Tempting Father Hardy

He went to the office, which was far larger and more sumptuously decorated than anything in the parochial house anyway. He clicked the electric light on, but it seemed harsh and cold. So he settled for lighting half a dozen candles around the room. It was quite dim, but it felt right somehow. Intimate. The word gave him pause; why would he want an intimate setting for this, of all things? He looked at the light switch, but couldn't bring himself to turn it on again.

At ten minutes to eleven he went to the door and peered out. The side entrance of the church faced a large stone wall about eight feet away; with no lights around except the street lights nearly two hundred yards off in the distance, he was looking out into an inky darkness. The night was cold, and he hadn't thought to bring warm clothing. Yet he didn't want to go inside. He stood and shivered, making an occasional half-hearted attempt to stamp his feet to keep warm.

Eleven came and went. He waited, chilled to the bone now. Eleven thirty. Midnight.

She wasn't coming, he told himself over and over. Oh Lord, did that mean that she'd given in to temptation and destroyed poor Michael's life? He pictured her with that poor boy bent over an office chair, her huge cock driving into his ass again and again as he struggled to compose an email to his wife with shaking fingers, screaming and crying as she pounded him. He'd click send just as she ejaculated her seed into his bowels, he just knew it. The mental image of them copulating, fucking like a pair of animals took up residence in his mind and refused to go away again. He muttered a couple of Hail Marys under his breath, but it didn't make any difference. He was hard as iron, despite the cold. Damn the woman, why did she have to be this way! He seethed with jealousy. Michael had her every night! Why couldn't she be here with him, just once! Was that too much to ask?

"Hello Father."

The voice murmured into his ear from perhaps a few inches away, and he jumped back so hard that he stumbled over the doorstep and fell to the floor. A shadowy figure leaned down over him and a black-gloved hand pulled him to his feet with surprising strength. "I'm sorry," he said, his teeth practically chattering. "I didn't see you coming up from the street. I... you took me by surprise. You're so late," he added, and winced at the implied disapproval.

"Yes I am, Father, but better late than never. Shall we go inside?"

He led her in the door, bolting it behind him to make sure any uninvited visitors couldn't just quietly let themselves in. Her shadow loomed over him as he walked down to the dimly lit office and turned to see her for the first time. His jaw dropped.

His mental image... he hadn't been close. He'd been exact.

She was what he had imagined, in every slightest detail. She was six feet tall, at least - six feet five or more in the high heeled black leather boots which vanished under the long black leather coat she wore. Her skin was flawless, not one trace of blemish or imperfection anywhere. She was heartbreaking in her beauty, yet there was something about those stunning green eyes, the set of her lips, the sharpness of her cheekbones... this was a face that was used to displaying cruelty. He could feel it.

Her hair was a mass of red flame that cascaded over her shoulders and down almost to the small of her back. At first glance it looked unruly, but as he gaped at her he realised that it was a kind of carefully perfect unruliness - not unkempt, but the look you'd get if you paid an extremely talented stylist a huge pile of money and asked for a sexy-scruffy-chic look.

As he tried to think of something to say, she unbuckled her coat and opened it, allowing it to drop at her feet. His eyes widened in even greater shock. Her figure was what he had pictured it to be. She was athletic, but lithe rather than bulky. Perfectly toned, every inch of her. Her breasts were as large as he had hoped - no, not hoped, he told himself, just imagined. He repeated the thought in a vain attempt to make himself believe it, telling himself that it didn't matter if she was this beautiful. But as he repeated the words in his mind, he couldn't take his eyes off them. They stood beautiful and proud and round, no trace of sag to them at all.

Her clothing had obviously been chosen to accentuate the perfection of her figure. The boots ended a few inches above the knees; fishnet stockings emerged from there, with their lacy tops clearly visible under the extremely short leather skirt. They were held up by garter tabs. Above the skirt she wore a black leather top, gaping open at the front wider than a spread hand. A think black lace criss-crossed the gap, displaying a muscled abdomen and a solid acre of cleavage between those perfect breasts.

He stared, not quite able to grasp what he was seeing. It was too far outside his experience. Women this beautiful, this radically sexy, just didn't move in his world of bibles and confessionals. Ten seconds ago, he would have said such women did not exist at all.

But how could she be so precisely what he had imagined? It beggared belief. It was like she was a dream made real.

He shook himself. No, that was impossible. He was seeing her in the flesh and retrofitting her to his dream. That had to be it, of course. It had to be. It was the only explanation.

The light in the room seemed much brighter as she smiled down at him, a cruel smile, clearly basking in his reaction to her and understanding it for what it was - a surge of pure lust that left him trembling with desire. He glanced over at the candle curiously and saw that it had flared up, the flame dancing over a foot tall, as if gas was being piped up the thing. The room, which had been mostly lost in dim shadows, stood out clearly now. Perhaps the fresh air from outside had stoked the flame, he thought. Candles did that, didn't they? Certainly the room seemed a lot warmer now, with the door closed. He was thankful for that, at least, as the feeling returned to his fingers.

"What do you think, Father?" She asked. "This is how I dressed for poor Michael tonight. He was very impressed... and intimidated. Are you impressed, Father?" As she spoke she ran her fingers over those stupendous breasts, long fingernails painted a glossy scarlet gliding over the leather and skin.

"Yes," he whispered.

Her expression became sly. "And intimidated?"

"I... yes," he said. He wanted to lie, desperately, but the truth seemed to just slip from his lips, as if it wanted to be told.

"Did you... with Michael," he asked hesitantly.

"Did I what with Michael?"

"You know... did you..."

"Did I let him suck my she-cock, Father? Did I butt-fuck him? Yes, I did both of those things today. Very thoroughly."

"Please, don't say it like that," he said, and it came out like begging. "This is God's house."

"Yes it is," she said seriously. She walked over to the large crucifix on the wall and studied it for a long moment, her face unreadable. "What a pity, that he is such a silent partner. It must make it hard for you."

"That's what faith is for," he said, stung by the dismissive tone of her comment.

She walked towards him, and her gait was that of a predator stalking prey. "You seem hot, Father. Are you hot?" She ran a fingertip across his shoulder. He was sweating again, the room had gone from frigid to baking in a couple of minutes. The caretaker must have left the heating on, he thought - he could smell that burning the vents produced sometimes, surprisingly strong now. "You're sweating," she observed, "you seem very uncomfortable, Father."

"I'm... hot..." he admitted. Damnation, why did everything she said to him seem like a challenge, and every response a concession? He was hot! He wasn't the first person in history to be hot! Being hot was a normal thing, an everyday part of life. But it felt like saying it was a point against him in a game he didn't understand but couldn't stop playing.

"You poor thing," she said, "the sweat is practically dripping off you. You must be so uncomfortable. Why don't you take these silly clothes off?"

"I... I can't..." he whimpered. She was right, though. The heat seemed to be rising by the second, he was drenched in sweat now. It was almost unbearable.

"Sure you can, honey," she whispered, and the sex in her voice was up to eleven. Then it hardened, the voice of one used to command. "Do it for me. Now."

"This is... inappropriate..." he gasped. His mind was reeling.

She put her hands on her hips, staring at him. He felt like those beautiful eyes were piercing his soul, laying a heavy weight on them. For all the times he'd heard the phrase 'battle of wills', he realised he'd never really understood it until this moment. It was as if her presence was a heavy weight upon him.

"Do you know why you're going to obey me, Father?" She asked in a sensual whisper.

"Please..." he whimpered.

"You're going to obey me because deep down... you want to. You know it, and I know it. Haven't you fantasised about this, Father? Being naked and vulnerable before me? Haven't you wanted it so badly? We both know that you have. Take off your clothing, Father. Now."

He found himself unbuttoning his collar and tossing it aside. That couldn't hurt, could it? Just a silly old collar? He began unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt, acutely aware of the intensity of her gaze. He hesitated.

"Keep going," she said sharply, and there was no pretence of asking now; it was an order. He hesitated, but the heat in the room was unbearable. Slowly he took his shirt off and dropped it on the floor.

She reached out and caressed his chest with a hand that felt like molten lava. "Hmmm, so pretty," she purred, "such lovely skin you have. It's soft and creamy, like a girl."

He blushed in embarrassment. Another woman telling him he looked like a girl. But somehow the humiliation felt good this time.

"Trousers now," she said.

He obeyed. He'd crossed a rubicon, and it felt like there was no disobeying her now. Within a minute he was naked before her. She smiled down at his cock, harder than it had ever been, and her fingers caressed it. "Hmmm, so small," she whispered. "Short and thin... hardly more than a clit. So useless. A woman could never want this. You know that, don't you?"

Tears prickled in his eyes. "Yes."

"Is that why you became a Priest, Father? Because you knew that no woman could want a man like you? No woman could be satisfied with this? So you thought that if you must live a life of chastity, you might as well make it official?" She laughed openly, and it was the cruellest sound he had ever heard. He wanted to cry. God, how had she known? A thought so deep, so repressed that he hardly knew it was there himself. Yet she had just plucked it out of him so easily.

Her hand reached around and caressed his ass. "But this... oh, what a different story this is. I want this, priest. I want my cock in it. And I intend to have it." Her voice hardened. "On your knees!"

He obeyed without thought as she walked over to the desk. She turned, and with a knowing smile she hitched up the short leather skirt. She wore no panties; her cock dangled between her thighs, soft and limp and still so much bigger than his pathetic erection. "Crawl to me, Priest," she commanded, sitting back on the edge of the desk. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled to her like an obedient dog. "Now kneel up for me, and take a nice close look," she said.

Even limp, she was double his thickness and nearly three times his length. He reached out, unable to stop himself, and took hold of the mammoth organ. It was hot to the touch, so hot. He felt it stir beneath his fingers as he leaned in and kissed the big fat head. "Hmm, such a good boy," she said. "You've been dreaming of this. I know you have.

"Yes," he whimpered. He swirled his tongue over the fat red head, and the taste was beyond anything he had imagined.

"Yes Mistress."

"Yes Mistress. I've dreamed of it every day, Mistress."

"I know you have. Now take it into your mouth, Priest. Get it hard and wet."

He stretched his mouth open and took that big head into it. He swirled his tongue around it, moaning slightly at the divine taste. Slowly he inched it deeper. He had no chance of taking the whole thing, he thought. It was just too big. And getting bigger as it swelled and hardened in his mouth! He licked at it, coating it with spit.

"Hmmm, good Priest," she took a double handful of his hair and pulled him down onto it. "Now take it all."

"I can't," he tried to say, but it just came out as a muffled grunt as she forced her cock into the back of his mouth.

"You can and you will," she replied. "It's not a request, Priest. It's not a choice I'm giving you. I'm informing you of a fact. You are going to take this, every inch of it, and then I'm going to fuck your face with it." As she spoke, she forced him down on her cock. He struggled, flailing against her, but she was so much bigger and stronger than he that it was hopeless. He gagged as the head of her monster hit the back of his throat. "Swallow, Priest," she ordered. "Swallow as if you were trying to swallow a mouthful of food. Help it down."

He tried. As he did she jerked hard on his hair, and the huge rod of flesh slid into his throat. He felt it sliding into his neck, inch after inch, and she moaned with pleasure as she slid deeper and deeper. He'd forgotten to take a breath, he realised. He was going to run out fast. He made a muffled moan and she groaned again as she bottomed out. Her huge, heavy balls were resting on his chin. "See?" She said, "I told you you could take it. Now hold still."

She began to fuck his face, pulling her cock about eight inches out and then sliding back in again in slow, easy strokes. The strong fingers gripping his hair controlled him expertly; he had no control at all. She was completely in charge, utterly dominant. An irresistible force of nature.

"That's it," she cooed, "that's my good Priest. Take my she-cock nice and deep. Yessss, that's right." She sped the pace up as she spoke, driving into his willing throat again and again. "You love it, don't you Priest? You love having my cock inside you. It feels so good, doesn't it? Well, just wait. If you love it in your throat, wait until it's in your ass."

She pulled out and dragged him to his feet, throwing him over the desk. She handled him effortlessly, her sheer physical power as overwhelming as her personality. He whimpered as his hard cock slammed into the edge of the desk and tried to adjust his position as the head of her cock pressed against his asshole.

"I'm going to claim you as mine, now, Priest. You want that, don't you?"

"Oh yes, please," he whimpered. He desperately wanted to deny it, but could not.

"Say it," she said. "I want to hear it!"

"Please put it in my asshole," he begged, closing his eyes and resting his sweaty forehead on the desk. Even the wood felt hot to the touch. "Please, make me yours. Please. I need it inside me."

"Do you want to belong to me, Priest? Tell me you do."

"Yes! More than anything!"

"Body and soul?"

"Yes Mistress, I want to be yours completely."

She began to inch into him, the massive head stretching him to bursting point. Somehow he opened up for her and the head popped inside him. He screamed in pain but there was pleasure there, too.

"Such a good boy," she said. "The soul of a Priest belongs to God. You don't want that any more? You want yours to belong to me instead?" She slid her she-cock into him as she spoke, so slowly. It was agony and ecstasy both, and he sobbed as inch after inch was buried in him. The room was like a sauna, the smell of burning an overpowering stink now. Her nails slowly dragged down his back and he screamed in pain as he felt them ripping his flesh. They were sharper than he would have believed, like a set of talons from some predatory bird. The pain and pleasure had his mind reeling. She was a powerful drug, and he was an addict.

"Yes Mistress!"

"Are you telling me that you renounce your God, Priest?" She asked, her voice as hard as diamond. "Renounce him and become my servant. My slave. Do that, and I will give you the kind of fucking that you deserve!"

"I renounce him," he screamed. An hour ago he could never have believed that he could say those words, but in that moment he would have done anything, said anything, for her. "I renounce God and all his works! I renounce his Son! You are my Mistress now, my owner, and I give you my soul."

"Do you give it voluntarily?" She asked, as her hips touched his own. She was buried in him now, every inch.

"I do! Of my own free will, I renounce God. You are my Goddess!"

She laughed and it was pure cruelty. A distant part of his mind thought that her voice sounded different. Throatier, more animalistic.

She began to plough into him. Nothing slow or easy now; she pulled out until the giant head was stretching his asshole, threatening to pop out, paused for just a moment and then slammed into him with such force that it shoved thew whole desk a few inches over. Without pause she pulled back out again, then slammed into him once more. The pace was stunning, overwhelming, but Hardy had no control whatsoever. She slammed into him again and again, grunting with the effort. He heard a billowing noise, and a rush of air cooled his body as she fucked him. He tried to look back at her, but a strong hand slammed his head into the desk.

"You are mine, Priest. No, not Priest. You are a Priest no longer. You are a slave now, and will be forevermore. Your body is mine. Your soul is mine. You will serve me and obey me without question or hesitation." She punctuated her words with brutal thrusts.

"Yes Mistress!" He screamed between sobs.

She laughed sadistically, grabbing a handful of hair and yanking his head up. "Get used to saying that phrase," she gloated, slamming into him again. He screamed in agony, prompting another laugh. "Do you want my cum in you, slave?" She demanded, accelerating her thrusts. "You want your Mistress to cum in that fuck-hole of yours? Is that it?"

"Yes Mistress!" He sobbed.

"Well understand this... I don't care. I don't give the slightest bit of a shit what you want. I'm going to cum in you because it's what I want. From now on, that's all that matters in your life. What I want." As she spoke she slammed into him faster and faster, until he was screaming from the pain and pleasure of it.

He felt her gigantic member throbbing and a searing pain in his ass as she squirted deep into his bowels. It burned there, like liquid fire eating away at his insides as she pulled out and stepped back.

He lay on the table, exhausted, only semi-conscious, moaning in pain as her cum burned inside him. "Face me, slave," she ordered softly. "Look at your Mistress."

He dragged himself up, turning, and froze. His mind went blank. His eyes kind of slid off her, as if some part of his subconscious just refused to look at her. She was... no... she couldn't be. It was impossible.

"Aren't I beautiful, slave?" She asked mockingly.

"You're... you're a..." he tried, but the word would not come.

He tried to force his eyes to focus, force his mind to accept what he was seeing. The realisation crashed in on him like a tsunami.

The beautiful, soft, creamy skin... now tinted red. Those long fingernails... now hooked claws, inches long, ending in needle-sharp points. Something flickered behind her, and he looked away in terror again. He took a deep breath and forced his eyes back onto her. Yes, he had been right. A long, slim tail curled behind her. And that beautiful hair, still as before... except for the long black horns which emerged from it. The green eyes, as beautiful as ever... with vertical slitted pupils.