Mirage

"Can I help you, Father?" I said, leaning on the car's door, unmindful of my alluring, mesmerizing demeanour, unaware of the sheerness of my dress—hugging, revealing the succulent temptations of my flesh in the soft afternoon breeze.

"I-I thought I'd apologize f-for Father Dino...," the priest said, stammering, swallowing hard, feasting on my unintentional indecent provocation. Father Dino's yearly sojourn to test his vows of priesthood proved fruitful for the Church, he said, yet with a sad, unavoidable baggage he must leave behind—me.

"But now—I-I believe his confessions w-were all true," the priest continued, anxious, licking his lips, taking malicious deep breath, the lewdness of his expectations dripping in his sweaty, wrinkle-lined face. Sir Dino wanted to stay with me, according to him.

"Can I confess too, Father?" I said with a soft, wicked chuckle—the hem of my dress rising high on my thighs while the thin straps slid off my shoulders unveiling the delectable swells of my bobbing breasts—exposing more of my tease as I slithered in the seat beside the priest.

"Of course, my child," the priest said, and leaned forward to close the door. "I'm here to guide you," he continued, his watery eyes glued on the soft mounds of my breasts, on the silken gloss of my thighs, his erection thumping wild like his heart.

"Lead the way, Father," I said, as the priest's hairy arm brushed along my protruding nipples, pressed lightly against the bulging roundness of my breasts, testing if I will resist. I unzipped his pants without hesitation to calm his fears, his trembling hands mashing and squeezing my succulent tits in rabid eagerness—a depraved old, fucking hypocrite.

With summer ablaze and my plans ruined—my dreams already lost and forgotten—a city life beckons hot and liberating. I have a ticket now—slobbering, greedy and eager as the driver, the gardener, and the cook combined—tickling my senses for the unknown pleasures and adventures of new life.

I smiled. My heart resolved to change the course of my fate. I will enjoy the process, I know, embracing the empowering freedom releasing myself from the humiliation and submissive servitude of my past, the degrading shackles that tied me to the treachery of a liar—always loving, waiting, obedient and patient as a nun.

I am Omma...I am what I am, and I will be me in the bustles of life in the city.

I opened myself wide and began to wallow with glee beneath the shadows of dark clouds hovering in the coming dusk. I squeezed tight the ring of my anal delight, and the priest convulsed, crumpled, ejaculating hard—quivering, melting in the seat of his car.

"I-I love you, Omma," he groaned, hugging me, holding me, seeking my strength, my pleasures, my uniqueness and beauty—everything not new to me but ringing with leaden familiarity. His words echoed the same empty certainty, an all-too recognizable hollow hypocrisy as I laughed...It's time to pack.

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Thank you for reading my story. I appreciate and welcome comments and suggestions as I improve my craft. I hope you enjoyed my story. Stop by soon to read part two: "AFTERIMAGE". And please don't forget to vote!

Thank you once again,

Lin Min