Tempting Father Hardy

The following story contains scenes of a big-dicked trans girl having her way with a guy. It also contains strong religious elements, and could well be considered blasphemous by those who believe in such things. If you find either element offensive, this isn't the story for you and you shouldn't read it.

Everyone in this story is over 18.

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"Off to the confessional, Father? Care for your usual?"

Father Leslie Hardy blushed slightly and nodded. "If it's not too much trouble, Mrs Morgan," he said. Mrs Morgan was the housekeeper at the parochial house and whilst she was a cheerful and friendly sort of woman, she always made him feel nervous and unsure of himself. Most women made Father Hardy feel unsure of himself one way or another.

She chattered away whilst she filled a thermos with tea and made him a cheese sandwich and biscuit selection. She was a pipeline to all the latest gossip in the parish and he reflected that if even half of what she insisted on telling him was true, his parishioners weren't nearly as forthcoming as they should be in the confessional. "Mrs Morgan, I'm not sure you should be spreading things like this around," he tried.

It sounded weak and ineffectual even to his ears, and she bulldozed right through it. "Ah, away with you Father, a little gossip never did anybody a whit of harm. Besides, a Priest should know the goings-on in his own parish! Now as I was saying, the thing about that hussy is that she doesn't even have one man on the side - oh no, she has three! Her poor husband, he has no idea..." Hardy thought about trying to make a stronger rebuke, but the words just wouldn't come. Mrs Morgan was a bright and pleasant woman in her way, but she treated him as if his words and opinions just... didn't matter at all. In that respect, she reminded him a good deal of his mother.

"Anyway Father, here you go. Have a nice time in the confessional, will you, and don't be too easy on those sinners!"

"Uh, right Mrs Morgan, thank you."

The parochial house was right beside the church itself, so it was only a few minutes walk. Father Hardy made his way up the nave and through to the confessional box. He was always very impressed by it; he hadn't seen that many of them, but St. Helena's confessional box struck him as a large, very robust structure. The whole thing was built of mahogany, a gift from a parishioner who owned a carpentry business. There were proper doors instead of the more usual curtains, and a nice comfortable armchair inside. It was well ventilated, even equipped with a heating system which was a blessing in the winter. He settled himself in, putting his thermos and lunch on the little shelf and closing the door. Sealed in my own little world, he thought. He loved the feeling of being in here, all cosy and snug. He sometimes wondered if Father Duggan would mind if he came in here when it wasn't in use, just to sit and relax. Probably he would; Father Duggan was a man of many opinions regarding the behaviour of young Priests, all of them strongly held and frequently expressed.

St. Helena's church was quite a large one, serving an sizeable urban population. There were six other priests as well as himself - it was a plum assignment for one freshly ordained. He was proud of being a Priest here. He only wished the parishioners took it more seriously. Despite the size of their flock, attendance at the church services was not very high these days. And of those who did attend the services, attendance at confessional was even lower. It made him angry to think about it - after all, it wasn't like the Catholics in the area were particularly free of sin, at least if Mrs Morgan were to be believed.

People started to drift in eventually and he went through the usual routine. Listening to their sins and troubles, dishing out advice and gentle correction here and there. It was one of the few times in his week that people actually treated him as any kind of authority figure, a role he was deeply proud of. He wondered if they still would if they could see him through the heavy screen that divided the two sides of the confessional; he was a small man, barely 5'5" and slimmer than most women, let alone men. His features were... well, as much as he hated to use the word, he could only call himself effeminate. He was not an imposing man in any sense of the word, and people generally treated him accordingly. Another reason to enjoy the confessional, he thought. The heavy mesh screen allowed only a hint of who was actually on the other side. There was a round hole cut into the bottom of the screen, to better allow sound through, and once or twice he had to admit that he had peeked through. Even then, it was so dim on the other side that one couldn't make out more than shadows. It reassured him that he was so hidden from view in here, even from the person he was talking to. A nice psychological security blanket.

A woman who had taken the Lord's name in vain, a man who drank too much, a teenager who had lustful thoughts about one of his teachers, a marriage under strain because of money troubles, a young girl who struggled with gambling. All the usual things. He poured himself a cup of tea and listened, wondering where the more juicy events of the parish were. Not in his little box, that was for sure.

It went quiet after the seventh session, and he tucked into his sandwich. Mrs Morgan was a character, he thought to himself, but she sure did make the hell out of a cheese sandwich. He blushed a little at the thought and glanced upwards. "Sorry about that," he whispered. "I just really like them. I'll say a hail Mary."

The sound of the door closing drifted through the screen, and he heard somebody sitting. He put the remains of the sandwich back in the tupperware box and sealed it.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned," a voice said. Father Hardy perked up immediately. Here was a voice he had never heard before, he was sure of it. He would have remembered that sultry tone anywhere. She sounded young, he thought, though not a child or even a teenager. Mid twenties, perhaps. "It has been two years since my last confession," she said.

"Why so long, my child?" He asked. He shouldn't really, but the voice had him curious.

"I... I've been ashamed to come, Father," she said.

"Go on."

"My sins are many, Father. But... I've allowed myself to fall into a life of sexual sin and debauchery."

An educated woman, he thought. He doubted that most of his flock would even know the word 'debauchery'. "How so, my child?" He asked. He always felt rather pompous addressing people that way. They seemed to expect it, and it was the done thing, but he felt like a fraud talking to people like that.

"I work in an office, Father. I'm a manager there, in charge of several teams of people. Recently I hired a new staff member. His name-"

"You don't need to tell me his name," Hardy said. "Please, anonymity is fine. And most find that it helps them to open up and be honest. That's important in here."

"Yes Father," she said. "Well I was hiring a personal assistant. Normally HR would do that, but this was to be my own assistant and I wanted a good one. I had a whole list of qualifications and skills necessary to the position. But as soon as I saw him, all that just went out the window. I knew when I laid eyes on him that I had to have him."

"I see. And why was that?" He asked, figuring he would drop the whole 'my child' thing.

"Oh Father, he was so adorable. Small, soft, beautiful. He looked so innocent there in my office. It was like... looking at a particularly beautiful meal, and just knowing that you were so hungry that you had to eat it. I wanted him so badly, I knew I would hire him. And I did."

"I see," he said. "That is a sin indeed. To quote the bible, 'whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed. adultery with her already in his heart.' The same applies to women lusting after men, I think."

"Matthew five twenty eight," she said easily. Definitely educated. "After I hired him, I began to flaunt myself. I'm... a beautiful woman, Father. Many have told me so. I dressed provocatively and displayed my beauty to him. It affected him, I could see it. The poor thing could barely speak around me. I pretended I didn't notice, but on the inside I was gleeful at the effect I was having."

The thought was intriguing. Father Hardy's eye was drawn to beautiful women as much as any man's. Perhaps more than most men, in fact. Women didn't flirt with him, never had really. What must it be like to have a beautiful woman all but throwing herself at you? "Go on."

"After a week or so... he mentioned that he was involved, Father. Married. He's only twenty two, he married at nineteen. They were only kids, really, but they loved one another very deeply."

"And did that make you back away from your course?" Hardy asked.

She hesitated. "No, father. It made me... more determined. The idea that I could use my looks to break his love, to break his marriage. It excited me all the more. I would wear low cut tops and bend over in front of him to let him look down them. Or short, tight skirts and bend over facing away from him. He would blush so deeply, it was adorable. I was making him so uncomfortable, and I was enjoying it."

"This is terrible," Hardy said, shifting in his chair. Never mind her assistant, she was making him outright squirm. What did she look like, he wondered. Beautiful, but how? He could see only the shadow, but she seemed very tall. Slim, he thought. She would be slim. Long, long legs. He wondered if she wore stockings. Surely she did. He began to feel the familiar hardening at the thought. He shook himself. "To look at a man lustfully is a sin, but at least an understandable one. But to deliberately set out to cause infidelity, to seek to break a marriage, and to enjoy that... this is a very serious sin indeed."

"I know, Father. But I couldn't help myself. And finally, it happened."

"Go on," he said. Low cut tops, she had said. He wondered if she had large breasts. Big and round and beautiful, still in the flush of youth. How much did she show? The thought tormented him. He was rock hard as she spoke.

"I often kept him working late into the night. I knew it would strain his marriage, and it gave me the chance to work on him alone. I upped the flirting to new heights. And it worked. One night, he kissed me."

"Oh no," Hardy said unconvincingly. He tugged at his collar. It suddenly seemed awfully warm in here. "What happened?"

"I let him, Father. It was everything I'd hoped for. I kissed him, deeply and hungrily. Then... I forced him to his knees before me. I loved the power I held over him, the control I had. I had brought him to this, and the idea of dominating him thrilled me deeply. I raised my skirt up and pulled my panties aside..." she trailed off.

Hardy found himself breathing hard, picturing the scene. What would it feel like, he wondered, to have such a woman pursuing one? To have her practically forcing you?

"Please," he said softly, "do go on. What happened next?"

"He was shocked, Father. Very shocked. His jaw literally dropped. So... I took the opportunity. I put a hand on the back of his head to hold him in place, and I took my cock and pressed it into his mouth."

Hardy stared at the mesh. His own mouth worked, but no words came out. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead. Did she just say... "you did... you said you..." he stuttered. "I don't understand."

"Father?" She asked, and there was a hint of amusement in that beautiful voice. Perhaps even a little mockery.

"You said... you said you put your... um, thing in his mouth?" He asked. Goodness, it really was hot in here. He glanced at the little heating vent, but it was closed. He took a couple of deep breaths. Perhaps he had misheard. Surely he must have.

"My cock, Father. Yes. I pressed it deep into his mouth. It felt so good, Father. Like it was where it belonged."

"But I don't understand," he said lamely, pulling out his handkerchief and mopping the sweat from his brow. "You are saying that you have a... um, you have one of those? A male member? But I thought you were a woman?"

"Yes Father, I am a woman. But I'm a trans woman."

"A... what?"

"I have the body and mind of a woman, Father, but... well, a woman with a cock. A she-cock, you might say."

"But that's preposterous," Father Hardy protested weakly. He felt like he needed a shower. "Male and female he created them both, says the bible."

"Genesis five-two," she said calmly. "I know, Father, but... I am what I am. I cannot change it."

"That's not true," he said angrily. He was still fiercely hard, but the shifting context of the moment left him more embarrassed than ever. "The bible is very clear."

She was silent, and he wondered if he had offended her. Speak softly, he thought to himself. "What happened next?"

"He began to struggle, Father. I told him to stop. I threatened him. I know it was wrong, but I wanted him so badly. I told him that deep down he wanted this, that he had been fantasising about me for weeks and now he was going to do as I told him. I threatened to fire him if he didn't do whatever I demanded. He is a very meek and gentle soul, Father, and I was rampant. He obeyed. He sucked my cock, and it felt glorious. I know it was a great sin, Father-"

"Several of them," Hardy interjected.

"-but I couldn't help myself. He was so small and weak, his love for his wife was so pure and innocent. I wanted to dominate him and take it all away from him. And I did. I forced him to suck my cock. I was rough with him, Father. I brought him down to my own sinful level, and I enjoyed it."

"Oh my child, that's awful," Hardy said. "What a sad story. You must fight this evil within you. You have free will, you can choose to turn away from this. It is the only thing to do, the only way to begin to turn back to God."

There was a snort from beyond the mesh. For a moment, he thought she was crying. The thought comforted him, for he took it as the beginnings of her repentance. But no. The sound came again, and he realised she was suppressing laughter. "You find this funny, child?" He asked. He tried to make it a sharp rebuke, but as ever it came out sounding soft, and weak. He felt slimy and hot, his clothing damp with sweat, as if he had run a long way. His little box, always so warm and comforting, felt stuffy. It was hard to breathe.

"I'm sorry Father, really I am," she said. "I just... it was so wonderful. I don't know if I can stop it."

"Pleasures of the flesh can be tempting indeed," he said.

"How would you know, Father?" She asked. The question brought him up short. "You've never... I mean, you are a pure man, are you not? A man of God, above such things?"

"I have retained my, um, purity, yes," he said, and found himself blushing as if admitting a weakness, a shame. He'd been taught that one should be thankful of such a thing, that it should be said almost proudly - almost, since one naturally wouldn't want to indulge in the sin of pride. But he couldn't help but feel that it made him as unmanly as his slight stature and effeminate appearance. "But men of God are not above temptations of the flesh, or any temptations. We are all human, we are all corrupted." As if to underscore the point he shifted in his chair, tugging at his trousers in a vain attempt to find a more comfortable position. He was so hard it was practically painful against his underwear.

"Perhaps you do," she conceded. "Does it titillate you, Father, to hear my story? Does it tempt you?"

"I, uh..." he hesitated. He couldn't say yes, but to say no would be a lie. "I don't think you should ask, child," he said. It sounded lame to him. He mopped his brow again. His handkerchief was so damp that it barely made a difference.

"It does, doesn't it?" She said, and the amusement in her voice was plain. "Oh my, I came here for support, but it's just turning you on, isn't it?"

He could feel his cheeks burning. "That's not so," he lied. "I find this whole situation, er, distressing."

"You're a poor liar, Father," she said coldly. "That does you credit, but if we can't have honesty then this is pointless."

He heard the door open on her side, rapid footsteps fading. "Wait!" He called. He opened his own door and darted out, looking around. The air of the church felt ridiculously cold against his skin, and he felt himself shivering. He hurried out into the nave - it was fifty yards or more to the entrance, he was only seconds behind her. She couldn't have left so quickly, it was impossible.

But she was gone.

He returned to the confessional box. For another two hours he listened to everyday confessions that seemed utterly lifeless and drab compared to what he had just gone through. At least he wasn't sweating any more, he thought. But he was practically soaked in the stuff, cold and clammy now. He rushed back to the parochial house as soon as he could and took a shower.

The session tormented him. He rolled over it and over it in his mind for days, picking at it like an itching scab. He would find himself picturing the woman, at odd moments during the day, with her victim kneeling before her, sucking her... member. What had she said about the man she had seduced? Small, soft, beautiful. He found himself looking in a mirror. Small he certainly was, he didn't think he'd ever met a man who didn't look down on him. As did most women, actually. And soft... yes. The word fitted him perfectly. Soft skin, soft heart.

He wondered if a woman could ever call him beautiful, though. Didn't women find tough, manly men attractive? Men with muscles and a rough side, the kind who played sports and drove trucks or sports cars. Certainly no woman had ever given Hardy a second look. Most of them hadn't given him a first look. But perhaps there were women who liked men that were distinctly unmanly. Effeminate men. The thought was disturbing, but also enticing. Could a woman, even a beautiful woman, be attracted to such men? To him? The idea seemed new and impossible.

He tried to talk to his mentor, Father Duggan, carefully phrasing the situation as a hypothetical and changing many of the details. Mustn't break the privacy of the confessional, after all. He also omitted any mention of his own reactions. Duggan was a no nonsense sort who leaned to the fire-and-brimstone brand of Catholicism. "Well the man's a freak and a dirty sinner!" He proclaimed. "Walking around pretending to be a woman! And seducing some poor married man into sin! Not even just normal sin, but filthy perverted faggot sex! God wouldn't be having it, I can assure you of that, Father!" He poked Hardy in the chest sharply, causing the young Priest to flinch. "The both of them would burn in hell! And you would have to tell him as much!" Poke. "That's the trouble with you youngsters, you're too forgiving. God doesn't forgive, Father, he inflicts righteous punishment! This wishy-washy forgiveness nonsense we hear these days is just atheistic bullshit!"

He went on for another five minutes, but it was more of the same. Hardy left unsatisfied.

Such a beautiful woman, he thought. He had built up a whole fantasy image of her in his head as the days went on. Tall, definitely. Some women were tall, he knew, some of them more than six feet. She could be that tall. Good Lord, that would make her seven inches taller than he was. The thought was remarkable to him. Slim, he decided. Perhaps athletic. Beautiful taut body, the result of countless hours in the gym. Glowing with fitness and health and vitality. He pictured her in gym clothing sometimes, but more often he saw her in office wear - but sexy office wear. A skirt, she had said. Short. And a low cut top. One of those silk blouses women wore, close fitting over her big round breasts. And with buttons open, revealing a deep valley of cleavage as those big breasts nestled together. And shiny black shoes with tall, tall heels. Why she could be a foot taller than him in those!