Only The Good Die Young Ch. 2

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She visits her priest again.
2.5k words
4.21
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Part 2 of the 3 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 10/01/2001
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ANCILLA
ANCILLA
8 Followers

The doorbell echoes deep from within the two story brick house.

"Come in, Lori, how are you?"

What am I supposed to say? We both know why I'm here, and having an affair with a priest under the guise of marital counseling isn't anything to write home about.

I want to say that I'm scared, that I feel terribly guilty, that this is wrong but that I can't not do this, and as I look up into his blue eyes, trying to form my reply, even though I am the one with sexual experience, albeit minimal, I feel suddenly shy, skittish. Maybe it's the forbidden lure of the taboo. Maybe it's his overwhelming presence. Maybe I'm just horny as hell, but he never gets his answer.

Father Mike seems confident enough; he's wearing old tight faded jeans, a 38 or 40, I'd guess, and a St. Louis Cardinals (from back when they WERE the Cardinals) t-shirt. His red hair is wet, combed neatly and smells wonderfully sexy, even from this distance.

Stepping aside, holding the heavy oak door open for me, he says in a low voice, "Come in, Lori. Now."

Unable to maintain eye contact, I look down and step inside the darkened foyer, lit only by a single votive on the side table, staring at the dark green marble floor clutching my purse tightly with both hands. He's awfully aggressive tonight, I think to myself.

"The maid's gone home for the night and Monsignor Eager's at a conference in Springfield. I thought our...meeting would be more comfortable in the den rather than my office."

Several scenarios and thoughts flow heterogeneously through my mind without my actually forming the words and thinking them. Ok. He wants to go ahead with this, he wants me, I can see that, but I can also see that he's going to have to go through some sort of off-the-wall ritual in order to justify this to himself, and to me, also. This can't be easy for him; it sure as hell isn't easy for me.

Father Mike's eyes are tender, his hand gentle yet firm as he takes me by the elbow and guides me down the hall through a door on the right, into what I can only assume is the den, where a fire is casting undulating shadows across the booklined walls from the fireplace.

Gracing the only free wall above the fireplace hang antique weapons and instruments of torture from hundreds of years ago. What odd decor for a den in a priest's house, I think to myself. Compelled to acquire a better look at these old iron devices, I move away from Mike. He watches as I walk toward the fireplace, my upturned eyes staring in fascination, unable to tear my gaze away.

Facing the fire, my eyes glued to the wall above the mantle, the front of my body is warmed delightfully, chasing away the chill of the autumn evening air.

It had taken me two months to screw up the courage to phone for another appointment with Mike, and I'd been grateful that I hadn't had to speak directly with him when I called, talking rather with Bunny, the Church secretary who had been there for over fifty years I'd heard. When I'd given her my name she hesitated, no doubt trying to recall the specifics of my last visit to his office, when she'd nearly caught Father Mike and I on his desk...

"Fascinating, aren't they?"

My backside is equally warmed as he stands close behind me looking over the top of my head at the vile apparatus.

"Father Eager never uses this room, so he allowed me to hang my collection in here." He laughs. "He was a bit startled, I think, at my choice of decor, but had no objections since they're obviously antiques. What do you think of them?"

His hand rests on my shoulder, sending a shiver through my body. I peer at the pieces, unable to name most of them, but knowing instinctively what they are, and what they were used for. One item in particular catches my eye, and I can't believe what it is I'm seeing, it turns my stomach but I am unable to look away. A rusty metal ring about an inch and a half wide, yet long enough to encircle a human neck when bent at the hinge in the middle, flat triangular spikes protruding from the inside around the whole strip hangs on the wall front and center, as if considered a trophy of some sort. It could be nothing other than an old slave collar, and as I looked at it, a wave of horror washed over me; I couldn't believe this sort of thing still existed in our modern world, and I was sickened at the very sight of such wickedness.

My body, however, was reacting in a totally opposite manner. I imagined myself inside that collar, with a heavy chain attached to it as a phantom guard led me nude and helpless to my master's chambers where he awaited, planning all sorts of devious methods with which to use my aching body...my mind retreats to my favorite, and very first sexual fantasy. Bound tightly, spread eagle on a big fluffy bed, blindfolded, and gagged, a ruggedly handsome stranger, a Scottish laird, perhaps, boldly and roughly fondles my body from head to toe and back again, nibbles, even bites my secret places, tonguing my swollen pink clit to the brink of orgasm when he finally plunges deep into my quivering pussy taking me over and over until I scream through my gag, a multitude of orgasms producing wave after wave of convulsions throughout my entire being. That fantasy got me through a lot of sleepless nights as I watched, helpless, while my marriage went down the tubes...

Mike's broad hand squeezes my shoulder, returning me to the present and I shudder in an attempt to cast off the conflicting emotions coursing through my body and mind. Ashamed at myself for even thinking such thoughts in the presence of a priest, I nevertheless lean slightly back against his warm body, closing my eyes against the overwhelming desire I feel for him.

Sensing my reaction to the wall of torture, his arms encircle my upper torso from behind, pinning my arms to my sides as his head dips down allowing him to run his tongue lightly up the nape of my neck to my hairline, causing me to shudder violently. His arms tighten, rendering me immobile as his tender tongue disappears and is replaced by teeth, biting down hard on my neck akin to a stallion overcoming a mare in heat.

Mindless now, throwing all caution into the fireplace, my head involuntarily throws itself back, affording him instant access to my entire neck, where, completely out of character, his arms squeeze until I can barely breathe and his mouth devours my neck, licking, sucking and biting as I gasp aloud in startled pleasure.

O God! Forgive me! This cannot be wrong, can it? Is such bliss only reserved for saints and martyrs? Why is it right for a husband and wife to own such happiness and not a man of the cloth, one who serves Him day in and day out? Where is the justice in that?

Roughly grasping my shoulders now, Father Mike turns me to face him and reflected in his eyes I see the fire burning, flames licking at his irises, seemingly reaching out for me.

"Lori," he whispers hoarsely, "I'm thinking of leaving the priesthood." He pulls me tightly to him and my arms slip up and around his neck, my hands grasping his wild red hair, as the pounding of our hearts mingle. "I don't know what else to do. Ever since you came to me in August, I haven't been able to focus on anything else. You're all I think about. When I try to write a sermon, I find my mind drifting to other things. I find myself looking at these things on this damn wall wanting you in them, at my knees," His voice lowers, "at my mercy..."

My body and mind suddenly still at his words and a tentative feeling of coming home overcomes me. Can he read the secret desires on my face, I wonder as heat rushes up my neck in embarrassment and wonder. Or are they really secrets anymore? Memories hasten back to me as I recall whispering to Father Mike about the times I tried, unknowingly, to submit to my husband as he scoffed at me, mistaking my acquiescence for weakness. The times I attempted to anticipate his needs as he laughingly accepted my offerings with total disregard. My face grows hotter. The time I willingly, lovingly sponged him while he sat in the bathtub, watching me as if I were a bug, an interesting insect on a mission. He had no clue, I think as Mike's words flow through me, no clue at all.

"I want you, Lori, I want you near me always. I want you available and ready for me unfailingly at any time. And in return, I want to protect you and love you." His large sweaty hands on either side of my face now, he stares deeply into my eyes, searching for a way to convey his needs, needs my soul is already aware of. Needs that are mine, too.

My face changes before his eyes, from alarm to understanding, from terror to surrender and upon recognising my expression, Mike grabs me and kisses me deeply, pouring all his desire into my mouth with his, his hands ripping at my dress, popping buttons and tearing cloth. My legs turn weak at this onslaught of passion and he picks me up, continuing the kiss and carries me to the deep green leather sofa, where he gently lays me down on my back, falling on top of me, our mouths and tongues still connected. Lying on top of my shredded dress, my breasts bare, he raises his head as mine raises with it not wanting that kiss to end.

"Lie still."

A tingling rushes throughout my veins at his order and I immediately obey him, lying my head back on the sofa, watching him gaze upon my breasts. Watching as his hands cup each one, raising them, squeezing them together as he reverently lowers his mouth to them, tonguing each as if they're his favorite flavor of ice cream, licking, suckling, slowly circling my nipples over and over until I think I'm going to die right there under him.

Inexperienced but for our last encounter, driven solely by instinct, he rises and kneels on the floor, pulling me to him, pulling at my tattered clothing until I am nude on my knees in front of him, trembling with unbridled passion, untamed lust. In a shaky voice, he speaks to me. "All my life, I've felt driven by something, some indescribable need. I was always, always in trouble for aggressive acts as a child. I never hurt anyone, Lori, and I swear by all that is holy, I will never harm you, but there's a...a need inside me to be in control. To...dominate. I joined the priesthood hoping to tame it, to control it by giving myself up to God. I thought this need for power was a sign that I should help guide people in the right direction, but now I know it's not. Now I know what it really is." Looking intently at me, he continues, "And from what you've told me about your husband, he's unable to give you what you need. I am not."

Visibly shaking now, I stare at him as he stands, strips, then kneels back down in front of me.

"Turn around."

Unable to comply, overcome by his revelation, I stare at him in uncertainty, terrified that this is a dream and that I'll wake up at any moment. Can this be true, I wonder. Can he really comprehend the words that just came from his mouth? He wants to...to dominate me, to control me. A feeling of utter sweetness rushes through my belly. A balm for my aching soul.

His hand reaches for my pussy and grasps my fleece, tugging on it. "Turn around. I'm going to show you what I'm talking about."

How do you describe a feeling of combined dread and exhilaration? You don't, but that's what I felt. Along with fear, anticipation, excitement and relief all rolled up into one big emotion as I clumsily turned around still on my knees, presenting him with my backside.

"Bend over." One hand gently pushes me forward at the shoulder while the other holds my hip until I am on my hands and knees, my head down, my hair hanging. Positioning himself between my legs, nudging my knees further apart, he leans against me and I feel his hard cock prodding against my back slit while his hands at my shoulders slowly slide down my back, short nails lightly scraping my flesh, causing me to tightly arch my back and lift my head high. Stopping at my ass, he begins to rub my cheeks in slow circles, then vertically, then...SLAP! Right on the center of my ass his hand lands. I gasp loudly, attempting to crawl away from him as he grabs my hips and plunges his cock deep into my dripping pussy, stilling me, making me want him like never before. Unmoving, he remains inside me, holding me by the hips as I reverse my momentum moving backwards now, trying to fuck him.

"This is what I mean, Lori. Do you want it?"

My head jerks to the side, trying to see him, trying to beg him without saying the words, my ass wiggling frantically. Recovering from the sting of his hand, my breath comes in short puffs, and I nod, my hair flying.

"Say it."

Dropping my head down now, refusing to humiliate myself in this way, I back up to him again and he withdraws. Whimpering, I whisper huskily to him. "I...I can't..."

"Yes, you can. Say it, Lori."

"NO, dammit! I can't!"

I want to, God knows I want to, but distant laughter echoes at me from those other times. Times with my husband in the first years we were together as I tried to beg him, as I tried to communicate my need to be controlled and he only laughed at me, making me feel small and insignificant, making me feel worse that I already felt. Those times hardened my heart, helped me build walls against the pain. But the walls were thin, as yet unreinforced, and a crack forms as we kneel together on that floor, on that beautiful red and gold Persian rug that must've cost thousands of dollars.

"Say it, Lori, I know you can do it."

Could I? Could I really put myself in that position of total vulnerability once again risking my all?

To Be Continued...

ANCILLA
ANCILLA
8 Followers
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