Father Lorrie

The sun was beginning to fry the back of his balding head, and sweat shimmered lightly against his neck and skin as he mowed the lawns of the church yard. He wiped his brow, taking pleasure in the heat from the long-coming Summer. He took pleasure from the idea that the natural warmth of the sun came from God. The heat, though too often an abomination, reminded him of the Universal dance of the seasons. Everything was unified in some delightful way, everything worked like a well-oiled machine. The sunburn on his fingers and neck - the only parts of his body that were exposed - tingled and stung, and he yearned to get into the cool dark stone church and relieve the burning with some cream.

The lawns were overgrown and untouched for nearly a full year. Father Lorrie had dismissed the gardener only three weeks earlier, and was now forced to do much of the maintenance himself until he found another yardsman. It had been unfortunate and dramatic circumstances, finding the young brute in a compromising position with one of the older female parishiners. Father Lorrie had walked in on them in the garden shed, the boy's grimy trousers down around his ankles, his grunting form working the single mother up against the galvanized shed wall. The sight had jarred Father Lorrie's senses, leaving him stammering and stuttering, blushing madly. He'd growled at them both to stop what they had been doing, and leave immediately. The middle-aged woman had given the Father a look of apology. She fled the sweatbox with her shirt still unbuttoned and her raw, red-rock nipples piercing the Father's righteous gaze. The barely-legal boy's cock shone in the darkness, wet from her innards, and he quickly hid it from the Father, breathless and terrified as he did.

Father Lorrie had been a priest for the clergy for nearly thirteen years. He was six months from celebrating his 40th birthday, and the realisation was beginning to hit him that the human world was a pool of depraivety, perversion and filth. It disgusted him when he considered the spurts of jism that still lingered as a stain on the floor in the garden shed. It disgusted him that one of his flock had, in all her human weakness, descended into the writhing hell of sexuality with a boy barely nineteen years of age, and that they both had allowed him to witness their copulation. All this ran through his mind as he ripped the lawn up with the lawnmower. The fury drove him on - the fury, and the jealousy.

He'd been single and masturbatory for nearly twelve years. Single, alone, solitary, unmarried, untouched and unfucked for twelve years. The tightness in his balls had become something he could rely upon, and though he was getting older, less interested in the physicality of man and womankind, he still craved some kind of affection. Instead he pushed himself against the lawnmower, riding it down the gentle slope to the garden shed where the scent of someone else's desire lingered in the musky air.

Rushing through the motions, he turned the engine off, locked the shed door, and raced back up to the church. The coolness hit him like a sweet embrace, melting the sting of the sun from his bones and reducing him back to a familiar sense of normality, which he needed so desperately to quell the inner heat.

.....

Hannah clutched the bible to her breast, staring up at the statue of Jesus as he hung over the altar. She could hear Father Lorrie returning, but she did not turn around to face him lest he see the blush in her cheeks and the wild, glazed look in her eye. Hannah was young enough to hate church, old enough to know the man who ran the church was easily manipulated and malleable. She had dreams about him often. Father Lorrie would come to her dreams at night and tell her what to do to him, and she would obediently comply, whimpering little noises as he did things to her she'd only read about in books.

Her freshly combed curls barely touched her shoulders, her long eyelashes fluttered as she blinked and sighed loudly, praying to God to help her get through whatever it was that was tormenting her. The bible in her hand was musty and clammy from overuse. She held it tighter to her chest, feeling her nipples harden under the weight of the sacred book. In her mind's eye, she saw herself hiding the book between her legs. She saw herself using the book to masturbate to, wondering if her sticky pussy fluids would taint its words.

'God, I'm such a little slut,' She thought silently, her mind flashing with more visions. She saw herself laying on the alter, naked, her thighs spread open, a man in a dark robe kneeling between her legs, feasting from her, his knees sore on the cold, stone stairs.

"Hello Hannah," came a gentle, deep, throaty voice behind her. She jumped. Father Lorrie smiled as he walked by her, placing his large hand on her shoulder. She smiled, blushing under the weight of his strong blue eyes, and the proximity of his reverential presence.

"Hello Father Lorrie," She chirped.

"How are you today?"

"Oh. Hot," She smiled.

He nodded seriously, his eyes involuntarily darting down toward the bible in her hands. The smile on his face disappeared when he noticed the hard nubs of her nipples through her thin cotton dress. He noticed the book pressed against her breasts. He wondered what she was doing. She looked like a sweet little angel, sitting on the pew, a tangible aura glowing around her curls, her luminous skin reeking of roses, her bare knees almost shiny in the light from the stained glass windows.

"Well, pray to God for some cool weather, and we may receive a respite from the heat," He said bravely, and began to move away.

"I will, Father," She replied, noticing him noticing her hard, sore tits. She looked down at his crotch, hoping to catch a glimpse of a bulge but there was nothing. He wore dark trousers and a loose, thin black shirt with the white collar on it. She could smell the sweat in the air from him, and she longed to lick it from his chest.

Father Lorrie moved up toward the statue of Jesus, and began fussing around the foot of the icon. He moved some of the unlit candles, wiping some dust from the toes of the Lord. He was aware that the young Hannah was the only person in the church - apart from himself, and his ever-present God. When he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, she was watching him and it made his heart race. He continued cleaning. When he looked back, she had gone.

He saw the confessional box door close, and he made his way over to hear the confession. Inside it was cool, and even darker than out in the main area of the church. He sat, opening the wooden slide in order to hear the confession better.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," Came the sweet trinket voice from the other side of the confessional box.

"Hannah?"

"Yes, Father," She sounded pleased that he had recognised her voice.

"What are your sins, sweetheart?"

She giggled, "Father, I have so many, I don't know where to start."

He frowned, and remained silent.

"Okay, perhaps I should start from the beginning. Father."

.....

Her voice was like a demon, pulsing in the air between them. She spoke and spoke, telling him her deepest and darkest realities, her fantasies, her dreams. He sat in silence on the other side of the screen, his body burning, his mind burning with the visions she implanted there. Her voice trailed in and out of his consciousness, the words she used were unbelievable, the context in which she used them was like poetry to his ears.

".... And in the morning, Father, when I wake up, I think I've wet the bed. I don't know. I'm not sure. All I know is that you were in my bedroom, and I was crying out. Reaching out into the darkness for you, and I can feel you. I can feel your mouth against me, against my mouth, kissing me, folding me backwards, my legs around your shoulders... and I feel you inside me..."

He coughed, the phlegm rising in his throat, his lungs tightening from the constriction of panic.

"Hannah...." He tried to quieten her, but she continued, unable to hear his complaints. She breathed heavier, her fingers drifting down under her skirt. She lifted her leg up slightly, parting the lips of her pussy, and began to touch herself lightly.

"And you are so hard, so fat inside me, and sometimes it hurts, but most of the time I just want you to do me harder. Harder and harder, and faster, until you explode inside me, and we cum together..."

"Hannah!"

Father Lorrie placed his hand against the screen in an attempt to quieten her.

"Oh Father, do you want it too?" she asked, pressing her cheek against the screen.

He quickly stepped out of the box, and opened the door. He wanted to throw her from the box, from the church, reject her perversions - but the sight of her instantly stunned him into paralysis.

She sat in the box, her short dress up around her waist, with one leg up against the side of the wooden room, and the other parted as far as it would go. Her cotton panties were pulled aside, and she had her finger on the slit of her genitals, rubbing gently. Her eyes were closed, and for a moment she didn't realise he was there. When she felt the cool air of the church against her cunt, her eyes flickered open to find Father Lorrie standing before her, watching her fingering herself. She froze, panting under the pressure of her own lust.

At first she thought he was going to explode with fury. His face reddened so deeply she thought he would attack her angrily, throwing her from his house of worship, but what happened next surprised her as much as it did him.

"Hannah," He said softly, standing in the ajar shadow of the door.

"Father, I'm ---"

"No. Shh. Let me see you," he whispered, and stepped into her side of the box, shutting the door behind him.

He'd never seen anything like it. The genitals themselves were puffy and wet, glistening with a new, pure liquid and scent. He knelt before her, and began to stroke her thighs, his mind drugged by the musky heat and scent from her delicious, perfumed cunt. Her fingers were woven beneath her labia, and they were glistening with wetness. She moved her hands slightly and put them to his lips. Father Lorrie inhaled the scent, and she put her cum-candied fingers in his mouth.

He groaned, and his knees buckled finally beneath him. He collapsed against her, burying his face in her delicious cunt. He fed from her, sucking her, licking and eating at her, his untrained tongue lapping and suckling at every inch of her sexuality. The young woman began to groan, grinding herself into his face. In a mixture of shock and awe, she wrapped her good, religious legs around his good, religious head and started sliding down in the seat, affixing her most sacred self against his animated face.

She was nearly 21 years old, but had never felt this way before. Not even alone in her bed.

He was moaning as he bought her to orgasm. She moaned too, first in whimpers, then in longer, drawn-out sighs and little groans, her tight throat swallowing on the incredible sensation of pleasure that soared through her body. Pulling his whole head into her pussy, he felt he might lose consciousness there, suffocated between the folds of the young girl's humping cunt.

She wanted him to fuck her, and she said it aloud. Hannah was scared he would run away, run from his desire, reject her and cast her out. But in another shock, he stood up from the floor, giving her sopping vagina one last long, lingering suckle.

He stood and began to massage his hands through her curls, feeling the fine, silken curves of her hair. It was as if he was possessed. He motioned for her to touch the erect bulge in his pants, and she eagerly unzipped his trousers, and pulled his engorged cock from it's hiding place.

The sensation of her soft hand against his penis was unimaginable. Nobody had touched him like that for over a decade, and it surged through him like fire. He wanted to stick it inside her, pump her over and over until he was sore and empty. But before she could even lower her lips to his swollen shaft, the sound of someone else in the church alerted them both.

They both heard voices, as laughter pierced the otherwise empty temple. Quickly the Father pulled away from her, fumbling with his hard cock, folding it back into his underpants. His hands trembled.

"Stay in here," he ordered, and slid out from the confessional.

Hannah was trapped in there alone, her body still reeling from the pangs of orgasm.

......

He tended to the visitors - a young man with his mother, both seeking comfort after the death of her husband - and locked the front church doors hurriedly. The thought that the little angel was hiding in his confessional enraged his cock, keeping it hard and thrilling his entire being. But the thought that she was hiding there, panties down around her ankles, sexy wet cunt open to the air, waiting for him, drove him to nearly run back to the confessional. When he opened the door to find it empty, his stomach churned with disappointment.

"Hannah?" He hushed, then called her name out louder, not caring anymore who might have overheard.

"Here, Father," Came her sweet, luring voice.

He turned.

At first the sight amazed him, appalled and disgusted him. Then it pumped more blood to his cock and the lower parts of his abdomen. There she stood, fully naked, nestled and languishing sexually, her nudity glowing so pale against the statue of christ. She was embracing the statue, embracing His legs to her chest, ever so slowly moving against it, rubbing against Father Lorrie's almighty Lord.

"Good Lord," he breathed, stepping back from the vision.

Hannah moved her hands down around Jesus' legs, paying with his inanimate broken feet, then ran them up around his marble thighs, and began to stroke the Lord's loincloth.

"Cum here, Father," she whispered loud enough for him to hear, and he walked toward her as if in a daze.

He stepped up to the altar, and she reached out to him. Her fingers were warm and so soft, as she began to once again unzip his trousers. The young Hannah coaxed his rock-hard, bulbous cock from its placing and began to milk it lightly. She moaned as she stroked it. He moaned in response, reaching up again to bury his dried fingers into her ribbons of silken curls.

"Ohhh, my whore," he whispered.

The Father began to glide his hands around her neck, down around her shoulders, then finally resting on the bare globes of her breasts. He pulled them, kneading the meat under her jiggling flesh. He tugged the hard, long nipples, and leant in to suck one into his mouth. His tongue fit around the nipple easily, sucking and twisting it between his lips and teeth. She seemed to respond to that, breathing harder, her hand pumping his cock a little more restlessly.

He let his other hand fall between the hidden slit of her cunt - where he couldn't help remembering his tongue had so recently tasted. She opened her thighs a little for him, and he slid his finger between the lips of her saturated pussy, stroking her as best he knew how. She responded to that, too, lifting one leg up and linking it around his hip, opening herself widely for him so that his finger could slide up into her wet, muscular hole.

"Oh Father, I want your cock," she spat in his ear, salivating from the pleasure.

"Lie down, my child" he replied, his voice trembling.

They helped each other to lay back and he quickly spread her legs, lifting her creamy wet thighs up and piercing her cunt with the head of his cock.

The scent of her juice flooded the air, got into his sinuses, his head, his throat. She was warm and inviting as Hannah let the first inch of his cock into her tightness. He eased himself into her at first, then suddenly began to fuck her faster and harder, thrusting his entire cock deeply into her from tip to root, burying the entire length of his hard, unused bone into her tight, slippery little hole.

He slid well, though there was friction from the grip she had on him. He slid into her, then out, and in again, pumping her deeply. He tried to pull back and watch as her nipples hardened and softened as her desire quelled and was fuelled. He began to rub the pink nubs with one hand, and with the other tickled her protruding pussy lips. He found her clitoris, and happily began to stroke it. She quickly began to thrust herself around beneath him, arching her back, lifting her body to him, then falling back again, writhing and flowing like a fountain.

She let the back of her head grind against the altar floor, staring up at the rear view of the statue of Jesus as Father Lorrie rammed into her. The pressure from his cock inside her began to build up the heat of desire again, her body beginning to burn and thrust with him. They fucked under the statue, he spread her legs further apart - in his head thinking perhaps God would enjoy watching this display.

He tried to watch her himself, taking pleasure from her writhing on the stone cold steps, feeling it deep in the root of his cock, twitching in his balls as he knew he was close to spurting his lonely load inside her. He etched himself deeper into her body, carving his way through her belly with his grunting cock. Quickly he forced himself down against her, fucking deeper as she felt his cock engorge, stiffen, his balls tighten and then loosen as he gushed into her, the pleasure bursting through his body like a wave of ecstasy.

The Father cried out into the empty church halls. The sound echoed eerie and low, punctuating the silence with desire.

She juiced him well, milking his penis, then tightening so that when he plopped out of her, he could not push back in again, and the cum spurted over her pussy and belly. Little droplets of cum dribbled on her, and the very sight sent more waves of pleasure through his groin. She dipped her finger in, then lifted it to her breast and rubbed the cum into her nipple. Hannah then licked her finger, and he spurted a little droplet of cum out on her chest in response to the sight.

Father Lorrie fell back on his heels, then back on the floor weakly. Hannah lay where she'd been fucked, her hair wildly caught in the fingers of her right hand, her body battered and pleasured.

"Father."

"Y... yes?"

"You fuck so well."

He chuckled lightly, "Oh, Hannah. I guess I've been saving up everything I had."

"I hope not," she sat up, leaning against the foot of Christ, "I hope you have more in you. Because I want to fuck you again. And again."

The words were like music to his born-again virginal ears. He nodded.

"Well. You will have to give me a moment to recuperate, angel."

He stroked her lips with his finger and kissed her lightly.

.....