erotically.
His eyes would be as chaste as his loins--he would never look at the overt sexuality on the television, in the movies, or on the Internet (Mother would have none of these in her son's life!), and if he were ever to touch himself, it was to be with soap, to get clean...not dirty.
His mother despised the sin of the world: she hated how people had turned away from God. Don's adulterous father died when he was a boy, but his widowed mother had lost his father spiritually even earlier. His father's many affairs turned her to God for comfort, and his death bound her closer to her son, to nurture him in a way completely divorced from his father's ways.
For all of these reasons, women were mostly a mystery to Don. Because of this, it was inconceivable to him that the gentler sex could have in them a reservoir of passion at all comparable to that of the goatish male. He had always assumed that prostitutes, pornographic actresses and strippers did what they did slavishly, and with shame and regret: his traditionalist preconceptions were such that the very notion of a 'happy whore' or a nymphomaniac was non-existent...such women couldn't be content with, much less enjoy, a life in the sex industry.
This safe, Edenic cocoon that his mother had constructed for him was shaken that Sunday when he'd seen Camilla at Mass. The dark, salacious world in which Camilla thrived was opened even wider for him on Wednesday night when he walked through the front door of Club Ritz. Why did he, a devoutly religious priest, want to go to such a place? As he'd rationalized his intentions, he hoped to find a girl quickly and give her some money he'd saved to 'rescue' her from the degrading life she was forced to live. What he hadn't anticipated was that she would take his cash in exchange for lap-dances and 'rescue' him from his sexual confinement.
What's more, he absolutely refused to acknowledge in his conscious mind that his real reason for going to Club Ritz could have been to satisfy desires he'd kept in perfect, uninterrupted hibernation...that is, until Camilla had roused him from that sleep. Last Sunday, he'd been disappointed at not seeing her at Mass, though he'd never admit to himself that his reasons for missing her were at all sexual; he rationalized that he'd wished to save her soul, or if not her soul, then at least that of a local stripper.
So sure was he that he wouldn't be tempted to indulge in the spectacle of flesh the other lechers were enjoying, that he even wore his priest's collar, with no fear of embarrassment. What he didn't know was that she'd used Nigrovum to lure him to her striptease establishment, with the image of that rose she'd visualized touching him in Mass; indeed, that rose pulled him to Club Ritz like the star that had led the Magi to the baby Jesus.
It had been a boring, slow Wednesday night, and Camilla was sitting alone at a table waiting for a customer to show an interest in her. Desperate for a lover to distract her from her growing unnatural urges for Agape, Camilla--lacking Mr. Holland again--remembered that cute priest she'd seen two Sundays ago. She wanted him, so she'd focused all her mental energy and photographic memory to make a mental image of the priest she'd given a psychic hand-job to during Mass. Within a few minutes, she'd conjured up a vivid, detailed, and uncannily accurate mental picture of Father Josiah; then she visualized him willingly driving from his home to Club Ritz. Soon after, she could feel his presence coming nearer and nearer. Then she went out to a small room where the front door was, a relatively quiet area where she could chat on her cell-phone.
She called up Mr. Holland, and asked him if he was going to come over. He said he couldn't because his in-laws were occupying his time in preparations for his wife's funeral. He had to pretend he was mourning, and thus couldn't get away. Though she was disappointed to hear this, she felt encouraged by the approaching psychic presence of Father Josiah.
He opened the front door to the strip joint and saw her still chatting on her cell-phone. The muffled sound of Bruno Mars's 'It Will Rain' could be heard beyond the inner door leading inside the main area of the bar. Having a stripper there in that little room, with no one else around, was perfect for him: he didn't have to go inside the bar and risk being embarrassed in his priest's clothes. He just had to wait for her to finish her phone call so he could save her soul.
Though his eyes were fixed on her golden curly hair, beautiful blue eyes, ruby-red lips and everything above her shoulders, he couldn't help noticing--from the corners of his eyes, her S-like curves, pink underwear (which he thought was a bikini), pointy high heels, and everything below her shoulders. As lovely and exciting as she was to behold, he reminded himself: this was a living soul, not a sex object. This was one of God's suffering children, not one of man's pleasurable toys.
She saw him watching and waiting for her. He imagined how offended she'd be to see what must have seemed the leers of a lecherous priest; but he was surprised to see the smile on her face--she seemed pleased to no end. He had no way of knowing that Camilla had always wanted to seduce a man of the cloth...him in particular, and that his decision to come to Club Ritz had been more hers than his.
She briefly stopped talking to Mr. Holland on her phone, smiled at Father Josiah, and sweetly said, "Just a minute, Father," while caressing his cheek. He blushed and felt his penis getting erect; he focused all his will towards making himself go limp again, thinking of fat old ladies. It was working...then she finished her call.
She put her cell-phone in her purse and turned around to face Father Josiah. Wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down to be eye-level with her, and gently pressing her nose and forehead against his, she asked, "So, what can I do for you, Father?"
"I want to help you," he answered, trying desperately to ignore his again-hardening penis. Fat old ladies, fat old ladies, he thought.
"How about me helping you first?" she said, gently pulling him toward the door leading inside the main area of the bar.
"Please, I'm a man of God. I'm not interested in that," he said, pulling his money out of his pocket.
"Oh, I think you are," Camilla said, tickling his chin. "If not, why haven't you pulled away?"
"I...I have s-some money for you. Two thousand dollars to help you get out of here and start a new life."
"Oh, we can have a lot of fun for two-thousand," she purred, taking him into the bar.
He quickly put his hand on his collar so people wouldn't know he was a priest. She took him into a private room and they sat down, facing each other on the couches.
"My name is Camilla," she said, smiling and shaking his hand.
"I'm Father Don Josiah."
"Nice to meet you, Father Don Josiah. I remember seeing you at Mass two Sundays ago. Remember me? I remember getting you quite excited; I hope to do that again." She giggled lewdly.
"Please, I just want to talk to you. I want to help you leave this degrading life."
"Degrading? Father, you sound like one of those feminists I'll have to put up with at York. I had a high school drama teacher who was like that--Ms. Callahan, a real bitch. Oh, sorry, father. At my university I understand there will be a lot more women like her."
"You're a university student?" he asked in surprise.
"Yeah. Lap-dancing is how I pay for my tuition and everything."
"But why would you choose to do this for money? Surely there are other, better jobs that an obviously intelligent girl like you could do."
"Sure there are; I tried being a secretary, which was fun for a while, but now I know I'd rather do this."
"Why?" He couldn't believe his ears.
"Because I'm an exhibitionist at heart, and stripping makes lots more money than working as a secretary. Besides, I think I look good naked; most people agree, if you'll forgive my immodesty. When this song is over, I'll show you just how good I look."
"Oh, please. I'll feel embarrassed. Please don't take your bathing suit off."
"It isn't a bathing suit, Father. It's my underwear; do you like it?" She stood up and turned around for him, pushing out her breasts and buttocks to draw his attention. He was torn between looking and not looking, between resisting temptation and not wanting to be rude by rejecting her beauty. She sat back down with her legs spread open.
He was stunned to think that she could so nonchalantly parade herself in her bra and panties in public. He couldn't believe she could be so content, even delighted, to display herself so indecently in front of so many panting men.
The song had finished, and a new one began. Camilla was ready to give Father Josiah his first strip-tease.
She started a slow, sinuous dance: her serpentine hips swayed from side to side. She put her hands in her hair ad pulled it up; her fingers slowly swam through her golden tresses, causing them to fall lock by lock back down onto her shoulders. While her undulating bust and buttocks drew his attention to the sweetmeats that were the glory of her anatomy, the real hypnotic focus for him was her blue eyes, which seemed to look through his, right into his heart. It was this clairvoyance of hers that aroused him most of all, but why it excited him was a total mystery. He could feel the red rose she was visualizing blooming inside his heart, firing a lust inside him that he'd never felt before...except during that Mass two Sundays ago. Her eyes were locked on his, not letting his wander away.
The look of longing in her watery eyes was something he'd naturally assumed to be an act, but their sensuousness was showing a genuine and enigmatic desire. This is what drew him to her: he wanted to help her, to give her what she needed; but his attraction stemmed from how she obviously wanted him to give her what she wanted.
While most strip-tease dancers just want their watchers' pocket cash, Camilla wanted him. Apart from the forbidden pleasure of debauching a devout priest, she simply found him physically attractive. He was in his early forties--so far as she could tell, and accurately so--and he had blond hair, eyes as blue as hers, and a slim, tall build. He spoke with a gentle baritone voice that she particularly liked, but it was how that voice expressed a sweetly naive clinging to virtue that especially excited her. The more he resisted her, the more she was drawn to him.
Another thing that especially affected Father Josiah was her inexplicable calm: he was fascinated by Camilla's subtle smile. It was a smile so slight that it was almost imperceptible visually, yet by its very subtlety it was paradoxically all the more powerful. How could she be so placid, doing such demeaning work? he wondered. In the background, he could hear the vulgar lyrics of a hip hop song, lyrics which spoke of women as nothing more than tramps; behind Camilla's sensual silhouette, he saw only darkness in their private room--a darkness as black as sin--yet this jocund young lady smiled with an almost Madonna-like serenity.
Incredibly to him, as she unclipped her brassiere and revealed her bouncing breasts, the smile stayed. As she shed and shimmied out of her panties, the smile was still there. How could she be so calm, now completely naked before him? Why didn't she feel as scandalized as he did?
"Do you like them, Father?" she asked.
"Your eyes? They're beautiful," he ever so evasively replied.
"Father, I didn't mean them," she said, giggling and moving forward to him. She cupped his face between her breasts and slid the soft, smooth flesh across his cheeks, brushing her nipples against his lips.
Of course, it was getting more and more difficult to ignore the erection that was pointing up in his pants. Her blithe calling him 'Father' also bothered him. She seemed to enjoy it: why? Did she have a spite against the Church? Was she trying to provoke anger in him as well as lust? Did the thought of his seemingly imminent fall from grace excite her, or merely amuse her?
After rubbing her breasts against his face a while longer, she got up and turned around. She opened her legs wide and bent over, blatantly displaying not only her vagina, but also, in all insouciance, her anus. Again, her exposing her secret places wasn't half as shocking for him as was the content look on her upside-down face, looking back at him from between her legs, happily, almost innocently curious to see his reaction.
He simply couldn't fathom how she could be so indifferent about showing off the dirtiest parts of her body--not just morally dirty but physically dirty. Hadn't she even the slightest qualms about allowing herself to be seen as more animal than human? Josiah had always assumed that when strippers posed like this that they would have a look of nervous regret in their eyes: if there was a smile, it was either on act or a cocaine high, a forced smile or a drug-induced one.
Yet Camilla was neither speeding nor sedated. If she was pretending to be sober, she was a brilliant actress, because her sobriety looked too natural to be feigned. Furthermore, he correctly sensed that she wasn't even acting.
To bring himself back to the more familiar, safer world of his original preconceptions, he tried to trick himself into thinking the face that looked back at him was frowning, troubled by her humiliation; but then he remembered that the slightly downward-curving mouth he saw came from an upside-down face. She was still smiling. She even tickled his chin, seeming to want to encourage him to come closer and get a better look.
Noticing his not looking at her pussy and asshole, she asked him, "Don't you like what you see, Father?"
"Oh, uh, no...I mean, yes...I mean, I don't want to objectify you," he stammered. "You should be treated like a lady, not like a whore."
"Father, I don't see it that way. You can look all you like. If you don't, I'll feel insulted. You don't want to be rude, do you?"
"No, I guess not," he said, reluctantly looking up from her face and gazing at her cunt and asshole. It was nearing impossible to resist getting excited from such prurient perfection.
"Good," she said, opening her pussy and asshole out wide. "Get a good look."
Conflict was pulsating throughout his body and mind: was his reason for looking merely a polite acquiescence, or was he turning into a lecher? He looked back at her upside-down face, but there he saw again those eyes whose seemingly pleased expression made him doubt not only his cherished beliefs about respectable women, but also his faith.
Indeed, her face seemed peaceful, in spite of her sinful behaviour. Wasn't there supposed to be no rest for the wicked? Hers seemed to be a peace which truly passed all understanding, and this bothered him. She was naked, this woman, and not ashamed.
Josiah never understood how Adam and Eve could have been sinless prior to the Fall, yet shamelessly naked. Was Camilla somehow unaware of good and evil, as the first man and woman had been before eating the forbidden fruit? Did she simply not know how wickedly she was behaving? That such a paradoxically sinful, yet sinless state could exist--especially in such a beautiful, desirable young woman--not only troubled, but also excited him.
And that was the most troubling thing of all.
She slowly brought her bottom down and sat on his lap; and there she started stimulating an area he most wanted to ignore. She put her arm behind her back and pulled her hair up as she slowly moved her back toward his chest. She pulled her hand away slowly and let her hair--in all its full, fragrant body--flop down on his face, tress by tress, as her back approached his chest. She put her right shoulder just under his chin and turned her head to the right to look in his eyes. Still grinding on his groin, she looked in his eyes with an expression that clearly commented on the pointy sensation she felt below. With that look in her eyes and that same, subtle smile, she didn't need to open her mouth to make that ocular commentary one of absolute lasciviousness. Father Josiah felt extremes of thrills and horror simultaneously: his loins loved what his heart abominated.
The song ended, and she got up to sit on the couch facing his. His five-minute ordeal of pleasure ended. The D.J. announced that there was a problem with the CD player, and he asked everyone to be patient as he fixed it. Camilla didn't put her clothes back on, as she was happy to continue displaying her garden of earthy delights to Father Josiah. She didn't even cover her torso with her arms and legs: she calmly allowed his eyes to roam all over her body, if only he'd let them.
Looking no lower than her shoulders, he vented his shame by saying, "I feel terrible."
"Father, I find that hard to believe, if you'll pardon the pun," she said.
"I just felt a pleasure no priest should ever enjoy," he said, almost sobbing. "What would my mother say?"
"Why do you feel so ashamed?"
"Is it that difficult to understand?" he asked almost sarcastically. "Do you know anything about Church teachings?"
"More than you think I do."
"Sex is a gift from God to be enjoyed within the context of marriage and family, not to be indulged in just for its own sake. And priests are supposed to be celibate."
"Where in the Bible does it say that a priest can't marry?" she asked. "Paul said celibacy was something only some people could conform to. The rest should marry, if they can't help themselves."
"The latter are the laity."
"Not necessarily. Protestant preachers can get married."
"Protestants abandoned the Catholic flock...the flock of the one true Church. That's why they're inundated with liberalism, and the Anglican Church is such a moral mess. I suppose you're one of them."
"No, I'm from a Catholic family. I just don't believe everything they say about God just because it came from the Pope. The Catholic Church is pretty messed up, too, remember?"
"Yes, we have our scandals, too," he admitted. "Priests sexually abusing boys, and so on. If we didn't have such a sexually charged society, there wouldn't be so much of that."
"If we put an end to the celibate priesthood, there'd be fewer priests raping boys," she said. The DJ announced the fixing of the CD player as the next song, which appropriately was AC/DC's 'Let's Get It Up', began.
She approached him and put his head between her cleavage; his forehead could feel her speeding heartbeat. Pushing her upper arms closer together, she made her breasts embrace his face; now his heartbeat was racing. He put his hands on her waist ostensibly to push her back, but soon they just rested there passively, almost pulling her closer.
Next, she slowly slid her chest down his torso, her bust leaving his face to be dragged down his chest and stomach to his petrified groin. After rubbing her breasts against his hard-on for several seconds, she got back on her chair and opened her legs wide to show her vulva: her arms were similarly opened out. She looked like a female version of Leonardo Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man; he imagined he was seeing that picture instead of her, in a desperate attempt to resist temptation. Naturally, it didn't work.