Mr. Wallace and Me Pt. 13-15

Part 13:

Father Kincaid calmly locked the front door and walked slowly around me, making little clucking noises as if appraising me as I stood there feeling more and more vulnerable, goosebumps appearing on my bare back, neck and shoulders. His deep, gravelly voice, the same one that was so intimidating when I was an altar boy, seemed to go right through me. I may have looked sophisticated and beautiful in my sexy gown, but I felt like a frightened child as the huge, old priest moved his craggy face close to me, put his right hand roughly behind my neck and bellowed.

"Do you know you could have done me permanent harm when you kicked me at the church, Billy?"

My gloved arms helplessly handcuffed behind me, forcing my small breasts to jut out, my lower lip began to quiver. I thought he was going to punch me.

"Please, Father Kincaid," I said, my voice cracking nervously. "I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me."

"Hurt you?" he said, almost kindly, his face so close to mine that I could smell his old-man breath, "I'm a priest, Billy. I have decided to turn the other cheek ... or more accurately ... the other testicle. Besides, before long, you'll be kissing it and making it better."

I was astounded when he said that. Tears welled up in my eyes. My voice was cracking.

"There's no way," I said, shaking my head, my earrings jingling. "There's no way I would ever do that. I hate you, you old pervert.You should be ashamed to call yourself a priest."

Father Kincaid's misshapen, arthritic hands moved to the soft, bare skin of my upper chest on either side of my halter, his long, bony fingers probing, leaving me feeling violated.

All evening long, from the time I left home to go to the wedding, I had felt so sensual and desirable in my gown with my earrings, makeup and long, white gloves making me feel and look like a young princess. The men at the wedding couldn't keep their eyes off me, and the women were catty and jealous because I was prettier than they were. The clerk and the concierge at the hotel were eager for me just to smile at them. Dr. Phillips, more than 30 years older than me, couldn't keep his hands off me.

But now, standing in front of the old, sinister priest with my wrists handcuffed behind my slender, bare back, so much of my skin exposed, I began to flash back to when I was in the back room of the convenience store in that sexy schoolgirl outfit with my wrists restrained, feeling so helpless - and turned on - as Gary the clerk had his way with me. Now Father Kincaid's wrinkled, age-spotted, 70-something hands were on me, and something within me was stirring even as I told him how much I loathed him.

"Ashamed?" he said self-righteously. "You speak of shame? You're a boy, a young man, and look at you, wearing a revealing dress just like a woman."

His hands traveled lightly over my soft, bare shoulders as he continued to lecture me. I couldn't help but writhe as he made my skin crawl.

"What you have become is blasphemous," he thundered, "an offense to your religion and this church."

His big, rough hands meandered over my bare back, his fetid breath on my neck. My body began to betray me. I was weakening, but a part of me just wanted to die.

"I saw you making a spectacle of yourself dancing with that man at the wedding."

Father Kincaid's right hand moved to the slit in my dress. His fingers moved slowly up the inside of my left thigh. It felt like a cross between a tickle and a caress, My eyes closed. His hand moved almost all around my slender thigh. I was having trouble breathing.

"Rubbing your body all over that man who was old enough to be your father, kissing him in public."

Tears started to well up in my eyes as I struggled against the handcuffs.

"You keep saying these terrible things to me," I said, my small chest heaving, my voice cracking, :"But ... you ... keep ... touching ... me."

"Well now," he said, smiling, "a priest has his privileges. That's why I was able to have that fine policeman wait for you in the parking lot. Good Christian man, that Timothy, brings his family to church every Sunday. He'll be expecting to see you dressed just as you are when he returns. Still, that shouldn't be a problem, should it, Billy?

With that, both of Father Kincaid's hands moved under my dress to my hips and grasped my panties. Then, ever-so-slowly, he pulled them down my long, slender legs, moved them off me over my high heels and held them in front of him. He inspected them closely, then smiled to himself.and put them into a drawer in his desk.

I stood there, feeling even more exposed, humiliated because my little penis was stirring..

The priest's left hand moved all over my bare back, holding me close to him as his right hand moved up and down my thigh. My body was trembling, my mind muddled, trying to process my hatred for this horrible man who had baptised me and had the entire church community fooled into thinking he was saintly, and the sensations going through my body as he held and caressed me. His face close to mine, I stood helplessly in my lovely halter, my legs growing weak.

"You are a disgrace to your wonderful mother," he said. "A disgrace to your whole family."

The priest smiled confidently, his long, bony fingers strongly grasping my bare shoulders, making me shudder, even as the old man's strength made something inside me flutter in feminine surrender.

"Do you remember, Billy, how you threatened last time to tell everyone you know that I had sex with you?"

My eyes wide, I nodded warily, my long earrings jingling.

"Well, now that you have been caught by the police stealing from me, what do you think the chances are of anyone believing you?"

I hadn't thought of that. His hands squeezed my sensitive shoulders harder, like he owned me.

"I ... I guess not, Father," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"So," he said cruelly, his fingers loosening to a caress on my shoulders, "what's to stop me from having the good officer arrest you and take you downtown to jail?"

"Please, Father," I pleaded, my eyes wet with tears. "I just couldn't bear that. My parents ... they wouldn't understand. Please ... I said I was sorry."

With that, Father Kincaid's hands moved down and gripped my tiny waist, the tips of his fingers on the bare skin of my back. He moved his thick lips to my collarbone, then slowly, sooo slowly, moved his tongue over my right shoulder and down my bare, restrained arm until he got to the top of my white glove. I writhed in protest. Then, I tried to kick him in the groin like I had done the last time, but he was ready for it and blocked my knee with his right leg.

We stood there for long, torturous minutes, both his rough hands holding my waist as he repeated the process with his mouth on my left shoulder and arm. He smelled musty, like mothballs in a closet, his old face looking like he was entitled to do with me what he pleased.

Father Kincaid took a step back, smiled confidently and looked me up and down before pulling his black cassock off over his head, He had nothing on underneath. His huge, flabby, wrinkled, florid body was covered with what looked like one immense patch of gray hair. For the first time, I saw the ancient penis that had taken me so forcefully from behind in his office. It was uncircumcized, thick and almost angry-looking as it emerged from a swath of gray pubic hair. The only things on his body were his clerical collar and his black socks and shoes.

He was so old, so gross. Why was it that I felt like a captured young debutante in a romance novel, so young and sensual while looking up at him in my beautiful gown and long, white gloves? Was it struggling to free my wrists from the handcuffs that made me shimmy girlishly? Why couldn't I catch my breath? Why was my panty-less little penis so erect?

Father Kincaid turned his back and walked toward a big, soft, living toom chair. If anything, his huge hairy body looked more saggy and disgusting from behind. He sat back comfortably, his thick penis resting in front of him as he looked at me standing there, feeling so vulnerable and uncomfortable.

"Come here, child," he said, his crocodile smile revealing his uneven, gray teeth.

I stood where I was, my lips pressed together, trying to keep from crying as I shook my head "no." Father Kincaid's face turned serious.

"I said, come here," he ordered. "Or do I tell the police that I want to press charges?"

There was nothing I could do. I started to sob as I walked slowly to him in my high heels, my breasts slightly jutting out, my posture erect and feminine with my wrists being restrained behind me.

"I have to concede, Billy," he said, "that while you are an abomination to all that is righteous, you are most surely beautiful in that dress. But Peter tells us in the Bible that your beauty should not come from outward adornment. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit. Now, get on your knees, child."

On my knees! This hypocrite quotes the Bible, then ...on my knees?

It wasn't easy in my dress and high heels and with my arms behind me, but soon my knees were on the thick carpet, my face staring right into Father Kincaid's thick, soft penis. His large, rough right hand grasped the back of my neck and pulled my head down into his thick bush of smelly pubic hair. I was beyond helpless as he held my face in place.

"Kiss my balls, you little harlot," he ordered, pushing the back of my neck harder. His thick penis was pressed up against my face. There was no denying him. I tenderly kissed his gross, hairy scrotum.

"Good," Father Kincaid said, his voice more gravelly than usual. "Now, the other one."

I did as I was told, wetly kissing his other testicle. His hand on my neck pulled my head back. He looked down at me and smiled cruelly.

"What was that you had said, Billy?" he said. "No way you would ever 'kiss it and make it better?''"

Oh my goodness! He was right. That's exactly what I had done. He was smugly triumphant, and I was so humiliated.

"Come now, child," he said, his voice barely above a whisper as his hand brought my face forward again. "Put my penis into your mouth like a good girl."

I was defeated. Without protest, I let that thick, limp, old, uncut cock enter my moist mouth. It was the first soft penis I had ever had on my tongue.It felt so icky, but there was something strangely erotic about sucking it. After several minutes, it began to spring to life and I had to open very wide. I could feel the organ's ridges on my tongue and the roof of my mouth. His hand on my neck moving my head slowly forward and back, I was too ashamed and defeated to even cry.

"Ah, that's a sweet, young thing," Father Kincaid said, so satisfied with himself.

The old man's penis was kind of bitter, and I found myself trying to avoid the taste by flooding it with saliva, making wet, erotic sounds as it went into and out of my lipsticked mouth. I don't know how long I leaned forward in my beautiful gown and sucked the awful old priest's hard, vile organ, but finally he leaned forward and brought me to my feet by my upper arms. I stood there in a daze as he carefully raised the skirt of my gown up to my slender waist.

His huge, rough hands then reached behind me and gripped my bare little bottom.

"What a wonderful ass, Billy," he said, kissing my neck as he kneaded my tight cheeks. "What a wonderful little ass."

Father Kincaid's powerful hands lifted me up off the carpet by my bottom. I had to lean forward into him to keep from falling backwards. He sat back and maneuvered me onto his lap with both my legs stretched out on either side of his torso. His hands on my bottom lifted me up several inches as his thick cock paused at my anus. Despite our position, he was so much taller than me that our faces were almost the same height as I looked into his eyes and shook my head "No" slowly and mournfully, knowing that I couldn't expect any mercy or compassion from this lascivious man of the cloth.

As my eyes fixed almost hypnotically on his clerical collar, his thick penis slowly entered me and stretched my opening wide, his strong hands lowering me slowly while I moaned and thrashed about with my wrists bound behind me.

"Please!" I cried. "It hurts! You're too big! Oh please don't do this to me!"

But, he did do it to me. Slowly he lowered my body down until my tight little bottom rested on his lap, trying to adjust to the girth of his cock filling me up so completely. My hair and makeup still immaculate, the top of my halter gown in place, my long earrings swinging gently from my lobes as Father Kincaid held me, I was grateful that he didn't thrust, just letting me get used to having that thick organ inside me. But I absolutely could not catch my breath. My mouth was open as I tried to breathe in and out. Finally, my breathing subsided and the old priest pulled me to him by my shoulders and our lips grew close. I closed mine tightly.

"Come now, child," he said, his voice taking on almost a paternal tone. His right hand slowly moved down and grasped my erect little penis. His smile was knowing and triumphant. "Don't resist."

I didn't want to accept his kiss. I really didn't, despite my little penis jutting out in front of me as he released it and moved both his hands to my back. But what was the use of resistance if Father Kincaid was threatening to press charges and ruin my life?

His thick lips moved so lightly onto mine that I could feel their texture.He moved them almost imperceptively side-to-side, with his hands now on my slim shoulders, preventing me from leaning away. In a twisted, strange way, it was erotically personal, two humans - one old, the other young - sharing a kind of perverted intimacy with the rest of the world shut out. His tongue tested my lips, but I held them tight. His leisurely lips pressed harder against mine. He was breathing a little harder now, and I could smell his moldy breath as his hands on my sensitive shoulders held me down onto his pulsating cock.

The kiss seemed to last forever, and I don't know exactly when it was I surrendered, but soon the old priest's tongue was exploring my mouth and his hands were all over my bare skin.. With my wrists secured over my white gloves behind my bare back, there was little I could do except shimmy and moan helplessly. My will to resist was dissipating with each kiss as his possesive hands took ownership of my firm, undulating body.

I began to move slightly up and down on his cock as it became more comfortable and returned his kiss as his hands moved all over my bare back. If my wrists weren't handcuffed behind my back I might have femininely crossed my arms around his turkey neck. The contrast of his old, gnarly body against my smooth, slender one wasn't lost on me. I hated Father Kincaid ... I hated him ... I shouldn't be kissing him back. I shouldn't be moving on that thick cock inside me. I shouldn't be letting it turn me on..

As our lips parted, the old priest still didn't thrust. He leaned back and looked at me, his hands caressing my back and shoulders.

"You're really very pretty, you know, Billy," he said."You remind me so much of someone I met about 20 years ago or so when I must have been - what - 53 or 54."

He leaned in and kissed me again, his tongue lingering in my yielding mouth, before continuing.

"She was a young newlywed, slender, blonde and wearing a pretty summer dress when she came to Confession," he said, one finger playing momentarily with my left earring, "She was new to town, very shy and nervous, and said she desperately needed to confide in someone. It had taken all of her courage to come to Confession, but she had been taught that she could place her trust in a priest."

I didn't know why Father Kincaid was telling me all this ancient history. His thick cock was inside me, my bottom making a feeble effort despite myself to manuever it to my prostate, his loathsome hands idly moving lightly up and down my bare arms, making me tingle.

"It took a long time," he continued, "for her to tell me what was troubling her. She had been a virgin before she was married. Her new husband was a good man, she said, but she wanted to get pregnant, and they were having trouble. Not only that, but she had been girlishly looking forward to sex with her husband, and now she found it unsatisfying. It seems her husband's penis was extremely small and slender."

Father Kincaid pulled me to him for another long kiss, which I didn't resist. I found myself squeezing his penis with my bottom, shimmying in his grasp and moaning softly until he ended the kiss, leaned back and went on with his story. I was having trouble paying attention to it.

"I told the young woman that she must seek guidance from on-high and to continue to be a good wife to her husband. She left the confessional, began to cry and searched her purse for a tissue. She was so slender and lovely in her summer dress, all bare arms and legs and a hint of cleavage. I gave her my handkerchief, and she nodded gratefully but wouldn't stop crying, I put my arm around her and offered her a cup of tea. She smiled bravely through her tears, nodded and leaned against me as I walked her to my rectory, the very room we find ourselves in now, Billy.

"She smelled like lilacs, and her skin had a radiant, alluring quality to it, a lot like yours. She was feeling safe and secure as we walked here and I cuddled her into me ... and was the most surprised girl in the world when I kissed her lips hard. She was so shocked. She cried out and struggled, but I held onto her and kissed her again."

I could feel Father Kincaid's cock grow inside me as he recalled what he had done to that poor girl. I realized that he had been a horny fiend even before I was born. I hated myself for being in the situation I was in, where I had to submit to his desires. I wondered how long it would be before the policeman came back.

"In between my kisses, she begged me to let her go," he said, "and I'm not totally proud of what I did. I had been celebrate for so long, and she was so sweet and incredibly pure and beautiful. I'm afraid I threw her down and forced myself upon her, holding her wrists over her head with one hand while taking her panties off with the other. You should have seen how wide her eyes got when I penetrated her. For the first time in her young life, she found out what it was like to be fucked, to be fucked by a real man with a real man's dick.

"That's the same dick that's inside you right now, Billy," he said with an arrogant smile as one massive hand moved to my neck and face before he kissed me, his tongue teasing mine, leaving little doubt that he was in charge.

"She cried while I fucked her in the missionary position, but after several minutes, her loins were moving with my thrusts and her panting mouth welcomed my tongue. I let go of her wrists and soon her arms were around my neck, pulling me to her. Because she was crying, I could tell she hated herself, but I could tell she desperately needed a thick cock inside her and a masculine man to fuck her.

"I was in my 50s, and a priest. I knew I was probably going to hell, but I didn't care. She was so young, trusting and beautiful. I grabbed her blonde hair and pounded into her again and again, my tongue owning her little mouth. I grabbed her cute, perky left breast and nuzzled her neck. When I pinched her left nipple, her eyes rolled back in her head as she screamed and reached the first orgasm of her life. That put me over the edge. I rammed into her, gushing my seed into her nubile, unresisting body."

At that memory, Father Kincaid began thrusting up harder into me. It felt so powerful, its girth filling up my canal. He began wetly kissing my bare upper chest next to my right shoulder. I wondered what the point of his story was. Was he confessing to me for some unknown reason?