Broken Bridget Gets Religion

He's less a Priest and more a god. His physique has been carved by divine hands. Father John Adams. The girls in the gym go gaga over him. Sharon swears that he's gay. She says there's no way he could resist her charms, cloth or no cloth. He's a Catholic Priest by trade. That means off limits.

God could not have created such an exquisite creature and not meant for it to be shared. It flies in the face of natural justice. I study his chiseled features that are offset by the kindest eyes. He studies my resume from across the table. I imagine sweeping the table clear and throwing myself on it to be ravished by him. Being in the same room with Father Adams in an incredible turn on. I'm so close...

I'm Bridget. My victims call me Broken Bridget. Actually, people have a lot of names for me and most of them are vicious. Some of them are cute, like Bridget Double B's and Double D's. The D's are for my tits, the B's are for my attitude. I earned a rep for being a bit of a home wrecker. I find it fascinating to see how far I can push a man out of his comfort zone. How much will he sacrifice for my pouty lips or my golden pussy? The answer is usually EVERYTHING. In their defense, there aren't too many men alive that can resist my stacked 21 year old body, capped with naturally gigantic bouncy boobs and an angel face framed with golden hair. I'd fuck me (and do, often).

The choker irritates me and I feel stifled in the long sleeved shift dress. Dressing conservatively is not my style. But I'm creating an image and it requires an abrupt departure from my normal, slutty self. This may be my zaniest plan yet, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I'm desperate for Father Adams' cock. And balls and ass and mouth and tongue...

The Church Of Our Lady of Perpetual Replenishment is his parish. How fortunate for me that they just happen to have an opening for a secretary position. I'll take any position he can offer, but that's what got me in the door. Father Adams peers at me, deep in thought.

"You certainly look younger than 28, Miss Francine," he says.

"Father, you're too kind," I blush demurely. Of course I lied. I'm only 21, but I had to fabricate some work experience to support my application. His eyes slide down my body and back to the paper a little too slowly. Perhaps there's something there I can work with.

"Impressive experience, even for 28," he mutters. "And you type over 100 words per minute," he emits a low whistle. I can't type to save my life. It took me ten minutes to produce that single page of bullshit. It seems to have been effective.

He blathers on about the position. He discusses a variety of computer applications that I pretend to know as I smile and promise professional proficiency. I begin to get bored until he mentions travel.

"Travel? Yes, of course I'd be interested."

"Well, Bridget, there are times you'd need to accompany me to conferences. I go to Italy every second year."

"Father, that would be amazing. I love to travel. I'd take such good care of you."

He coughs nervously, perhaps sensing my intentions. I remind myself to be careful, lest I scare away the prey. He's renowned for his proficiency at deflection. The game is afoot, but I've got a trump card laying in wait.

A gray haired lady pops her head in the room. "I left the kettle on for you, as you like. Is there anything else you'll be needing, Father? I'm just on my way out."

"No Mildred, thank you though. Have a wonderful night. Oh, please meet Bridget. It's looking more and more likely that she'll be the new Helen." I rise and shake Mildred's hand, careful to avoid eye contact. I pretend to be demure and humble. Church ladies eat that shit up with both hands. The older woman studies me. I feel all my secrets laid bare. She knows, I just know she knows. But instead, she smiles and wishes me well. Then she's gone.

I intentionally requested a late day time slot. So far it is working out exactly as I had planned. I'm pretty sure we're alone now.

"Well then, Bridget. Where were we?"

The kettle blows its tiny head off. He starts to get up, but I'm faster.

"Oh no, Father! Please, allow me. I mean, I might as well start off on the right foot?"

"That's a splendid idea. And we can find some treats to snack on while we sip tea. Splendid!" He claps his hands together, eyes twinkling. I want to grab his glorious hair and crush his face into my chest. I thought I was squirming before, but I am literally gushing now. I jump up and down as I feign excitement for the tea and crumpets. He can't help but gawk at my bouncing beauties. I may have forgotten to wear a bra. Underneath my conservative dressed knotted to my neck, my gargantuan hammers threaten to erupt from the fabric. His eyes get their fill before he awkwardly turns away.

That was a test and he just passed. This is getting better and better.

We go into the kitchen and whip up some Earl Grey. He discovers some chocolate chip cookies and insists on warming them in the toaster oven. I fish into my pocket and locate a tiny vial containing a very special liquid. I prepared this liquid on the slim hope that I would have an opportunity to unveil my 'Master Plan'. With his head in the toaster oven, I pour the vial into his drink with no fuss.

Minutes later, we're sitting at the table and giggling like a couple of girls. I see a side of him that I've not seen before. He's sensitive and quiet, but he also has a wicked sense of humor and a potent sense of style. The way he warms cookies, the way he laughs, the way he dodges every girls' attempts to bed him, all of those things have me thinking he might not be interested in girls. Luckily, I don't need him to be into girls. I just need him to be into me. And in me. Soon.

"Thish is the mosssht fun I've had in a long time," he says with twinkling eyes. He doesn't seem to notice that he slurred. I know the serum is working. First comes the euphoria, then the brain fog, followed by arousal. I should know; I sometimes consume it myself for added effect. It takes the slut in me and cranks her ten.

"It is very hot in here, Father."

"Yessh, it is stuffy." A sheen of sweat breaks out on his forehead. The timing couldn't have been better.

"Why don't you take off your jacket. It's just me, Father. You need to learn to relax around me if I'm going to be working for you."

He shakes his head, drawing together his focus. "I want to offer you the job right now, I just..."

"What?"

"I can't help but feel like we have some sort of connection. I can't recall feeling this way about anyone for a very long time. Pleash... forgive me for shpeaking sho boldly. Dear me, catsh got my tongue."

"I want to be there to support you, Father. I want to take care of you so you can turn all of your energy to doing the Lord's work."

He stares at me, seemingly unable to form a word. His eyes drop to my chest. I know he loves boobs by the way his eyes popped out when I gave them a healthy bounce. I notice a glint from the corner of his mouth and notice that a sliver of drool is forming. He's good and cooked now.

Time to stimulate and check the response. I absently lift a hand to my throat and reference the clasp. I unhook it and slide the zipper down. My dress splits as my neck and throat are revealed. I stop at the threshold to my cleavage. His eyes bore into me with a strange intensity. The battle that should be waging in his conscience is silent now. The drugs took care of that. Left in its place is confusion. The tipping point will come when arousal rises to the critical point where it topples a lifetime of training and reserved decorum.

"You don't mind if I get a little cool air, don't you, Father? The heat is making me feel a tad dizzy." He nods eagerly. He licks his lips but keeps his counsel to himself. "I mean, I really need to get some air on my skin. That's ok, right?" He nods. I realize my hand is shaking as I move it into position to take the plunge. I grasp the zipper and pull it all the way down. It only descends halfway down the front of my torso, but the result is impressive. My bra-less boobs strain at the material. Each one is the size of his head. The bright pink flesh of half of each of my aeroealas are visible. His eyes but out and his mouth works rhythmically. I think he's trying to say something, but then I notice that he's making suckling motions. He wants my tits!

I pull them through the opening. His hot hands are on them in a moment. He makes a pitched whining sound, almost as though he is a man starving and he can't believe someone's thrown him a morsel. More than a morsel, in fact, more than a handful. He loses himself in my breasts, rubbing his face and mouth and tongue all over the flesh. He sucks my nipples with incredible passion. He sends shots of pleasure firing through my body. I moan into him and reach for his cock.

I can't believe it what I discover. I run my hands up and down his leg, scarcely able to reconcile the proof of what I have in my hands. He's more than huge; he's got a monster cock. I push him back against the chair and kneel to reveal. My hands shake as I pull at his belt and pants. He watches me with a ravenous look on his face. Father Adams is gone; I've replaced him with a more malleable version. Horny Father. Soon to be Happy Father.

I gasp when it springs free. This is a cock that must not be hidden from the world. I've never seen one like it, in real life. It's a porn star cock. Possibly a foot long, definitely thick as hell, and perfectly formed with a beautiful head the size of my fist. I feel daunted, but I'm no quitter. I don't know how I'll get it in my mouth or pussy, but I know I'd like to die trying.

I slip my dress over my head before I get down to business. There's no turning back now. We're too far along to stop. I stretch my lips over the head and elicit a low guttural moan from the Father. I wonder if he's ever had his dick sucked before. I try to get as much of the flesh into my mouth to maximize his pleasure. I recruit my hands to the effort and this gets his eyes rolling back in his head. He's concrete solid and throbbing.

Neither of us say a word. I think we're both silently terrified that we'll break the spell with our voices. I don't want him to think, I just want him to feel. Thinking could bring him back to the fact that he's shitting all over his vows for a young slut like me. I prefer to speak with my mouth, sucking his cock.

His eyes are closed and his face is a contorted mask of pleasure. Its almost as though he's so unfamiliar with sex that he doesn't quite know how to comport himself. His hands hang impotent at his side. I guide them to my nipples. He proves proficient at plucking them to distraction while manhandling my globes. It feels great and it prompts me to let him fuck my skull just a wee harder.

But my pussy aches.

My cunt ached from the moment I hatched this plan. My pussy nearly gushed when his godly hammer was revealed. I lost my mind the minute his pre-cum hit my tongue. I need to fuck him now. Jesus Himself is not stopping this from happening.

He's mine.

I pin his hands to my tits as I climb his body. Fuck he's fit. I slowly grind against him as I slide up his legs and plant myself atop his lap. His cock is stiff as fuck and splitting my ass cheeks. It gives off heat like a cuddly puppy begging to play. I smash my tits into his hungry face. His breath wheezes as I nearly suffocate him. He willingly surrenders to my breast flesh.

I rise up. I'm soaked so no lube is required. I just... need... to..f...f...focus.

It feels like I'm sitting on the tip of a glacier. The head splits my eager cunt like its been waiting for it all of its life (it has). But then, the pain. The pain that never ends. I throw my arms around his powerful shoulders and cling to him through the anguish. I scream and he tries to free himself from my tits to see if I'm alright, but I cling to him even harder. I don't know how much of this I can take but I'm prepared to pass out if that is what it takes. I've had big dildos but this is a whole other level. This shatters every white boy cock theory ever. The Father's a freak!

I don't understand why I haven't bottomed out yet. It feels like I've been sliding down yards of dick for hours. Actually, time loses all meaning and the blind pain is all I see. I want to pull myself off of him but my locked arms won't cooperate. When did a sheen of sweat break out on my body?

I realize with a start that I can't feel my legs. I can't stop now. I reach around for his balls. I caress them and elicit another deep moan from my prey. I run my hand up and discover that I'm close. I'm almost... at the... bottom.

And then the tingle announces the arrival of my reprieve. In a twinkle, the pain evaporates and is replaced by blossoming pleasure. I fucking literally glow. My mouth parts in earnest as I start to fuck the Father with slow deliberate strokes. My ass slides up and down his massive dick. I can feel it throbbing inside me. I scream with pleasure this time.

He stands up. I nearly faint from the intensity of being picked up like I'm a doll. He fucks me standing for awhile. We're like porn stars. Sex has never been this good. My tits flop furiously against his powerful chest as he pumps me deeper than I've ever felt. I see God and I become a true believer. The power of the dick is on full display for me and converting me to a lifetime of service. Granted, I was well on my way down that path before the good Father filled me with a bountiful tithe.

"I'm damned but I'll damned well earn it," he mutters. I feel the flesh raise on my arms. Its the way he says it that gets me nervous. He has enough dick to kill me, I realize with a shudder. A smile quickly follows as I start to count the number of orgasms I'll have on the Highway to Hell. And I'm going down...

He bends me over the table. I pour myself across the hardwood, my tits spreading to my armpits. He locates my nipples and gives them a squeeze as he sinks into me from behind.

"Cunt, so good. How? Why?" he mutters as he sinks into me. I feel my brain melt for the umpteenth time. I surrender and close my eyes, my mouth slightly open and drooling. He pounds me with no sense of urgency. Its as though he plans on fucking me until the end of time. I cannot explain the thresholds I experience. He continues to mutter to himself. I can scarcely focus on his whispered words against the rush of my blood thundering in my ears. I've never had a lover like him. I lose track of time but no less than an hour of fucking passes before he gives any signs of nearing the end.

"Where?" he asks. Its a simple, dignified request. He pounded me for hours like I was a slab of meant, and yet he still thought enough of me to ask where he should shoot his load. How kind. Unfortunately, my brain is mashed potatoes and I'm cum drunk beyond comprehension. I gargle a few unintelligible sounds and savor every last moment of the dicking. I won't walk for a week and I'll relish every second of it.

He tosses me off and pushes my head to the floor as he kneels over me. Father Adams wraps a hand around my neck and squeezes. He squeezes his cock over my face with the other. He increases the pressure without saying a word. I see darkness in his eyes and in my growing confusion, I feel panic. I open my mouth to scream and he lets up. I close my mouth and he instantly chokes me.

I get it. Open wide. Here it comes.

The first shot catches me off guard and slices just below my eye. I close them against the torrent as Father Adams unleashes untold eons of pent up cum. Stream after stream falls on me like thick white ropes for what seems like an eternity. I know I look like I'm at the tail end of a gang bang, but I'm only with one man. Or is he a fucking god? I've never seen anyone cum like this! I mean, we should make movies. Damn.

His hand slips off my neck as he collapses next to me. He's completely spent.

"Oh no you don't, Father," I say as cum drips into my mouth. It's delicious so I simply can't resist taking a minute to devour as much as I can. The last mouthful brings up a terrible burp, but my pussy sizzles knowing that its next to a bellyfull of cum. I'm kind of perverted that way. No apologies.

I guide the semi-conscious fallen father to his room. I guide him into bed. He curls up and sleeps, even when I clean his cock with a warm cloth. I sort his clothes in his room and clear off the tea cups, disposing of the evidence. I leave the kitchen in the same way I found it, with one exception. I left him a note.

"Dear Father Adams. I accept. Your Bridget."

With legs more wobbly than baby Bambi, I stagger home. I know fucking Father Adams was a mistake, but not for the reason you'd think. It turns out, its a curse. I don't know if I'll ever be able to enjoy a normal sized cock again. And baby, that's a tragedy of epic proportions.

Two days later, riding atop Father Adams' stupendous cock in his study, thoughts of being spoiled by dick have flown from my mind. It turns out, Father Adams is a hornier and sicker fuck than me. That's right, I've hit the motherfucking jackpot! I mean, I've learned to take that monster in my ass. He's the best Priest of all time. He's taken me to Heaven so many times I'm on a first name basis with Old St. Pete.

That doesn't mean I've sworn off other dick. Or pussies. But lets just say, I could worship that dick all day long. Who knew that a broken bitch like me would find religion?