Tempting Father Hardy

Her features would be beautiful, he thought, but perhaps haughty. Arrogance in her eyes. And hair, a mass of hair, long and red. But no freckles on her skin. Her skin was beautiful and creamy and free of even the slightest blemish, he thought. And she had the greenest eyes, so green it was startling when you first saw her.

He told himself that he was being ridiculous. Spinning fantasies about a woman who could be the ugliest thing in a twenty mile radius for all he knew! She claimed beauty, but so what? Priests tend to hear a lot of lies, he knew. Maybe the entire thing was a lie, a concoction to amuse herself by shocking the poor little virgin Priest. And so what, if she was beautiful or ugly? What did that matter? We are all God's creatures, he told himself.

Except that he knew it was true. Every detail. Somehow, he just knew.

He wondered how big her manhood was. Womanhood? That didn't seem right. What had she called it? A she-cock. Even thinking of the word made him blush. Big, he thought. How big did those things even get, anyway? His own member was rather small, to judge from his experiences in the showers at gym class as a teenager. The smallest in his class, by far. Boys had laughed at him sometimes. He'd heard once that eight inches was considered very big. Perhaps she was as big as that. What would that poor man have felt, he wondered, being forced to put that into his mouth? To suck on it, knowing that his faithful wife was waiting for him at home? He couldn't comprehend the degradation of it. And she had laughed.

He had heard bad things in the confessional, on occasion, but nothing like this. Normally he could put such things behind him, but thoughts of the woman tormented him day after day. He took his turns in the confessional with a sense of... what? Dread? Anticipation? Fear? Some blend of the three, perhaps. Somehow he felt that she would return. Or perhaps, that he wanted her to return.

And after two weeks, she did.

It had seemed another typical quiet day. He'd cleared out the early rush in an hour and then spent the next hour sipping tea and eating his sandwich as he replayed the previous encounter again and again. He was already hard when he heard the door close behind her and that familiar voice, so beautiful, say "hello again, Father."

For a long moment he was paralysed, sitting there without a clue what so say or do. Finally he decided that he had to say something. "You're back," he tried, and instantly felt foolish.

"I'm back," she said. "Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession."

"I... how have things been with you?" He asked.

"Things have been very well with me, Father," she said. "Our business is booming. I have more customers than ever. My boss is very pleased."

"That's good," he said. "And... the other thing? You said you have sinned?"

"You mean poor little Michael?" She said, and the amusement was plain in her voice.

"You don't have to tell me his name," he said. "The man deserves his privacy."

"Oh Father, it's just between you and me. He wouldn't mind. He doesn't mind anything I do. I'm in control, Father. Of the situation. Of him. Completely in control."

"You sound proud," he said. Goodness, he was sweating again. The heating had to be on. He could smell that odour it put out sometimes, the faint burning smell that came from the hot air passing over the dust and grime in the shafts. He sniffed a little, and yes, there was an ever so slight smell in here. He put his hand over the heating grille, but it was cool to the touch. Well, somebody must have walked past smoking a cigarette or something. People did the oddest things in church.

"I am proud," she said. "I know it is a great sin, what I've done, and being proud of it only compounds the sin, but... I feel the need to be honest with you, Father. Is that wrong?"

"No, honesty is vital in the confessional," he said instinctively.

"I have him completely now. He struggled at first, but I threatened his job. I told him I could easily fake evidence that he had been embezzling from the company. He would be fired instantly. No references. And I told him that I could spread the word around. No other company would touch him after that. He'd wind up flipping burgers for minimum wage. If that. It soon brought him to heel."

"That's a terrible thing to do," he said, genuinely appalled. "How could you take this good man, this innocent husband-"

"-and father-" she interjected.

"-and do this to him? Wait, what? Husband and father? He has a child?"

"On the way," she said. "Due in six months or so, I believe. They're saving every penny for it, of course. He can't afford to lose his job, Father."

"Oh no," Hardy protested weakly. He pulled his handkerchief out and mopped his brow. "How could you do this, child? Why would you? You know that this is a great sin. Your behaviour is awful, just awful!"

"I know, Father. I'm sorry, I really am. I repent completely. But when I'm with him, it's like I just can't help myself. I feel so guilty afterwards, but I'm just powerless in his presence. It's like I have a compulsion to degrade and abuse him."

Hardy fell silent, unable to think of a thing to say.

"It's worse than that, Father," she said.

"Worse? How could it be worse?"

"Until recently I was content with having him suck my she-cock," she said. "He's become good at it. He can deep-throat me now. That took more than a week of pushing him, hours of working him up to it. I'm very well endowed, you see Father. Huge."

I knew it! The thought was triumphant, and he instantly felt ashamed of himself. His own member, however, didn't agree - it began to harden. He mopped his brow again.

"And now?" He asked, for lack of anything else to day.

"Father, I have taken his virginity."

"Wait," he said, not comprehending, "you took his virginity? I thought he was to be a father?"

She laughed openly. "Oh, not that virginity," she said merrily. "His anal virginity! I slid my great big cock into his asshole, Father."

A bead of sweat dripped off the end of his nose. "That's..." he tried, and fell silent.

"It hurt him, Father. It always hurts people. It's so big, so very big and hard. I've never met a first-timer who can take it without screaming. Even some of the stretched out old ass-whores struggle. Michael screamed. He struggled. But that's the thing... even with the pain, I could tell that it was turning him on. His little beta cock was all hard, and soon his screams became mixed with grunts of pleasure. I'm extremely good at ass fucking men, Father. I love it. I love fucking needy little effeminate beta boys most of all. And Michael is definitely that. I swear to you, father, it began as blackmail but he squirted before I did, just from the pleasure of being ass fucked. I didn't even touch his little beta cock. And afterward he was begging for more. And I gave him more."

Father Hardy crossed himself and clutched his bible. He couldn't listen to this, he thought. He was dizzy with the heat, the stuffiness. He might even pass out. But he had to stay, didn't he? He couldn't walk out on a confession, that would be scandalous. Father Duggan would yell at him for an hour straight. He might even be dismissed.

"That is... erm... very bad," he whimpered.

"There's more, Father," she said.

"More?" He stared in consternation at the little hole at the bottom of the grating. "How could there be more? My God, woman, what have you done?"

"I recorded it, Father," she said. "The second time. I told him he could have my she-cock again, but only if he consented to my recording it."

"You... no..." he said, his eyes wide.

"I did. It's framed so that my face is never visible. Even the office background isn't. I took him on the conference table, the wall behind is blank and the furniture is as generic as one could get. It could be anywhere. I can release it without any fear of blowback on myself."

"Release it?" He gasped, reeling. "Release it?"

"To his wife, of course," she said.

The words stunned him. "Why would you do such a thing?"

She didn't quite laugh through the words. "To destroy their marriage, Father."

"But why?"

"What greater power can there be?" She asked. "I can take this relationship, this committed love, and tear it asunder. There would be a divorce, of course. All those lovely wedding vows, broken and discarded. Because of me."

"Divorce is a sin," he said.

"Of course, Father," she said smugly.

"You must not do this thing," he said. He tried to make it stern, but could not.

"I know, Father. But I don't know if I can stop myself. Will you help me to find the strength to resist temptation?"

"I don't know if I can," he said.

"If I made an email with the video attached, and told Michael that I'd butt fuck him again if he hit 'send', I wonder what he would do," she mused. "Do you think he would hit 'send', Father?"

"I... don't know." He would, Hardy thought. He knew next to nothing about the man, but he knew that he would. He wouldn't be able to resist, not this woman. How amazing must it feel to have her she-cock in your ass, that you would be willing to betray and despoil the woman you love and your own unborn child, just for the privilege?

"I think he would," she said. "You think so too, don't you?"

"My child," he said suddenly, "you must pray to God for the strength to change your path." That was sound advice, he thought to himself, the ultimate Catholic one-size-fits-all response to any situation. Just pray. Why hadn't he thought of it earlier?

"I'm not sure God and I are on good terms, Father," she said. She didn't sound too upset about it.

"God can forgive anybody, child, even you," he thought of Father Duggan and winced. Wishy washy bullshit?

"Michael says he can't stop thinking about me, Father. Even when he is fucking his wife, he thinks about me. He has to stop himself from calling out my name. He says he can only get himself hard now by thinking of me, and my giant she-cock. Pussy doesn't compare." She laughed. "What about you? Have you been thinking about me, Father?"

"I don't think that's appropriate," he whimpered.

"But is it true?" She insisted.

"It..." he slumped forward, dizzy, and rested his head against the hot wooden mesh. "It..."

"It is true, isn't it Father?"

He couldn't deny it. She knew, he thought. How did she know?

"What do you think about, Father?" She asked. "Do you think about how beautiful I am? My big, round, heavy tits? I have big nipples, Father, just imagine how they would feel in your mouth. I love having soft little girly beta boys suckle on them. Are you a soft little girly beta boy, Father? I bet you are."

"I..."

"And my cock... oh, I just bet you've been picturing yourself on your knees, looking up at that great big she-cock of mine. Haven't you, father?"

"No," he lied.

She openly laughed. "So convincing," she mocked. "Do you dream of seeing it, Father? Perhaps you wonder if it can really be as big as I claim?"

"I..." He had nothing to say. He was so out of his depth that he couldn't think of a thing to say, or a thing to do. He just sat there, sweating, panting for breath, helpless and hopeless.

"Do you want to see it, Father?" She asked.

"Please," he whispered. Please do. Please don't. He had no idea which one he meant.

He tried to lean back from the mesh, and suddenly something began to inch through the speaking hole in the bottom. Something big and thick. Something fleshy.

He stared at it in fascinated horror. "Jesus Christ," he whispered, not even noticing the blasphemy. Big, she had said. This wasn't big. It wasn't huge. It was gigantic.

He had no idea how big the hole was. Bigger than his wrist, certainly. Perhaps as big as his fist. Or bigger.

The woman's cock fit through it, but just barely. The massive head squeezed through, scraping the sides, and then inch after inch of shaft began to slide through.

His own member was perhaps two-thirds as long as his hand was wide. But this... he could wrap a hand around it. Both hands. And there were still inches pushing through. My god, he had no idea that cocks like this could even exist.

"You like it, don't you Father?" She said, and it wasn't a question, not really. "Tell me, are you just a little jealous of Michael? Or perhaps you're a lot jealous of him?"

"So big," he whispered.

"Hmmm, yes. I told you, Father. Now you know the truth."

The gigantic member slowly withdrew, inch after inch. The head squeezed through the hole in the grating with a soft pop. He heard a soft rustling, and pictured her sliding that... thing... back into her doubtless lacy thong panties and back under her doubtless short skirt.

"I'll take your advice, Father," she said. "I'll pray, and seek guidance on what to do."

He heard the door open, and then close. He lay there, resting his head against the mesh and trying to breathe. He began to shiver, suddenly cold from the clammy sweat drenching his body.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been seven days since my last confession," a woman's voice said. Father Hardy started so violently that he all but fell out of his chair. But it wasn't her. The voice was light and flat and... boring.

"Tell me what you have to confess, my child," he managed weakly.

"Well I took the Lord's name in vain twice, Father. On Tuesday I was putting up a picture and I hit my sodding thumb with a hammer, if you'll pardon my language. Then on Friday..."

If the last two weeks had been torture, the next two were insanity. He honestly wondered if he were completely losing his mind. The situation was so strange, so utterly bizarre, surely it couldn't be real. A woman like that couldn't exist. A woman with... he'd actually borrowed a tape measure from Mrs Morgan and took it into the confessional with him, measuring that hole with shaking hands. It was two and nine sixteenths of an inch in diameter, nearly eight and a half inches around. Even thinking about that thing sticking through there had him rock hard, and with hesitant hands he had unfastened his trousers and applied the tape to his throbbing member. Three and one sixteenth of an inch around, three and twelve sixteenths long. The figures stunned him. She was two and three quarter times his thickness, and Lord alone knew how much longer. Double, triple... more?

He could barely believe that she had actually stood in there, hiked up her skirt, and thrust it through for his inspection. It was ridiculous! Who would do such a thing? He must have imagined it. He must have!

He walked stuffed his erection back into his clothing and zipped back up. At least the black didn't show the bulge, he thought. Not that it was much of a bulge to hide. He sighed and walked back to the parochial house, collapsing into a chair and staring off into the distance.

The phone on the table beside him rang. Normally Mrs Morgan handled such things, but he had no idea where she was. Out shopping, probably. He picked up the phone.

"Hello, Father."

He dropped the thing on the floor, falling to his knees. No, surely not! How could she be ringing? But the voice was unmistakeable. He picked the handset up with badly shaking hands and put it to his ear.

"Are you alright, Father?" She asked.

"I'm fine," he said, and it was such a blatant lie that he laughed at the absurdity of it.

"You don't sound fine, Father," that sexy voice said, so alluring.

"I'm fine!" He tried again.

"My mistake," she said.

"Why are you calling me?"

"Why else does one call a Priest, Father? I need your help."

"How can I possibly help you?"

"Oh Father, I've been praying as you suggested. It's helped me a great deal. It's given me strength."

"It has?" He stared at the receiver, suddenly hopeful. "Have you... have you pulled away from Michael?"

"No, not as such. I'm so ashamed of myself, Father. I fuck him every single day. He loves it. It's like an addiction to him. I keep him after work and he crawls on his hands and knees and begs me. Sometimes, I say no. He cries, then. Sobs his little heart out. until I relent and let him suck my she-cock."

Father Hardy let out a little whimper. "Oh, my child, no, please no," he moaned. "Please don't say such things."

"I can't help it, Father. It's like I'm as much an addict as he is. He can't help but suck my cock and beg for it in his asshole... and I can't help but degrade and abuse him. It feels so good Father, it almost feels... holy."

"That's blasphemy, child," he said weakly.

"I know, Father, but it's true. I know it's wrong, but it doesn't feel wrong." A pause. "You feel it too, don't you Father? The temptation?"

"No, please, no," he whimpered.

"But you do, Father, I can sense it in your voice. You imagine it, don't you? You picture Michael kneeling before me, looking up at me and begging for my cock. You wish it was you, don't you? I know that you do. It's alright, Father, really it is. I don't mind. In fact, I like the thought."

He shivered, closing him eyes. The woman was right, he thought. He did picture it. He had thought of little else since he met her. Kneeling before her, looking up at that mammoth organ, so much bigger than his own. Oh God, what would it feel like to be at her feet? What would it look like, seeing her in all her glory with nothing between them? How would her body feel, how would her cock taste as she slid it into his mouth? He knew the thoughts were bad and wrong, he absolutely knew it, but that didn't make them go away. If anything, it just made it feel worse.

"I can't help it," he whispered.

"Father?"

"I mean... I mean that I don't think I can help you, child. I don't know that there's anything I can do. I don't know if I am strong enough for this."

"You can help, I'm sure of it, Father. It's no accident that we met. I think God put you in that box so that you could be there for me. So you could help me through this. But talking like this isn't enough, Father. I need to see you."

"See me?"

"Yes. Not at the confessional, but somewhere where we can really talk this out. Please, Father, I need you. You're my last hope. I have the video in front of me now, I want to send it to Michael's wife so badly... please help. Please."

"I'll try," he said.

"Oh thank you Father," she said in relief. "Could you come tonight?"

"Yes."

"I want to come to the church, Father," she said, "I think being there would help a lot. But I can't make it until late tonight. Around eleven. Is that alright?"

"I..." he was about to demur when he thought about it. He couldn't very well invite her into the parochial house, now could he? If she was half as attractive as he imagined, Father Duggan would be apoplectic at her presence. The church closed at 10pm most nights, but it was simple enough to get around that and it would give them privacy. "I can do that, yes. There is a side door, just go around and I will meet you there."

He spent the rest of the day thinking about her. What would she look like? Anything close to his fantasies? He wondered if she would be coming straight from her workplace. If so, she might be wearing one of those revealing office suits he thought about so much. And what about Michael? She said she... um, made love to him... no. Calling what she did to that poor man making love was an abomination. Fucking him. He cringed a little at the word, but he couldn't deny that it was appropriate for what she had described. She fucked Michael every evening, she said. God, did that mean she would come to him with her victim's scent still on her? The thought repulsed him... and made him hard.

He went over to the church just before closing and had a quiet word with the caretaker. It was so busy in the parochial house, he wanted to do some paperwork and needed a nice quiet place. The office in the back of the church would be ideal, could he...? The old man was only too happy to let him in, "just make sure you lock up when you leave, Father."