You Have To Go To Mass! Ch. 03

"And then, ugh!.. and then what happened, Maria?" Part of the Father's brain tried desperately to cling to the illusion that he was still hearing her confession.

"And then... oohhh!... and then... and then... Oh, just fuck me!!" She bounced harder and faster. The Father grabbed her ass by both cheeks and helped her bounce, all the while thrusting and gyrating his hips, his curved cock caressing all the interior surfaces of her needful pussy.

"His cock... kept fucking... my pussy... " Maria's bouncing was ever more urgent. "It was... splitting me... wide open..." She felt the familiar glow of sexual heat begin to expand behind her pelvis, the imminent explosion of orgasm that would not be long denied.

"Yes... yes, go on!" The Father could feel her breasts pressing into his chest and her ass cheeks in his fists; his cock felt like it was on fire as it slid in and out of her. The warm slickness, the wet slimy friction, the sweet loving grip on his member had his head swimming with lust and desire and sexual need for release.

"And then... and then... Oh my God!!" Maria's arms clenched around his neck in a death grip as her pussy clenched his cock, and her body wracked with a thunderous orgasm. She gyrated and shook like an earthquake. Her pussy released a tidal wave of fluids, which washed over the priest's cock like a tsunami. This final sensation of pure carnality pushed him over the edge; he felt his balls tighten as he released a torrent of his own juices deep inside her body.

Maria started to sob again, her face buried in his neck. The Father slowly recovered from his climax, his breathing and heart rate gradually returning to normal. His lust sated, he began to realize what he had just done, and started to feel a sense of panic. Dear Lord in heaven, what had he just done!? He was sitting in a confessional, with a woman on his lap, her breasts in his face, and his withering cock still buried deep in her vagina! He felt as if he were watching a movie, as if it were someone else. This couldn't be real. It just couldn't.

Maria raised her head. "Father? Father? Are you all right?"

"Yes, child. I'm fine," he said vacantly, feeling as if he were a thousand miles away. "Say six Hail Marys and nine Our Fathers."

"Really? Will that be enough?"

"No. Nothing will be enough. Nothing will ever be enough. Now go, and sin no more."

Maria carefully extracted herself from the priest's lap. She felt his softened cock slide out of her pussy; felt the gushing of mingled fluids run down her leg. She looked closely at Father Flanagan. He didn't look well. "Are you sure you're all right, Father?"

"Please, just go."

Smoothing her skirt, Maria left the confessional. There was nobody else in the church; that was a relief. She walked out toward her car in the lot.

Father Flanagan listened to her heels clicking across the tile floor of the church. He was still stunned. He felt like he was in a trance, like he was somebody else. He couldn't believe what had just happened. He looked around at the carved wooden walls of the compartment. He looked up at the crucifix hanging over the grille. He didn't belong here. He didn't deserve to be here. He was unworthy. He got up, rearranged his vestments, and left the church.

A half hour later, the Father was settling himself on a bar stool at the Double Deuces, a seedy bar not far from the church. "What'll it be, Padre?" asked the bartender.

"A shot of Jameson's. No, make it a double. No, make it two doubles."

"I hope you're sharing those with someone, Padre."

"Just the Lord."

"Well, then I hope He's the one driving," said the bartender, setting down two glasses.

Father Flanagan downed one glass at a gulp. The fiery liquid burned his throat. Better get used to that burning sensation, he thought to himself. You'll get plenty of that in Hell. He stared at the second glass. Better sip this one, he thought. But screw it. He gulped it down, and slammed the empty glass on the bar. The bartender looked up. "Refill, please."

An hour later, the Father was numb enough to start thinking again. He couldn't go back to the church. He had no right to show his face there. He had no right to call himself a priest. He thought about someone he hadn't seen in a long time. He carefully got up from his bar stool and staggered toward the payphone on the back wall. He dropped in a quarter and dialed a number.

A woman's voice answered. "Hello?"

"I need a place to stay tonight. Are you alone? Can I come over?"

"Sure," said the woman. "Bring a bottle."

The Father hung up the phone. He turned toward the bartender. "Do you have a bottle to go?"

"Sure, Padre. You want me to call you a cab?"

"No thanks. The bus is good enough for someone like me."

The bartender shook his head as he watched the priest stagger out the door into the night.