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Bless Me Father

By: Robin P



"Bless me Father, for I have sinned....."

Awakening.

The priest had heard the door shut quietly and settled into a comfortable position, ready to hear the usual liturgy of minor transgressions that would be forgiven with his scale of "Hail Mary's" by way of absolution. Twenty minutes later, and having received an education in the emergence of one of his parishioners from drudge to the exalted woman she now was, he was, for the first time in his life, unable to dispense a suitable punishment and suspected that the occupant of the booth, was not looking for forgiveness. The story he had listened to in silence, had taken him unprepared and, in truth, had found that little private place where he kept his erotic thoughts. Father Patrick, had a hard on, but forgave himself.

Mary had had a strict Catholic upbringing. As a child, she had grown up in the tied cottages of Enniskillen, third daughter to her Guinness loving Father and sixth child of her god-fearing mother. They never had much of anything. The money her Da' earned provided a meagre diet and just about kept a roof over their heads, although it leaked as did the second hand shoes, she and her siblings wore.

Mary somehow survived the afflictions that ravaged the population of Ireland and, apart from the inevitable tape worn and head lice, the skinny body, grew into adulthood.

The transition from child to adolescence wasn't without trauma. Mary had little in the way of formal education, only attending the Nuns charity classes at irregular intervals. Her knowledge of bodily functions, menstruation or anything at all to do with the mechanics of sex was sketchy, gleaned only from dirty photographs that did the rounds and innuendous conversations that alluded to the function of sex.

When her first period happened, she thought that her time was up, that God was punishing her for some misdemeanour. She thought she was going to die. It was a sister that noticed and tried to give her a quick biology lesson. Mary would rather have died than admit to her mother that she had a problem.

Approaching her seventeenth birthday, Mary visited her eldest sister in the Mercy Hospital after she had given birth to her third child. Teresa was only a year and a half older than Mary, but had developed a worldly knowledge of things carnal at an early age. She was cursed with good looks and found she liked the attention of the opposite sex. They may have been sisters, but there was a world of difference between them. 

Mary had not inherited the striking eyes and hair, but looked dowdy, with mousy hair and a non-descript figure. It appealed to Tom, a porter at the hospital. Mary and Tom were married in a few months. All she had succeeded to do was replace her stern and often inebriated father with Tom, who was also often inebriated and beat her for the smallest things.

The beatings were never too harsh, a few bruises perhaps and once, a broken wrist when she had fallen, trying to protect her unborn child by instinctively putting out her hand and falling on top of it from the recoil of his slap. She fervently believed that God was still punishing her and would come up with any amount of sins to justify the harsh treatment. She must have deserved it, she reasoned, otherwise, why would it happen?

By the time Eileen was six, Tom had gone, taken off with a woman from out of town. Last Mary heard, he was heading towards England. Stoically, she found fault with herself and raised the shutters in her mind. Her energies were spent entirely on Eileen and the child's welfare. 

They lived in the council flat that was a breading ground for cockroaches and every manner of ailment that a close community can engender. Mary worked part time, filling shelves at the supermarket and earned what few pence more she could, taking in laundry. Eileen was clean, her clothes were always clean and she gained an education of sorts at the local comprehensive. They were only separated once, shortly before Tom left, never to return. Mary suffered a miscarried pregnancy that resulted in the need for her ovaries to be removed. Mary blamed herself for the problem and thought that Tom had every right to leave as he did.

They managed to survive reasonably happily. Eileen grew into a striking young lady and then a beautiful teenager who found work and tried to ease the burden on her mother with a few pounds from her small wage.

But it all changed one day, it was this that the priest had listened to, hardly daring to breathe while it poured out from this woman he had known since his childhood.

Mary didn't get to go on the supermarket checkouts too often because of her lack of schooling. Although the automatic reader totalled up the balance and electronically told her how much she should take and what change she should give, Mary still struggled to count the right money and often made mistakes. This day however, that was to change her life irrevocably. Mary was sat at the express lane for baskets only.

She glanced at the customer, noticing only that he was male and his shopping was for one. He was unremarkable she processed his goods through the scanner and packed them into a carrier bag as she went. Took his money and offered the change. She would have instantly gone on to the next customer, but a rich vibrato voice informed her she had made a mistake and the hand that belonged to the voice was trying to return some coins that she had given. Mary began to fluster as she always did in these circumstances and in her panic, couldn't find the key to open the cash drawer.

Eventually, she fought for control of her senses and thanked him for his honesty while shutting the errant drawer. That was it really. Mary sat at the till for the rest of the day. Her unflattering light blue uniform covering her, with her hair savagely pulled back in a tight bun, unremarkable in her self and mostly unnoticeable to any observer.

Mary had taken to allowing herself the luxury of a cafe latte on her way home. It was perhaps, the only luxury she did have. Her usual table was empty and her conversation with the serving girl was restricted to her request for the foamy beverage. Mary revelled in her private thoughts and was oblivious of the rest of the world as it went about its business.

"Mind if I join you." There was something familiar about the rich tenor of the voice, but Mary merely nodded her consent and didn't look up.

"Looks like rain again." He remarked causally, "I don't know when summer is going to start do you?"

Mary looked up at the direct question and shook her head. She had never learned the niceties of conversation and preferred to stay quiet.

"Ah! I almost didn't recognise you. You're the girl at the checkout aren't you?" His smile creased his eyes and deepened the azure quality of the blue.

Mary blushed furiously, remembering him now and then associating him with her error.

"I...I'm sorry for the mistake." Her tremulous voice was barely audible over the hubbub of the coffee shop and nervously, she wrung her hands in her lap below the level of the table and beyond his sight. Her own eyes remained downcast and she wished that the floor would open up and swallow her, whole.

"Ah! No worries." He said easily, "We all make them don't we?" 

She caught the movement of his hands as he used them to emphasise his words. She flinched, thinking he was about to strike her, he noticed the involuntary spasm and dropped his hands so they lay flat on the table, he consciously kept them there.

"I didn't get you name." 

"Mary."

"Well hello Mary, it is a pleasure to meet you." She looked up sharply to see if he was making fun of her with condescension, but she met a pair of smiling eyes that, although creased with a smile, were not cruel in anyway. Her flush of anxiety was becoming one of something else and she started to fluster again.

"Where does Mary come from I wonder?" His question could have been taken in a mocking sense, but his smile told otherwise. "And I wonder what Mary is like away from the Supermarket?"

"I'm sure I don't know." She answered and then continued, "I have to go now."

"Ah! Now that is a shame so it is. Wouldn't you stay for another and keep a lone man company?" He indicated her half empty coffee cup as he asked the question.

Mary was mortified. Her total experience of men talking to her was her father, usually angry; her husband, also angry and usually drunk; her priest and the doctor, but him, only when she absolutely had to go. The Manager at the supermarket rarely said more than one or two words and that was it for verbal contact with the male of the species. She rushed from the table, colliding with the next in her haste to get away and leaving behind, a carrier bag with that night's dinner and a bemused man who wondered what on earth had gotten into the woman.

That night, as she lay in her bed, covered from head to toe in a flannelette nightgown and blankets pulled up to her chin, Mary dreamed. She dreamed of this stranger and in a completely naïve innocence, dreamt of his holding her in his arms, warm and protective. Sex was not part of her subconscious. It was an event that had happened on a few occasions when Tom stank of Guinness or whiskey. It had resulted in her lovely daughter and the removal of her ability to have children. Sex had never been a joyous explosion of feelings and nerve jangling climaxes. Sex was a sordid and shameful subject, only to be done to create a child. That was why Tom was right to leave. She couldn't give him children. It was all her fault.

"Hail Mary Mother of god..." Even in her sleep, Mary was completely subjugate to her religion and fervently believed herself to be the most loathsome woman ever to have disgraced his garden.

But, a seed of doubt had been sown. Someone had taken enough interest in her to talk and make an acquaintance.

They saw each other once or twice over the next few days. He bought her a coffee and she returned the compliment the very next time, not wanting to be beholding to anyone. Their conversation was more than a little stinted. Mary couldn't find the ways to articulate, unused to describing herself or her life, believing them to be uninteresting. She would rather have sat there, listening to him tell her of his travels around the world as a sailor in the Merchant Navy. Whole vistas of unimaginable scenes flowed around her mind as his narrative enticed and lured her out of her mundane and urban life to the tropics and the Far East.

Mary found herself looking critically in her bedroom mirror and realised that she was nothing at all to look at. Her clothing, although clean, was not fashionable in any century she knew of. She threw her blouse, skirt and underwear to the floor in disgust and then, hesitantly, looked critically at her naked body for the first time in her life. 

Looking back at her was a slightly built woman, obviously approaching her forties, but had not been ruined by constant childbirth. Her hair, always a constant source of annoyance, was still pulled back and tightly wound into her normal bun. Mary pulled the pins and allowed her hair to cascade; pleased with the way it fell to below her shoulder blades and waved in natural curves. The mousy colour had deepened into a chestnut that had a rich lustre about it. She could hardly believe that it was her hair and was amazed at its length and vibrancy of colour. The only time it was unwound was when she washed it. Then, while wet, it appeared to be black and lank.

She skipped her face, not wanting to be too critical in her appraisal and looked at her breasts, noticing for the first time in her life, that the left one was slightly smaller than the right, but not too noticeably. Her bra size had remained the same since her wedding, 34 B cup. It was a good size she thought.

Her stomach was still quite firm and flat. You had to really look hard to see any stretch marks. She noticed a dark brown mole on her left hip and wondered when that had happened.

Mary's pubic area had a lush growth of hair, darker than her head that formed an almost perfect triangle, with slightly curved sides. She spent little time admiring that part of her body, but travelled to her legs. They were good legs by any one's reckoning. The skin was flawless and almost transparent in whiteness. Her musculature was clearly visible beneath the taut covering. Only a few hairs grew below her knee. Mary hated her feet. It was one of those irrational hatreds women have of their anatomy. With Mary, it was her feet. Apart from her hands, her feet were the only part of her body she had studied at any time.

All in all though, not a bad package she thought. She turned this way and that, trying to see what her behind looked like and marvelled in the swish of her hair as she turned and twisted.

Then Mary asked the reflection looking back at her. Why am I standing here admiring myself? What am I looking at? She didn't know the answer to either question and in her naivety, she was not aware that she was in preparation for a sexual encounter and was merely checking out the validity of what she was offering.

She looked at her legs again, remembering the only time she had worn a short skirt. She had only got to the foot of the stairs when her father screamed at her and tore the clothes from her back, repeating over and over as he beat her. Ye harlot ye, I'll learn yeah, ye harlot and Jezebel. It took Mary several years more to find out what a harlot was and who Jezebel was supposed to be. That was one thing she never forgave her father for. The beatings she thought she deserved, but never to be called anything like that.

Mary dressed in her usual black or dark brown shapeless dress and cinched it together with a plastic belt effectively hiding any allure she might have had. But, she left her hair down.

A few days later, she met him again. Her confidence grew in exponential increments with every encounter. She was still to talk about herself and still did not know his name.

"Mary..." He had a way of saying her name that made it sound like the most beautiful word in the language. "Mary, I have sat here and told you all about me and not once have I asked you anything about you. Are you married? Where do you live? Do you have brothers, sisters anything or anything and everything?"

"You might have told me so much about you, but you never have told me your name." 

"Oh Bejayzus!" He threw his hands up and almost fell over backwards off the stools they were sitting on. Mary smiled at his actions and blushed at his profanity of the Lord's name. 

"So I haven't. It's Michael, Michael Donnelly and very pleased it is to be meeting witch yeah." He lapsed into an Irish drogue that sounded peculiar from an Irishman and had Mary laughing fit to bust before she realised the spectacle she was making of herself and quickly brought herself under control.

"Ah Mary, Mary, that is a grand smile you be having there, 'tis a shame to be hiding it." His eyes danced in merriment and Mary felt her heart lurch.

Somehow, they sat there for an hour while she told him of her life to this point. He listened and made no comments while she spoke, just the occasional shake of his head, as if in disbelief. Mary talked and talked until she realised the time.

"Oh Mercy!" She wailed through her fingers as they covered her mouth in shock. Eileen will be after killing me or ringing the hospitals. I have to go home. She jumped up, spilling an empty coffee cup as her thigh caught the edge of the table. She grabbed her bags and was on the point of flight.

"I'll drive you." He said it simply, but in a voice that was not about to take no for an answer.

"I...I Couldn't." She protested weakly, but it was already settled as he relieved her of her bags and guided her to the exit and his car waiting in the parking zone.

She directed him and observed the casual ease with which he negotiated the evening traffic. She also took the opportunity to appraise his form, features and body.

She guessed him to be a few years older than her. His years at sea had ingrained lines into his face, but wasn't detrimental to the whole aspect. His black hair was swept back off his forehead was in need of cutting and flicked up at the nape of his neck.

His open necked sport shirt showed his torso to be quite well built, certainly not 'He Man', but well proportioned and powerful. His slacks gave nothing away, but were neatly pressed and clean. Mary liked his teeth. They had a pure whiteness to them and uniformity rarely seen. She also liked his mouth. The expressive quirks and full lips did things to her imagination.

Mary noticed her curtains twitch as she and Michael ascended the stone stairs to her front door. He carried the bags and then left her with a cheery wave and a private smile that passed between them.

Eileen fairly gushed as her mother shut the door in an obvious reflective state of mind. Demanding to know who the Hunk, as she put it, was and where did she know him from. Mary fended off the inquisition and prepared dinner in a distracted vortex of mangled thought.

She found herself preening, something she had never done before, but there she was, in front of the mirror, preening and primping her hair.

They continued to meet at the coffee shop. Daily, easily chatting and talking, getting to know each other until, one particular, memorable Friday. This Friday was different because Michael asked her out. 

"Perhaps we could go to the pictures, dancing or how about a meal?" He asked; Mary accepted with out hesitation, but then, immediately after her acceptance, the doubts crowded in.

What would she wear? How did you go on a date? She began to panic again and left hurriedly to the safe domain of the flat. Eileen proved to be invaluable, calming and then knowledgeable. Secretly, she was thrilled for her mother and pulled out all the stops. Although Mary couldn't really afford it, they went clothes shopping, a first of many firsts to come. Mary ceded to Eileen's dress sense and at the end of the wearying excursion, had to admit that her purchases looked fantastic on her. 

Just before the appointed time of Michael picking her up, Mary cast an appreciative glance and a twirl over her ensemble. She would never in her life, have picked out pastel colours, but had to agree that the subtle shades and fineness of the materials accentuated her figure and highlighted her hair. Another first was the introduction of makeup. Mary had never once worn anything on her face apart from a bruise. Eileen once again, worked a magic that even Mary had to admit, looked absolutely perfect.

Michael arrived punctually and waited in the living room while Mary touched up and preened with Eileen in attendance. Then, together they entered the living room and faced Him, One young girl presenting her prodigy for inspection, the other a middle-aged woman who was feeling very young and more nervous than she had ever been in her life. This was it, a first step on a path that she could have no idea of its destination.

Michael smiled that winning smile that lit his eyes as he turned from the mantelpiece.

"OH! I must be in the wrong house, I thought Mary lived here, but I must be wrong." His teasing pleased Eileen and produced a playful punch from her to his arm.

"Mary, you look stunning." The simplicity of his comment and the sincerity with which it was delivered went straight to her heart. If she wasn't in love before, with this man, then she was now and she liked the feeling. "Shall we go?" He offered his arm and they left to go to the movies.

Mary couldn't remember the film, the actors or the plot, so wrapped in the attentions of Michael was she, that any peripheral stimulation was ignored. The film finished and they filed out into the cool night air. It must have rained, but she didn't notice. They had a drink in a local bar and then decided to go home to Mary's flat for a coffee.


Bless Me Father



OK -- here's a super short one-off. Been rattling around my brain for a while.

I have to warn you, I am not Catholic. And even though I do have this odd obsession with priests (or just men willing to dress up as one), I have very little knowledge of Catholic mass and rituals. So any errors are due to my own lack of research. I hope they do not detract too much from the story.

-W

*************************************

I got to the church a little late. The small parking lot was already packed with the town Catholics; the devout followers of the faith and those who came to mass 'just in case'. They'd gotten used to seeing me at mass. I know they wanted to ask why I -- the town's only admitted atheist -- suddenly had an interest in mass. They didn't, but I know they wanted to.

I was glad I was late, I wanted to make sure mass had started before I arrived. I parked towards the back of the small church, close to the parsonage. I got out of the car and stood for a moment, looking at the small clapboard house.

He lived there. He showered there. He took off his collar and his clothes there. The thought of him naked, the way his skin tasted, the soft hair of his chest leading down to his delicious cock started my mouth watering and my cunt aching to be filled by him.

I sighed, turning to make my way to the church. The day was bright and brisk; the first real sign of fall since September gave way to October. The wind swirled around my legs as I crossed the parking lot, lifting the hem of my dress a little. I put my hands to my sides, holding my dress down to preserve my modesty, laughing when the absurdity of that thought hit me.

Modesty, I thought as I walked through the doors of the church, closing them silently behind me. Pretty sure I left that at home this morning.

I entered the sanctuary silently, taking a seat in the last pew, keeping my eyes cut towards the dais, where he stood. His back was to the congregation and I had a few moments to study his form. His beautiful, heartbreakingly familiar form. Even hidden under the heavy black cassock I could see the strength in his arms, the round globes of his ass, the length and musculature of his legs. Or maybe I just knew it was there.

He turned around, beginning the first liturgy, his gaze sweeping the congregation. I sat in the shadows, barely visible, but I could tell he saw me when his mouth twitched as if he was suppressing a smile. I smiled back, broadly, and barely kept myself from licking my lips at the sight of his hands grasping the edge of the podium.

Those hands...I thought, my mind floating back to the time after college, back to when I knew him as Jack. Jonathon Banion. The psychology graduate with the deep brown eyes, light brown hair streaked with gold and soft lips. The broad shouldered man with the large, calloused hands.

My eyes followed him while my mind wandered back almost twenty years. Memories swarmed behind my eyes, memories of what we had, what we were, what we did. A sudden and clear vision of me kneeling, my elbows bound to my knees, a bar keeping my legs apart and pillows propping me up on the bed.

He made the sign of the cross and my eyes followed his hand, my mind remembering other times he used that hand. Remembering how it felt when it would slap my ass, slap my pussy. I closed my eyes for a moment, sucking in my breath against a moan. The image of those long, skilled fingers fucking my ass as Jack fucked my pussy suddenly popped into my head and I nearly came.

I shifted in the pew, the increasing wetness of my pussy reminding me I decided to forgo underwear this morning. I shook myself out of my reverie and focused my attention back to the front. The choir -- children and adolescents -- were standing to the side in their white satin robes, singing songs in Latin I didn't understand. They sounded beautiful, but my gaze was drawn back to him.

Jack.

I was shocked, shocked to my soul, when I walked in to the small diner and found him there. Older, slightly thicker, graying hair -- but it was him. It was him and even after twenty years my nipples hardened at the sound of his deep voice. He was making the rounds, moving from booth to booth and stool to stool, talking with the townsfolk. Someone called me over to meet the new parish priest -- priest! -- Father Banion.

Jack.

Somehow he landed in the same small town I did.

We tried to stay separate. Longing glances. Stolen moments of conversations. Chaste hugs and kisses on the cheek. His sincere hope we could be friends. I would have settled for that. I would have forced myself to settle for that. If it wasn't for that one Thursday afternoon when I found him watching my ass at the library, a tent in his pants as I straightened up from retrieving a book off the bottom shelf.

Thus, the stalking began. Showing up for mass. Bingo. Anywhere I thought I might see him. Waiting to be the last one into the confessional and threading my fingertips through the wicker screen between us as I confessed to him. Confessed to never feeling as good with anyone else as I did with him. Confessed to thinking of him as I lay in my lonely bed. Confessed to wanting him still.

He resisted. He cited his faith and stood solid. He thwarted my every overtly sexual advance and pushed me to meet someone else, to date someone else. I did. I met a man, a nice man, and we went out last Tuesday afternoon. Roller skating and afterwards dinner and pie at the diner. He was there. Watching us, the smile on his face never reaching his eyes.

He grabbed me in the confessional that week and kissed me. Hard. His hand fisted in my hair and murdering my mouth.

Like he used to.

I watched as the congregation slid to their knees and shot my eyes back to the dais. His eyes were on me, and I felt emboldened. I slipped my hand beneath my skirt and rubbed my pussy for a moment. I pulled my hand out and kept my eyes on him, putting my fingers to my mouth and sucking them. His eyes widened for a second and I thought I saw reciprocal heat in them before he turned his gaze away.

I watched him through the rest of mass, but his eyes never met mine again.

I waited until the rest of the congregation was filing out to leave my pew. Saying hello and making small talk with a few people here and there. I meandered my way to the end of the line and slowly made my way out. He grasped my hand and smiled at me, but the expression in his eyes made me shiver.

It was predatory.

"I would like you to come to my office," he said as the last of his flock made their way towards their cars. "I want to discuss your attendance here."

"Yes, father," I said, casting my eyes down to try and dampen the excitement building between my thighs.

"Please," he gestured back towards the church and started walking. I followed him through the sanctuary and to a small side door, stopping when he went through. The door closed behind him and I waited a few moments for him to return, knocking softly on the door when he didn't.

"Come in and sit down, Tessa," he said, his voice gruff. I moved towards the chair in front of his desk but he stopped me. "No, not on the chair." He paced in front of his desk, his robes flowing behind him. "Dirty girls who taste themselves in church don't sit in chairs. Kneel, Tessa. Kneel and take your penance."

I instantly knelt in front of him and clasped my hands behind my back like I was taught to.

Like he taught me to.

He separated the front of his cassock and pulled his cock -- his hard, throbbing cock -- out and stroked it in front of my face. I licked my lips as I watched his hand move slowly back and forth, drops of pre-cum falling to the floor. He fisted his other hand in my hair and I opened my mouth instantly, covering my teeth with my lips and flattening my tongue in preparation for him, wondering at how easily I fell back in to sub mode.

He slid his cock slowly between my lips, moving his hands to the sides of my head, and proceeded to fuck my skull. I did my best to seal my lips around his magnificent dick, while trying to lick his shaft. I longed to caress his thighs, to cup and squeeze and suck on his balls, but I kept my hands behind my back. I didn't want to risk him stopping.

"That's it, Tessa, take your penance. You dirty girl, getting the good father hard during mass. I bet you were thinking about this cock during my sermon, weren't you," he groaned. I made a noise of assent, not wanting his dick to leave my mouth long enough for me to utter one syllable. He started to fuck my face in earnest then, his thrusts becoming harder and irregular; he began speaking in Latin, prayers maybe, and I worked even harder to please him, feeling him swell between my lips and knowing my reward was around the corner.

Suddenly he pulled out, grabbing the base of his cock with one fist and holding my head back with his other fist in my hair. I whined, pulling against his hand to get him back in my mouth, salivating for him, desperate to taste his cum again.

"Not yet, Tessa. You have to ask for my blessing, my absolution." I blinked up at him, not knowing what he wanted me to say. "Say 'bless me father, for I have sinned', and I might offer you absolution."

I smiled softly, my eyes on his. "Bless me father, for I have sinned."

"Again," he said, rubbing his cock all over my cheeks and chin.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned."

"Again."

"Bless me father, for I have sinned."

"Take your absolution, Tessa. Take every drop," he grunted, shoving himself into my mouth again and thrusting. I moaned around the sudden invasion and sucked as well as I could.

"Fuck. Here it comes, Tessa. Swallow it all," he said, holding my head steady as his cock began shooting his load in my mouth. I swallowed quickly, not wanting to waste a drop. I suckled at his cock as it shrank in my mouth, wanting to keep it there as long as possible.

"Rise," he said as he pulled back from me, tucking his flaccid, but still beautiful, cock back into the folds of his cassock. He moved behind his desk and sat down.

I got to my feet easily, despite the aching emptiness in my pussy, and stood before the desk. He began going through paperwork, pulling a small bible out of the drawer and opening it to a pre-marked page.

"You may go, Tessa," he said, not lifting his eyes to look at me. I stopped myself from leaping over the desk and grabbing him by his shoulders and shaking him. I wanted him to look at me. I wanted to look into his eyes and see that this wasn't over. I wanted to see that this was only the beginning.

"Jack...," I began, but he cut me off.

"I am quite busy, Tessa, so please, show yourself out," he said, still not looking up at me. I bit back a sob and straightened myself out. I opened my mouth to speak, but had no idea what to say, so I closed it again.

I turned towards the door and pulled it open, moving stiffly as tears threatened. Just as I was about to cross the threshold his voice, dark and tinged with promise, stopped me momentarily.

"Don't forget to come to confession, Tessa."



Bless Me, Father



Chapter One

Sister Eulalia rose in the early morning hours. She always rose early. She had since she was a little girl, troubled by dreams. 

The dreams started when she was eight; startlingly realistic dreams. 

It was a day she had long been waiting for, her First Holy Communion; a rite of passage for all young Catholic girls, when they dressed up in their white dresses and walked down the aisle of the church to become the virgin army of Christ in a world of sin and corruption. Slowly she passed the nuns who had instructed them the past months on the Sacrament and its meaning. She knelt before the altar, her eyes gazing upwards and angelically at the crucifix behind the altar; Christ bruised and bleeding, with nothing but a small strip of cloth covering his private parts. 

She had always wondered what lay beneath that small tell-tale rag of linen. She knew men were different from women. She had seen men's underwear ads and knew there was a lump of flesh, and the sisters had always told her Christ was a man... flesh and blood. She stared at the figure upon the cross, but not his face. The flesh beneath the linen began to swell, pulsing in tempo with the novena issuing from the row of child virgins. 

Ora pro nobis... pray for us! 

She shook away the unholy thoughts and lowered her eyes. She mustn't think of such things. She lifted her eyes to the two priests at the altar. One was Father O'Brien. The other was a visiting priest. His eyes were a deep cerulean blue, penetrating and mesmerizing. She felt a chill, like a cold wind tickling her private parts and making her tiny nipples erect and hard. She lowered her eyes and became aware of herself. She was stark naked... naked before God and everyone in the church. 

She raised her eyes to the cross to implore his aid, but they halted at the flesh beneath the flimsy cloth. It was swollen so much that the rag was in the process of tearing and falling off. She screamed and ran from the church. All were laughing at her, the nuns shouting 'Whore!' at her as she fled from God's house. 

Sister Eulalia woke with a start, breathing heavily and gasping for air. Her sheets soaked in a cold sweat. She knelt on the stone floor by her bedside, humbly supplicating for divine guidance through hours of earnest prayer. Another nun found her in the morning, naked and prostrate upon the floor, shivering and cold. 

Chapter Two

Sister Eulalia was born Mary Connor, of Irish lineage, at least where her mother was concerned. Her father was a mystery, as she was born out of wedlock and raised by her mother, with the help of her grandparents. No one knew who the father was, except for the mother, and she was mute on the subject. People long ago had given up asking about him, and as far as Mary was concerned, her mother would take his identity to the grave with her. 

Her mother was very religious and raised Mary in the Catholic church of her ancestors. Mary decided early in her life that she would dedicate her life to Christ and the church. She prayed more fervently than any other child her age, and by high school, the boys never even bothered to ask her out on a date, as they all knew she was to join the local convent and become a virgin sister. She was untouchable and unassailable... at least outwardly. 

Inwardly, Mary was in constant turmoil, always asking questions of the Lord, who left her to her own conclusions. Menses was a torture she could not understand. The blood would flow from her doubled-up physique in copious amounts. She felt it to be horribly unfair that she, dedicated to Christ, must suffer the debilitating monthly crimson trials. When she entered the convent after high school, she would declare a two-day fast every month, and suspend herself naked by the wrists from the rafter of her cell, the door bolted against intruders, as her blood would run down her thin legs and into puddles at her feet. This was God's punishment, she concluded, for the primal expulsion from Eden, where Adam and Eve met in delicious union without guilt or knowledge, until they were expelled, like her menstrual flow, from the womb of Paradise. 

She felt that she was born centuries too late, into a world where self-mortification and sacrifice were trite and insignificant things. No one suffered for Christ anymore. Martyrdoms were sometimes heard of in faraway, backward, third-world places hardly known, but not here and now. Mary's mother would visit periodically, and talk to her through a little grate in the convent wall. 

"Anne," Mary would say, using her mother's first name, as she had dedicated herself to the Blessed Virgin, Mother of Christ, who was now her mother also, "I am troubled, full of doubt. I cry for hours, and I miss you and all my friends." 

"Don't worry," her mother would reply, "It will pass. You will soon be wed to Christ our savior, where there will be no loneliness or suffering." 

She quickly grew distracted with her mother's utterances, realizing how lacking in substance they were compared to the truth that was her 'contemplative' life. Sometimes she contemplated ending it all, tying the cords around her neck instead of her wrists, imagining herself bleeding to death as a martyr for Christ. 

But that would be suicide, and she would burn in the eternal fires of hell. So here she was, suspended between heaven and hell, both pulling at the cords, until she felt that she must be pulled asunder. 

Thus she struggled through her novitiate, believing that all the doubts and indecision would evaporate in the sanctity of her marriage to Christ. When she took her final vows, she took upon herself the name 'Eulalia,' a child and virgin saint of twelve who died in 304 AD. When asked to make sacrifices to the state gods of Rome, she refused, even under torture. Finally she was tied naked to a cross on the streets overnight in the freezing cold, where she died, still a virgin and dedicated to Christ... a true martyr of the early church. 

It had been but a fortnight before; word had come to the city of Merida, that Emperor Diocletian wished to put an end to the Christian intolerance of pagan deities, and ordered that all in the empire provide the proper sacrifices to the gods of Rome. Many did, fearing for their lives, and believing that any sacrifice not made from the heart, was not a true sacrifice, and would be forgiven. Not Eulalia. 

Sister Eulalia saw herself being led, virgin and pure, from her jail cell, a child of twelve. No amount of coaxing by her friends or family or Roman guards could convince her to make a token sacrifice to save her life. The guards were brutal as they whipped her and tortured her to acquiescence, but nothing would move her mind. She knelt through the night praying, as the guards outside her cell played at dice and spoke in the most rude and disgusting manner. 

"I think we should give her a taste of my meat," grunted one, "Then she would scream for the pagan gods." 

"Why is that?" asked another, "Is it because she would do anything to be relieved of the awful taste in her mouth?" 

All laughed. 

"Naw," replied the first, "It is because once she laid eyes on some true Roman sausage, she would leave behind her Christian ways to get as much as she could." 

"In that case," returned the second, "we better let her see mine first!" 

The raucous laughter split the air as the bawdy comments flew freely back and forth. Suddenly, Eulalia felt a presence. It was a Roman guard who had entered her cell. In the smoky, fading, spent torchlight, she looked into his eyes. They were a deep cerulean blue. Beaten and bruised and shivering from the early evening chill, she implored him with her eyes to save her and stop the pain. 

"You need not sacrifice to the Roman gods," he spoke with a soft and lilting voice. "You can go free if you wish. It is in your hands. You only need to sacrifice to one god." 

"My Lord and Savior?" she asked. 

The guard ever so slightly shook his head and smiled. "No, my child," he whispered as he reached down to grasp the flesh beneath his tunic. It was swollen and tumescent, outlined against the linen cloth. 

She shook her head violently and turned her face to the wall, uttering a prayer to the Virgin Mother of God. 

"Ave Maria, gratia plena..." 

The door slammed, and the bolt was replaced. Soon the raucous bunch, without the guard who had accosted her minutes before, stumbled drunkenly into the cell, and led her out into the street near the public marketplace. The tunic on her tiny, slender body, torn and caked with dried blood from her previous torture, was stripped from her shoulders and left to hang about her waist. Her wrists and ankles were tied to the wooden cross that had been erected in the street upon the cold paving stones. The cross was in the shape of a saltire, an 'X,' for she didn't think she deserved to die on the cross of her Savior. 

The guards laughed at her tiny breasts, barely formed on her youthful frame, the nipples hardened and erect from the cold. They walked down the street and left her there, huddling in a doorway with their cloaks wrapped close around them to ward off the freezing wind. 

Her shivering body, suspended on the cross, was no match against the chill of winter on an open street. Soon she was numb and praying for deliverance from this life which had treated her so harshly for her love of God. As she began to drift away she saw him against the wall on the opposite side of the street. He could do nothing, and his cerulean eyes held tears that froze as they overflowed their bounds onto his cheeks, so bitter was the cold. 

Her body filled with momentary and merciful warmth as it gave in to the cold. An immense flow of menstrual blood burst from her womb, as she burst from the corporeal world and into Paradise, from whence the original sin had deprived all mankind. 

She breathed her last. He cut the cords that bound her, and laid her on the paving stones. A snow began to fall, covering her nakedness and sanctifying her virgin martyrdom. 

Chapter Three

"Eulalia... Eulalia!" cried a young nun through her haze of awakening, when dreams and consciousness meet and mingle. 

Sister Eulalia once again found herself awakening on the hard and cold stone floor, with her nightgown pulled down to her waist, exposing her small breasts, her ribs, her navel, and she was lying in a pool of blood, which had turned her gown a dark crimson. She thought how nice it would be to wake up in bed, warm and cozy under a quilt, but her dreams would not allow it. For years she had greeted the morning from her berth on the floor, naked and alone. 

With the help of the other nun, she rose unsteadily to her feet. She was weak and rather helpless from the loss of blood and a night spent semi-nude on the cold stone floor. She staggered to her cell's bathroom where she set the reddened gown to soak in the sink and cleaned herself up a bit. Upon dressing, she proceeded to hear mass, the first event of the day in the convent. She was grateful to finally sit for the homily. Father O'Brien closed the Bible from which he had read the Gospel, and stood thoughtfully for a few moments. 

"After many years your Pastor," he began, "I have been assigned another parish elsewhere. I have been fulfilled in my desire to serve God here, and I will ever treasure my memories amongst the people of this parish, and the good sisters who daily dedicate their lives in solitude, praying forgiveness for the sins of this world. You may not think sometimes that he hears your prayers, but believe me, not the tiniest sparrow falls from its nest, but he knows and cares." 

Father O'Brien always expressed himself in few words. He stepped from the pulpit and finished his mass, then walked out the convent's doors forever. 

Sister Eulalia walked with the other nuns to an early breakfast, passing Father O'Brien's office, and changing room, when he served as the convent's priest. They all stopped when the door opened, curious to see their new confessor. 

He walked from his room, and Sister Eulalia stood as if the world had ended, unable to breathe, in the middle of the hallway. It was him! The Roman guard who had lowered her from the cross with tears in his cerulean eyes, eyes of a deep ocean blue that threatened to drown her on the spot. 

"Breathe, my child," he said, smiling to alleviate her discomfiture. 

Then casting his eyes down the hallway to the other sisters, continued, "I am Father Lars Gustafsson. You may just refer to me as Father Lars." 

Sister Eulalia didn't know what to make of this. The same man from her recurring nightmares, the priest who denuded her at her First Holy Communion, the Roman guard who offered to save her through the sacrifice of her virginity, was now her confessor. The discomfort she felt left her distracted and anxious. 

That next Sunday, she sat next to Anne, her mother, in the small chapel. It was one of the few times they could meet without talking through the grate in the wall. A few quiet words were exchanged while waiting for the mass to begin. The opening hymn was sung by the nuns in their high-pitched and piercing voices, echoing through the vaulted chapel, followed by the altar boys and priest processing down the aisle. He turned toward the congregation and surveyed them with his eyes, which stopped and slightly dilated as they fell upon Anne. 

Several seconds passed in dead silence as the two locked eyes. It was as if an intense conversation was filling the quiet ether between them. Some of the nuns looked discomfortingly at Sister Eulalia's mother and Father Lars, wondering what to make of it all. 

Hidden behind the pew, Anne took her daughter's hand in hers and squeezed it slightly, whispering, "Goodbye, Mary, God bless you," and stepped from the pew into the aisle, genuflecting and crossing herself. She walked out of the chapel, never to visit again. 

Chapter Four

A fortnight had passed since the incident in the chapel, leaving Sister Eulalia distressed and troubled in her soul, unable to discern its significance. Her dreams continued. 

She was often chosen to clean the rooms about the convent, especially the ones reserved for visiting priests and other guests. With her jingling chain of keys, she opened the room that Father Lars used as his office and changing room when he was there. He was to arrive the next day and stay overnight for the Sunday service, but as she was dusting the furniture, she heard his voice accompanied by footsteps down the hallway. 

Not wanting to face him, after her dreams clearly indicated an evil intent, she quickly scurried into the small closet of cassocks just in time to hide herself. 

"Thank you, Mother Superior, for accommodating me on such short notice. I hope it has not been too much trouble." "No trouble at all, Father, we are always happy to have you present among us." 

The door closed and Sister Eulalia heard the lock click, and the deadbolt likewise. She was locked in with him, and frightened, cursing her stupidity. The room was sparse, consisting of a bed (a cot really), an old metal swivel chair and a desk possessing the only modern item in the room... a computer, a prie dieu with a Bible, and the closet that hid her from his view. 

He sat down at the desk and turned on the computer. This had been installed by Father O'Brien to look up words and passages on the online concordances, as well as typing out his sermons (always after they were given, not before). Father Lars, though, was eyeing the screen with a different intent. 

He rose from his chair at the desk and began walking toward the closet, unbuttoning his cassock as he approached her hiding place. Slowly it fell from his shoulders as he undid the buttons at the bottom, revealing a torso, totally naked. She shut her eyes and shoved herself into the back corner of the closet, hoping he wouldn't notice her. He opened the door and tossed the cassock carelessly on top of her, walking back to the desk. 

She was breathing heavily from her fright for several minutes, hoping he could not hear her. Finally, she peaked around the edge of the open door. Her eyes were met with images of a man's penis, huge and hard, upon the screen of the computer. A small delicate hand was rubbing its length from top to bottom. It was the hand of a tiny teenager, younger than Sister Eulalia. Just as the eyes of the teenager were absorbing the stature of the man's organ with unconcealed lust, Eulalia's eyes were discovering the true nature of man. As Adam was created to fill the void between the legs of Eve, she wondered if Father Lars had been created to fill another's void. Or for that matter, was she created as an instrument of man, to be filled and fulfilled, the void between her legs an offering upon the altar of God's creation? 

Her hands roamed down her sides and to her ankles, lifting her habit up and over her head. She rose and walked, totally nude and Edenically shameless, from the closet. 

Father Lars, seeing her reflection behind him in the computer screen, turned in his swivel chair to face her. Eulalia's eyes descended from the enlarged penis on the computer screen, to the first real penis she had ever beheld, magnificent to behold, and every bit as large and erect as the one on the video. She looked back up to the screen to see the teenage beauty impale herself on the man's tool, blood trickling down the man's shaft onto his pendulous sack beneath. 

Eulalia gasped at the sight. It seemed that whatever a woman did, because of that original sin, she was condemned to bleed... monthly, during her initial sexual fulfillment, childbirth. When would she ever be absolved? The womb was always the fountainhead of that crimson flow. Was it because this was the original sin? Man and woman's desire to unite as one? If so, what defined good and evil, and the knowledge mankind derived from this act? What type of tree was mounted, and what fruit was plucked in that garden so long ago? And could any of God's creatures ever hope to return to that prelapsarian idyll? 

She felt the firm, large palms of Father Lars upon the skin of her hips. They were warm and soft, and they guided her body ever closer to the penis, rising like the Tower of Babel from his groin. Slowly she lowered herself, guided by those knowing hands onto that tower, straining toward her opening, like a child seeking a warm shelter from the cold. She tore her eyes away from his instrument and looked into his eyes, tumbling into their cerulean depths. 

Suddenly the blue depths changed into a sea of fire as pain unbearable spread from her pierced maidenhead, and she felt herself falling through a vast emptiness toward that sea, ready to accept her and burn her naked body through eternity. 

Chapter Five

Upon hearing Sister Eulalia's screams, several of the other sisters ran down the hall to her room. There they found her naked and writhing on the floor, crying that she was burning. Finally they woke her and in the few seconds it took her to come to full consciousness, she saw Father Lars standing in the doorway to her cell. A second later and he was gone. She struggled from the concerned hands of her sisters and staggered to the door. It couldn't have taken a second, but he was nowhere to be seen, though the hallway was long and narrow both ways. 

When the other nuns had left, determining that she was recovered from her nightmare, she sat on the edge of her bed. Her fingers wandered to her vagina, feeling to see if the maiden membrane was still intact. It was, but a fire was still burning hot within her. 

She pleaded illness for the day, lying in bed and thinking of all that had passed the past few weeks. She wondered why the cerulean blue of Father's eyes captivated her so. She wondered why he recurred so often in her dreams. She wondered why her mother had acted as she did. She had a vague theory, but seriously needed to talk to her mother in order to make sense of the puzzle. She went that afternoon to the Mother Superior's office. The only phone in the convent was there, and permission had to be granted to use it. 




Bless Me, Father



"Mother," she pleaded into the phone, "I need to know something. It's important." 

There was a hesitation on the other end. Finally, a cautious 'Yes?' was uttered from the opposite side. 

"Who was my father," she blurted out, knowing that she would receive no answer. She had asked before. 

"I can't tell you," was all she said. 

"Can you at least tell me something about him?" her daughter insisted. 

"Dear," her mother replied, "It would do you no good. You have to believe me." 

"Then can you tell me at least why you never married?" 

Again the silence. 

"We were young, high school sweethearts," she spoke, finally breaking the silence, "Reckless and free. But he had a calling, and I couldn't be a part of it. I never told him I was pregnant, and he followed that calling." 

Her voice quivered with the final words, and with a simple 'Goodbye,' the phone went dead. 

"So that was it," she thought to herself as she wondered, half-conscious, back to her cell. "He is my father!" 

Chapter Six

Sister Eulalia knelt for hours in the old stone chapel of the convent waiting for her confession to be heard. The other sisters filed one by one into the confessional. What sins were being confessed, Eulalia wondered, in that cubicle from which words never escaped. Sister Therese was overweight, despite one unsuccessful diet after another. Was it the sin of gluttony she confessed? Or was it vanity? Sister Frances was always late, oversleeping most mornings, running into the chapel as the first matins were being recited. Sloth? Sister Bernice was different from the others. When she woke Eulalia from her nightmares, she would linger, her eyes feasting upon her body. Lust? Abomination? 

One by one they were absolved of their sins. One by one they left the chapel, resolved to try again, destined to fail. For all... all were shackled in the bonds of original sin. For all the time spent in the confessional, she felt the refining fires of hell were just below her feet. 

Finally, the chapel was empty. It was her turn. She had been struggling for days, trying to decide how she would handle the realization that it was not only her spiritual father to whom she was confessing, but also her carnal father. Her knees seemed frozen to the ground, for she never used a kneeler, and they had become callused from her hours at prayer. 

She heard an 'ahem' issue from the confessional, calling her to penance. Slowly she rose and entered the tiny cubicle. She knelt, facing a small and only slightly opaque screen separating her from her confessor. She eyed his profile, taking in the reality. He was called to the priesthood, and her mother sacrificed herself so that he could fulfill that calling. But the sins of the fathers are indelible. And are visited upon the daughters. 

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," she whispered, fraught with double meanings. She paused, not sure what to say next. 

"Yes, my child?" he replied, urging her gently onward. 

This was like one of her dreams, but there was no waking from the words she was about to utter. 

"Father," she confessed, "I wallow in sin too horrific to express in words. Every minute of my consciousness, waking or sleeping, I am obsessed with only one thought." 

"And what is the thought that could so trouble a mere child such as yourself, Eulie?" 

Father Lars had a way of disarming a person, making the sins of this world seem trivial and easy to overcome with penance and prayer. Even the use of a spiritual nickname seemed to endear himself to her. But she had to say what was on her mind, however distasteful it might appear. Otherwise if she were to die tomorrow, she would be consumed for eternity in a crucible of refining fire. 

"Father, I lust in the flesh. I pray, but my prayers are to the devil within, a devil that burns in my womb with a fire unquenchable. I do not wish to expel him, for the fire is exquisite and its extinguishment even more so." 

Father Lars was taken aback by this frankness which he was not expecting from a nun who was known about the convent as a paragon of sacrifice and consequent holiness, but he realized that the devil always lurked just beneath the surface. 

It was at that moment his battle with the devil commenced, and the battleground was Sister Eulalia... Eulie. 

"Can I ask you a question, Father?" 

"Certainly, my child." 

"Are you not a sinner, Father?" 

"All are sinners, Eulie... all." 

"And how do you quench the fire? Can you compute the number of fires that wrest your mind from holiness toward the lustful rumblings in your groin?" 

Father Lars thought for a few moments before answering. Was this a test? He was taken aback by the sister's use of the word 'compute' in her question. If he gave the standard answer, to drive such unholy thoughts from her mind, he would not be answering her question, sounding as though he was skirting her inquiry. If he said that he drove those same thoughts from his mind through prayer, he would then be uttering a lie, which was itself a sin, one of the worst, as he was in the sanctity of the confessional. 

"Who was this girl?" he thought, who could see through him so easily, teasing his soul to unabashed honesty. Should he tell her how he truly coaxed the fire out of his groin, or should he toe the line of the Catholic Church, away from such disturbing and sinful inquiries? He decided only the truth could truly free his soul. 

"Eulie," he whispered, "We are in God's holy house, in a confessional from which no words escape, and no secrets are revealed. I have to know that you will respect that." 

"I shall, Father," she tentatively replied. 

"Two truths must be uttered here this day, in this place. I will answer your question, then you must confess to me the object of your lust. There will be no prevaricating once the exchange has begun. You must swear to me by our Lord and Savior that you will honor this exchange." 

Eulalia knew that she was unleashing the devil himself by her promise, but there was no turning back. 

"Yes, Father," she whispered, soft as the dew that from heaven falls. 

"I am but a man, tempted by all the sins of the flesh. As I have sworn not to touch another, I cast my eyes upon those who recklessly show themselves in the flesh to others. I pray for their salvation as I commit myself to a self-consummation prompted through their sins." 

"I've seen you in my dreams, Father," she interjected, "Last night you witnessed the defloration of a child but eighteen years of age. Tell me, Father, in her professional capacity... did she sacrifice her hymen to the other professional, who performed the act not for her, but for the money? If not, were you not then the responsible agent of her defloration?" 

She watched as he puzzled over her words for quite a while. In the hallway beyond the chapel, periodic footsteps could be heard to pass. Otherwise they were in a world removed from the rest of the convent. 

"What do you want of me, child?" he broke through the impassive silent wall. 

"To answer that," replied Eulalia, "I must fulfill my part of the agreement. You asked me to confess the object of my lust, my obsession, my over-powering fire." 

She hesitated for a few seconds, still trying to fathom if this was the right moment, then finally surrendered her will to the truth. 

"My father! He... you... are the object!" 

Chapter Seven

Her last words echoed against the stone walls of the chapel. Father Lars sat, frozen by the revelation. The devil had come to his door. He wondered how Sister Eulalia knew of his masturbation of the evening before, even to the video he was watching. As he was in the throes of his orgasm, he heard her screaming down the hallway of the other wing, and when he opened his eyes, the girl in the video was Eulalia. He quickly pulled the plug and closed his eyes to calm his brain, and his penis, before going to bed. He would not attend to the nun who had screamed in her sleep. That was the business of the convent. But he couldn't sleep that night. 

And now, the revelation that he was desired in the flesh by the holy sister. This could not be. Besides the fact that she was half his age, which would be scandalous outside of holy orders, the addition of the cloth made it impossible. His body began to warm to the suggestion though, as his favorite fantasies on the computer screen always involved a young and nubile girl half his age. 

He hurried through the halls toward his room, anxious to get out of sight and behind the privacy of his locked door before the erection beneath his robe began to show. Inside his room he pulled off his cassock to reveal a stiffened member, straining to be manipulated by its owner. Every face of every young sister and novitiate in the convent appeared before his eyes, wanting to help relieve him of his sinful stiffness. He was only minutes stroking it to an orgasm which ejected itself with such a force, it could be heard as it blasted the bottom of the computer desk, dripping like creamy stalactites onto the floor and his lower legs. 

His body soon relaxed and began to recover from its highly agitated state. His thinking became clearer as he began to clean up his mess. He had to stop doing this, but the flesh was weak, weak beyond his capacity to control. His guilt was almost unbearable, thinking that he was the spiritual pastor of those very nuns whose images raced through his brain while masturbating. The last image, still imprinted on his mental retina, was that of Eulalia. He could not erase her, her voice running through his mind continuously. 

"Father, I lust in the flesh," she had said to him, inviting him to partake of her 'fire unquenchable.' 

Sister Eulalia walked softly through the corridors to her room, passing Sister Bernice's room on the way. Sister Bernice was slender and small, much like Eulalia, except for the fact that she had not taken her final vows. She was a recently arrived novitiate, eighteen years of age, and was a true beauty in her fresh nubility. She had often aided Eulalia, waking her in the morning from her naked unconsciousness on the stone floor, and sometimes tying her to the rafter before locking the door on the way out. She had a key to Eulalia's room for that purpose and was trusted to look after this strange and troubled soul who invited mortification upon herself. 

Propped against the wall of Eulalia's cell was a saltire, like the cross that the young Eulalia was fastened upon in ancient times. She was desperate to drive the sinful fire from her womb. She looked penetratingly at Bernice. 

"Tie me to the cross?" she implored the young novitiate. 

Stepping upon a chair so she could reach, Bernice pulled several coils of hemp rope from the rafter of the cell. This was out of the ordinary, she realized, as Eulalia only suspended herself during her menstrual flow, which was only a week past. She looked at her sister in Christ as her tunic slipped from her shoulders and to the ground, leaving her naked, her small nipples hardening in the cold mortifying atmosphere of the stone cell. 

Eulalia stepped upon the footrests at the bottom of the saltire, her legs spread apart to match the bottom half of the x-shaped cross upon which she intended to drive out her fire through self-mortification. Bernice tied her ankles firm and tight so there would be no slipping when her muscles gave out in the night, refusing to hold her up anymore. Then her wrists were tied to the upper arms of the cross. 

As Bernice was tying her feet, she could feel upon her shoulder, even through her tunic, the heat emanating from Eulalia's vulva. And as she tied her wrists, the hard nipples brushed against her elbows repeatedly. Her crucified friend was exceedingly beautiful and sensual in her sacrifice and self-immolation. 

Chapter Eight

Bernice walked to the door of the cell, which she usually locked behind her as she returned to her cell, but at the door she hesitated. It clicked shut with its familiar sound. 

After a few minutes, Eulalia opened her eyes. The room was dim as night wore on, but she felt she was not alone. Through the failing light she saw a figure by the door. It was Sister Bernice, unclothed, nude, and seething with a desire that she could not bury beneath the nun's habit of the convent. 

She slowly walked through the darkness toward the saltire upon which the sacrificial lamb was suspended. Time slowed to indistinguishable increments as she gently touched her lips to Eulalia's nipples, hard as pebbles. She drew them one by one into the warmth of her mouth, making them soft and pliant. Eulalia closed her eyes and uttered not a sound. Instead she prayed to God to help her accept the sacrifice from which she could not, of her own accord, be delivered. 

"Thy will be done," she whispered in barely audible tones. 

Bernice, with her warm caressing tongue, played with Eulalia's nipples for what seemed a blessed eternity, sending trembling shivers throughout her body. She could only surrender to the sensations engulfing her, as she was wholly immobilized and defenseless against them. At any moment, with but a word, she knew she could put an end to the sweet torture, but her fire within only burned hotter, and sought a continuance of all that fed its flames. 

From her small rounded mounds, tipped with their crowning nipples, Bernice descended to ribs that stood out against the oft-mortified flesh like ridges on a washboard, radiating with tickling sensations that travelled up and down her frame; downward to her quivering thighs and ending in the soles of her bare feet, and upwards to her neck, making the hairs on the nape stand up and tingle. 

Arriving at her navel, Bernice thrust her now hot tongue into its opening, filling it with a pool of warm saliva that dribbled downward into the pubic hairs beneath, firing the already scorching womb to an almost unbearable abandon. Eulalia's breathing began to grow heavy, sometimes with an almost inhuman effort to take in enough oxygen to cope with the furnace that so quickly exhausted its supply, needing ever more air to sustain its passion. 

Sister Bernice mounted the small step stool and pressed her naked flesh against Eulalia's. Their flesh melted together in the flames that they both felt, refining their precious elements, making a new hybrid substance through a combination of the two. Bernice gently kissed her hands, now cold from the cords that restricted the flow of blood to the fingertips and palms, palms that could not caress the angelic form before her. 

A small trickle of blood flowed from the palm of the first hand, then the second. As the unrestricted angel slid her moist tongue down her arm and to her waist, the trickle became a flow and followed the path she blazed downward to her feet. She kissed the precious feet also, cold with blood uncirculating, from which the sacrificial fluid also began to flow. The streams of scarlet meandered down her body and formed a pool on the stone floor. 

The crucified and bleeding lamb closed her eyes in sacrificial ecstasy. If this was what it was like to be a martyr for Christ... oh! Heavenly death. She would die a thousand times! What heaven could be sweeter than this? What ultimate sacrifice could be more exquisite? Her answer was soon felt between her soft and virgin thighs. 

Bernice buried her face between those angelic quivering thighs as, with her hungering mouth, she consumed the juices that had dribbled from the spring between. Eulalia felt her tongue, like a lapping flame that licked and danced around the center of her being. She became the saltire, upon which all her sensual lusts and desires were concentrated at its center. Bernice knew only too well where that nexus could be discovered. The clitoris of the angel suspended before her swelled and responded to her tongue, returning fire for fire. 

The energy emitted from that angelic nexus flowed outward to her extremities as the ministering angel unremittingly supped at its source. The furnace within began to burn with an all-consuming conflagration of flesh and blood... spirit and soul. 

Suddenly Eulalia was possessed by throes of indecision. Who possessed her? Christ, or the devil? It was too late now to turn back. Her soul could be divvied out between the two on judgment day. For now... surrender! 

A great pressure invested the atmosphere of the stone cell wherein the two plied their holy games. Eulalia was seized by a force far beyond her abilities to control. Her entire body stiffened and froze upon the cross that held her, predestined to suffer the ministrations of the angel between her thighs. It was not a matter of choice or consequence. It was a total giving over to the powers that sought to possess her small and fragile form. 

The saltire began to shake and tremble, as the crucified angel was brought to the climax of her sacrifice, a mighty trembling possessing her frame, exerting a pressure that stopped her breath and suspended her vital functions. From her womb issued an electric pulse that, had she not been tied inexorably to the cross, she would have curled up in a fetal position and begged it to stop. 

But she couldn't beg it to stop. Bernice was unremitting still, and her trembling became a terrific quake that made the entire room seem to shake at its foundation. The cords tied about her wrists and ankles seemed to spread rapidly, like vines encompassing her naked torso, tightening and suffocating, until her bladder burst in a torrent of urine, drenching Bernice in a shower of orgasmic fluid, mixing with the blood that now flowed like fountains. 

This went on for minutes without cease. Eulalia thought she would expire, and die a martyr's death upon the cross that held her suspended in her endless orgasm. But the waves began to fade and pass, leaving her breathing, gasping, thirsting for air. 

Finally her head fell limp upon her shoulder, eyes closed, breasts heaving. 

"It is finished!" were her final words. 

Chapter Nine

Sister Eulalia woke to the furious pounding of Bernice's fist upon the door. 

"Eulalia! Eulalia!" she kept calling. 

Eulalia was naked and tied to the saltire. She must have been there all night, for the most part hanging limp and lifeless. She had pissed herself while unconscious, a pool of urine on the stones beneath her crotch. The urine that had run down her leg was causing one of her ankles, rubbed raw and bleeding from the tight cords, to sting. Her feet and hands were purple from the lack of circulation, causing the extremities to be numb and unfeeling to the cords that had rubbed away significant amounts of skin, causing them to bleed down her arms and sides. 

"Eulalia!" the voice and pounding continued. 

Finally she heard a man's voice, instructing Sister Bernice to stand back. In the momentary silence she closed her blurry eyes and drifted off into numbing sleep, until she was startled awake again by a splintering crash as Father Lars forced the door with his shoulder. 

"Holy Mother of God!" the incredulous whisper rose from the Father's throat. 

"I'm sorry, Father," shouted Bernice, "I accidentally locked the key inside and couldn't get back in!" There were frightened and concerned tears in her eyes. 

He quickly untied her wrists while Bernice untied her ankles, and he wrapped her in a warm blanket and laid her on the bed. 

"More warm blankets," he cried, "and warm water with some sponges... quickly!" 

Bernice ran from the room, past several nuns who had gathered in the hallway upon hearing the crashing door. The Mother Superior arrived and offered to take over from Father Lars, but he would have none of it. In fact, his fury was rising from deep in his gut until he could hold it no more. 

"Is this the kind of convent you run?" he shouted. "This is barbaric and medieval. Look at this poor child. Get out!" 




Bless Me, Father



The Mother Superior grit her teeth and stood for a moment, but the intensity of the Father's eyes told her not to challenge him. She turned and strode from the cell and locked herself in her office. He would take care of her later. 

For now there was one of God's children, barely breathing, barely conscious, frozen, and bleeding in his arms, and never had he been called upon during his vocation to such a serious situation as this. He held her tightly to his chest as tears rolled down his cheeks and into her hair. 

"Oh, dear God," he prayed, "Guide my poor misguided child to your truth and benevolence. She has suffered enough." 

Eulalia had come to, just enough to hear his prayer for his 'poor misguided child.' If he only knew, she thought to herself, the truth of those words. But it didn't matter. He was holding that child so close to his heart, she could hear it beating through his cassock. Bernice came in with some extra blankets and she began to feel the warmth returning to her body. She faded back into a tentative sleep in her father's arms, knowing he would protect her from herself, the cold, and even the devil himself, if it ever came to that. While he sat on the edge of the bed, rocking her gently back and forth, little Sister Bernice bathed her ankles and wrists with warm water. 

After an hour of rocking he laid her down upon the bed, lifted the cross upon his shoulder, and strode purposefully from the room. He threw it upon the ground of the courtyard, and with an axe, hewed it to splinters in a matter of minutes. His anger was unquenchable as he took out all his frustrations upon the wood. Pouring kerosene upon the splintered mass, he ignited the offering, hoping that with the black smoke that rose to the heavens, ignorance and folly would go with it. 

Within days, the Mother Superior was dismissed and sent packing to a convent across the country, relieving her of any 'superior' duties for the future. Father Lars checked in on Sister Eulalia periodically, keeping an eye on her recovery. A doctor was called upon to treat the lacerations on her wrists and ankles, which were wrapped in bandages for the next month. Eulalia, under medication, slept a dreamless sleep for the first time in years, and woke every morning in her bed, warm and rested. 

But as soon as she was pronounced well and the medications wore off, the dreams returned. 

It was a warm night, even in Eulalia's stone cell. Sister Bernice had come to visit, and was fussing over the scars on her wrists, making sure that they were healing well. While she was ministering the salve that the doctor insisted continue for another month, Father Lars entered the room. Looking over Bernice's shoulder, he cast a friendly smile which 'Eulie' had come to welcome and appreciate. 

The closeness in the small cell was as warm as the atmosphere surrounding it. Bernice caressing her wrists, and Father close behind the novitiate, making contact with her, habit rustling against cassock. There arose an aroma pheromonal, like that of a musky rose. Bernice kissed Eulie's wrists and closed her eyes as the rustling behind her increased. 

Slowly her habit was raised, revealing first her soft, white thighs, then her curls of auburn hair that covered her unmentionable solitudes, her stomach, soft and flat, then her breasts, round and perfect in proportion. From behind her, Father Lars cast his eyes down to her perfect tiny bottom, the curvature projecting out from the bunching fabric that would otherwise hide its beauty and sensuous attraction. 

Soon the buttons on the holy Father's cassock were free of their constraining buttonholes and a magnificent scepter of flesh was holding forth, massive and pulsing. Against the tiny posterior of little Bernice, it seemed monstrous in proportion, but the sister's bottom sought its mass as the Father's member sought its delicious baptism in the moistened flesh of her vagina, glistening with the flow of lubricating ambrosia that trickled down the skin between her thighs. 

Father Lars' tool touched against the soft flesh of her inviting entrance to paradise, when a soft whisper pierced the stillness of the night. 

"No, Father," her tiny voice broke through the silence, "I am a virgin for Christ." 

All was still for a moment as the pulsing meat at her entrance sought its sheath. The holy Father reached down with one hand and guided its head, glistening with anticipatory wetness, to the other entrance but an inch away. With his other hand, he sought a chrism of holy oil in the pocket of his cassock, pouring it onto the unforgiving flesh of manhood, slowly beginning its descent into the tight and equally unforgiving flesh of her young and untouched anus. 

It was as though a miracle unfolded before their eyes, as the minute opening stretched to accept the massive implement being forced into it. He looked down to see her cheeks spread before its invasion within. 

Eulie's and Bernice's eyes fastened upon each others as the miracle progressed. There was sweet and total surrender on their part to the fulfillment of the holy Father's desire. Eulie felt an intense pressure as Bernice squeezed her hand tightly, trying not to cry out against the fullness she felt. She burnt with a fire, the same fire that engulfed the biblical city of Sodom, and she invited it deeper and deeper as she pushed herself outward to increase its depth. 

Finally there was no more flesh but that which was hidden within, the little sister engulfing it in its monstrous totality. In the total unbearable sweetness of this blessed sodomy, he spilt his seed in copious amounts. Bernice's eyes widened and dilated as she prayed to the Virgin Mother of God to accept the holy Father's gift of lust and fulfillment within her. 

"Ah! The sweet salacious sin of sodomy!" Eulie whispered into the musky darkness of night, waiting her turn to be filled by her holy Father's seed. She decided then and there that she would turn from her vow of virginity before Christ, offering an unbroken maidenhead and an unchristened womb to her father. 

Chapter Ten

She felt a hand upon her shoulder, gently shaking her awake on the hard stone floor. 

"Sister Eulalia, wake up," whispered the little Sister Bernice, "morning prayers are but minutes away." 

Bernice helped her from the cold floor and into her habit, and the two practically ran down the corridors to be on time. As they entered the chapel and knelt down, Father Lars entered the sanctuary from the sacristy. 

He had not slept well lately, as was evident by the dark circles under his eyes. Like Jacob wrestling with the angel at the foot of heaven's ladder, nightly the good Father wrestled with the demon that had possessed his soul. Nightly he viewed the sacrifice of virgin flesh upon the altar of his computer screen. Young girls, budding like flowers from the manure of corruption, gave themselves to the endowed flesh of mankind, returning to the corruption from which they had sprung. This was the eternal cycle, the vast tapestry of life, and he was woven into it. He accepted and embraced his sinful nature... better before a computer screen than actual flesh, he thought. 

The gospel reading was the account of Salomé, dancing before Herod, a sensuous and wicked terpsichorean display of suggestive and sexual movement. Herod had promised her anything in return, as he was consumed by his daughter's lithe and naked steps. Salomé turned her back to him, so close that he could savor the aroma of her private offering that she lowered, with the rhythm of the music, onto his waiting lap, his toga tenting to meet her, flesh upon flesh. The dance ended with Salomé's insemination upon his pole. 

Eulalia couldn't help but smile to think that that may have possibly qualified in the records as the first 'pole' dance. She drove the smile from her face though, when she noticed Father's eyes upon her. His eyes were penetrating and made her tingle in her nether regions. She broke his eye contact by lowering her eyes and uttering a prayer to the Virgin Mother of God. He finished his sermon and announced that he would hear confession from any who were interested. She looked back up to see his eyes fastening upon her as he made the announcement, sending messages through the ether that it was 'she' he wanted to sit with in the confessional. 

Bernice tugged on Eulie's sleeve. With an obvious growling stomach she was beckoning her to breakfast, but Eulalia told her to go on. She was fasting, and intended to stay for a while and pray. Bernice left her there, alone in the empty and echoing chapel, empty that is, except for the priest sitting in the confessional stall alone. 

Sister Eulalia approached the stall with trepidation. She felt this may be the moment upon which both their worlds would turn. Moments of this kind were dangerous and unpredictable. She prayed that it would somehow be beneficial to both, for both would come to depend on each other in ways neither quite yet understood. 

But one thing she was determined to avoid, and that was a screen between the two of them. This penitent was determined to face her confessor eye to eye. Instead of entering the next stall from his, she opened his door and knelt before him, folding her hands and placing her elbows upon his knees. 

His expression was of a concentrated concern, both for her and himself. She began automatically to recite the ancient formulaic opening for the blessed sacrament of penance. 

"Bless me, Father, for..." 

"Shhhh!" he whispered, placing his finger upon her lips. Their eyes met, she struggling not to drown in her father's deep cerulean caverns, he wishing to peer into the soul of the angel before him. 

"It is I who should be begging your forgiveness, child," he softly implored her. "Bless me, daughter, for I have..." 

"No, Father," she pleaded, "I am not worthy to hear your confession." 

They both found themselves at an impasse, neither feeling they had the right to judge or forgive the other. The world, the universe, was vast beyond either's ken. Who were they to prop themselves up against the standards of infinite grace, infinite wisdom, infinite folly, and the boundless lust each held within their hearts. 

"Father?" she spoke, interrupting the silence between them. 

"Yes, child?" 

"Are not all God's children born of men and women? Are we not born in his image? Yet we condemn and curse the act of conception as though it were a sin unforgivable." 

"This is true," he answered, "but the sexual act is reserved only for those who are wedded to each other." 

"And those who are not wed? Where then is the sin?" 

Father Lars thought long upon this question, for therein lay his guilt. He knew the church's answer, but it was not his. This child he affectionately called Eulie was plumbing the depths of his soul, bringing out the struggle that he wrestled with almost every night. Some inner voice was goading him on. Trust her, it called out to him. 

"Eulie, I..." 

"Shhhh!" she now placed a finger upon his lips. "I know your struggles, Father, I see them in my dreams. Young girls, innocent and beautiful, brought before your judgment, your desires, your holy yearnings. You want them, fledgling flesh upon the rod of Aaron, screaming for redemption..." 

"Stop!" he whimpered. "I cannot face your judgment." 

"...your flesh hardens at their sight, struggling free from the cassock that confines it. Like a demon it possesses your mind, and your heart cries out to be fulfilled through its rigidity." 

"I am discovered, and I am ashamed," he surrendered. 

"You are a man, Father, and you feel as all men feel. It is God's intention that you do. Would he have created us as we are, and not wish us to be what he intended? It is said that sin is not being what God created us to be. I burn inside with an all-consuming fire. You yearn for flesh upon the flesh with which you were endowed. I feel your eyes upon me in the dead of the night. I have seen your innermost thoughts as they follow Bernice down the corridor, desiring her corridor for your rising and rigid urgings. We are young, we are virgin, and we are yours if you but give us your blessings." 

Eulalia was daring him to contradict her, to say even one word to deny her assumptions. As their eyes were entwined in the confessional embrace, she slowly unbuttoned several buttons at the bottom of his cassock. She lifted the hem to reveal his flesh before her, hard and exposed to her gaze. With one graceful motion, she pulled her habit over her head and threw it into the corner of the confessional. Their eyes met in one final moment of indecision, he recognizing the fire that burned within her, she recognizing the continual yearnings to which he was prey. 

Chapter Eleven

Bernice ate her breakfast half-heartedly as she thought of Eulie, her closest friend and confidant, fasting in prayer upon her knees. She rose from her table and made her way back to the chapel, intending to join her in prayer. It was the least she could do in return for a friendship that had grown very close between them. Indeed, they were like real flesh and blood sisters, as well as spiritual. 

Arriving at the chapel, she was puzzled not to find her there. It was not like Eulie to abandon her prayers once she had committed to them. She began to exit from the chapel when she heard a rustling sound emitting from the confessional. The Father's stall was closed, but the penitent's stall was open and empty. Curious, she quietly made her way to the empty stall and sat within. 

Through the semi-opaque screen she could see Father Lars' profile. She could hear his breathing, which was rasping and heavy. She had once spied her real father in the act of self stimulation and understood immediately the significance of what she was observing, but when the holy Father raised both hands into the air behind his head, she realized that what she was watching was not Onanistic, but administered by another. 

Her eyes grew wide as saucers when she gazed downward to see Eulie, naked and kneeling before him, in the act of manually pleasing the good Father, and his member was massive, long, and thick; so thick that Eulie's hand could not totally encompass its girth. The rustling of Father's cassock masked the rustling of Bernice's habit as she raised it to her waist and began fingering herself. Soft whisperings were heard from the other side of the screen, as Eulalia goaded him on. 

"I know you want me, Father," she desperately whispered. "I can see it in your eyes. I have seen those eyes before: at my First Holy Communion they stripped me naked, at my crucifixion they offered me absolution and eternity, through time unfathomable Adam has sought the comforts of Eve, but he has been unable to fulfill himself. Since their expulsion from Paradise they have been unable to absolve themselves of their original sin. But that sin we bless and so bring ourselves to fulfillment in God's very house, not hiding from Him in our knowledge of good and evil, but naked and unashamed before Him." 

Her stroking increased as he began to buck against the confining walls of the hardwood stall, while unbeknownst to them, Bernice was in the next stall, fingering herself, her vaginal fluids running down her inner thighs. She spiraled into a novena of orgasms, _ora pro nobis_... pray for us, sacrificing body and soul to the fire that engulfed her, until she was spent and quietly gasping for air. 

Then she heard through the screen, Eulalia's confession, accompanied by a now frantic stroking with both hands. 

"Bless me, Father, for my sin is legion. From the creator comes the created, flesh of flesh, true blood of true blood. I am your daughter, born of an insemination that occurred twenty-one years ago. Thou art my father, and from your seed I was conceived in the original sin that brings us here together, naked and bold in the eyes of God." 

Fathers Lars was near the point of release as the words echoed ethereally off the walls of their confinement, trying desperately to escape into the chapel, but prevented from doing so by the secrecy of the confessional. He could not withdraw at this point from his throes of orgasm, as immense ropes of semen baptized Eulie's chest. 

Bernice, realizing what was just confessed, ran from the confessional and out into the corridor, not wanting to accept the incestuous overtones overturning in her brain. She went to Eulalia's room, there to await her return. 

Eulalia squeezed the last remaining beads of orgasm from his penis, dripping and clinging to her nipples like so many rosary beads, upon which her final prayers were uttered. 

Father Lars, once he had overcome his ejaculative epiphany, began to take stock of Eulalia's confession. He gazed down at his naked daughter, not only his daughter in Christ, but his own flesh and blood. The enormity of his sin began to weigh heavily on his shoulders, but he didn't take his eyes from her. She was beautiful in every way, in every breath, in every sigh. Indeed, he could not avert his perusal to contemplate the crushing weight of sin the two of them had taken upon themselves. No cross could be heavier, but it is said that God will not give one more than he can bear. 

The two of them leaned forward and touched their lips in a tender and loving kiss, and they both knew, at that moment, what their future held for them. 

After imparting a few instructions to his daughter, Father Lars hurried to his room and began to make preparations for what was to come. 

Chapter Eleven

Eulie walked to her room through the deserted halls, her naked body covered with Father Lars' sperm. It was good that there were no others in the corridors through which she tread, her eyes in a faraway place of dreams and wonder. She opened the door of her room and walked in. By this time, aided by the warmth of her body heat, the ejaculate had run down in rivulets to her pubic mound, and some to her thighs. 

"Is it true?" 

Eulie jumped, startled by the voice of Bernice. She gave her a puzzled look, not understanding how she possibly could know what had passed between herself and her father. Of course it was obvious on the outside, as his sperm covered the entire front of her torso. She weighed the burden that she should impart to her friend, especially as Father Lars had instructed her to tell no one. 

"What exactly are you asking?" she countered. 

"Is he really your father?" Bernice insisted. 

The silence was deafening. The two stood a foot apart, the odor of semen filling their nostrils. Eulie closed her eyes and bowed her head, uttering in a barely audible whisper, as though a normal volume would be heard by the whole convent. 

"Yes..." 

Bernie pulled her habit over her head, tossing it onto the bed, and sank softly to her knees, slowly licking the creamy trickle from Eulie's knees and thighs. Eulie threw her head back and savored the tongue of her sister in Christ, tasting of the forbidden fruit, her knowledge of Eulie and Father Lars amounting to the knowledge of good and evil. Except she couldn't accept or comprehend that any evil could be reckoned into the sins of this night. 

From her thighs, she licked clean the pubic mound of her virgin sister, lapping greedily at the creamy ejaculate. Eulie's virgin clitoris quivered every time Bernice's tongue neared its vicinity. The tremors travelled down her legs, until she thought she would crumple to the ground, unable to stand. Bernice lapped ever upwards, licking the beads from her nipples and chest, until the last ounces of carnal leavings were greedily consumed. Then she rose and gave Eulie a long passionate kiss, exchanging the sweet and salty taste of her father with his daughter, pressing her now cleansed, soft naked form, against her own. 

Not a word was spoken. Bernice redressed herself and left Eulie standing alone in her cell. Outside, a soft rain turned to snow, lilting gently down to earth, covering the landscape with a cloak of white purity. 




Bless Me Father



He knew he shouldn't, but it was 10 o'clock, the pastor had gone to his suite of rooms for the evening, and he lay in bed, like his time in Seminary. Those days seemed so long ago - full of ideas to help people and bring them closer to God were soon dashed to the floor as he thought of the corruption and disrespect of the church as an institution.

While he was in the Seminary, James would often take solace in the arms of Jack or Jim at the local Gentleman's Club, "If I am going to enjoy a drink, I might as well enjoy the view too," he would say to himself. After the first couple of drinks James' inhibitions would leave him and he would enjoy time getting private dances and even, when his cash flow was good he would enjoy time in the Champagne Room. The caresses, embraces, and movement of the strippers' hips would entrance and excite him so much more than the study of Scripture. 

But the life he had chosen - the life that was expected of him didn't allow for those kinds of outlets. Rather, his time was supposed to be spent in prayer and study, and anything dealing with a woman's body was to be scorned, but how could he do so, when God Himself made them so beautiful and perfect? But like his priestly advisors told him, "You just offer it up." Getting berated and scorned in meeting after meeting almost made him go out most nights. Some nights it was to the local bars or wing places for some beer and wings and to take in some eye candy, other nights it took him to the "Inn," the place he would come to call his second home. Most men studying for the priesthood would have taken this sign and love of going to the Inn as a sign to let this profession pass by, but when this is all one knows and the internal push from ones family, then nights at the Inn were needed.

Even when James was ordained a deacon and would have to travel back home for his weekend assignment of preaching and baptizing James found a remote "Inn" while he was away from his known one. This weekend home-away-from-home palled in comparison to the original, but would do in a pinch. Here he could be anyone he wanted rather than Deacon James. He could be an architect, an engineer, a weary hedge fund manager, a teacher - anyone. And he was. He loved sitting mysteriously in the corner booth watching the half-naked flesh saunter by wondering who he was, what he had in his wallet, and what he had in his pants. He wouldn't seek the strippers out, he let them come to him out of curiosity, and they did - usually after the third drink (which allowed his inhibitions to pass away and his obsession with always checking to make sure he didn't recognize anyone inside) - then he could finally enjoy himself.

One evening Sugar (as if that was her real name), kept eyeing James from the bar, then during her time on stage, James always caught her looking over, probably wondering why the cheapskate wasn't tipping, but he had a plan.

James was not unattractive, and was very unassuming. He was funny, polite, and educated, something these women rarely saw on a day-to-day basis. He always dressed comfortably, his bald head always clean shaven, his slacks and shirts ironed and his goatee neatly trimmed. He wore glasses only to drive, but when he was here, he always wore them, in hopes that it would throw off anyone who may know him, as well as, to help him see them, before they saw him.

As Sugar finished her set she made some small talk with the big tippers, went to the bar for a drink then bee-lined it to James. Clearly she wanted to know who this guy was. As she approached James he noticed her curly blonde hair, naturally curly, but had some product in it to make it shiny, her dark green eyes were piercing. She was wearing a blue gown that had diamond cut outs on the side, showing off her mid-section and her lower back, but it also accentuated her wonderful curves, which James was drinking in. Her breasts bounced naturally against the dress, and her hips allowed the gown to simply sway with her walk.

Deacon James was sure he was about to get to play 20 questions or be shamed for not going to the stage to tip her. He didn't care either way, if it was 20 questions and she could hold a conversation then she would get her pay off in the Champagne Room or if she was going to shame him, then she wasn't the one. 

Sugar walked up to the table with her Long Island Iced Tea in hand, she knew how to work the dress she had on. Sugar asked, "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Of course not, please sit, its always nice talking to a beautiful woman," was James' response.

"Thank you," she said, she leaned forward as she was sitting down, giving him a wonderful view of her ample bust (a 36D by James' guess). "If I am so beautiful why didn't you come to the stage to watch me dance?"

There it was, she was simply money hungry, James couldn't blame her, after all this was her livelihood. It is a shame though that she was tripping over a dollar to pick up a dime! "I look to see all of the talent, before I choose who to invest more time in."

"Am I worthy of your time?" She asked, taking a long sip of her drink with a smile on the corners of her mouth. James looked her up and down, she did look good sitting there, and responded, "That depends - I am definitely willing to invest some money and time with you in the Champagne Room, what return on investment will I get?"

"I didn't think you were that kind of a guy, but I like it! For a 20 dollar tip that would get you a nice gentle rub; for 50 I would give you the best blowjob you ever had, and for 100 dollars you would get to have what all of these perverts are just sitting back and staring at." She then grabbed my hand put it by her pussy. James could feel the warmth coming off of it and started to become aroused. Sugar could clearly see his arousal, she leaned in and whispered, and "I can tell you it is amazing." Leaning back in her seat and taking another long sip of her drink. 

James sat back and thought about the proposal, then asked, "How long would we have together in the back room, and would we be interrupted?" Sugar looked coyly at Deacon James and said, "We would have an hour, and the bouncer never bothers the Champagne Room patrons." Leaning back further in the booth and spreading her legs so James could see her panties, a little wetness was starting to seep through them, clearly she was excited as he was, "What do you say?" was all she could muster.

All James could respond with was, "I'm in." She grabbed him by the hand and led him through the club, the other patrons wondering whom this man was and why this beautiful woman was showing him so much affection and attention. Deacon James kept his head on a swivel as they walked past the other strip club goers, making sure he didn't recognize any of them and they didn't recognize him. As they got to the entrance to the private rooms, James paid the 300 dollars, 2 for the room and 1 for the tip. Sugar led him past a bunch of open booths where other dances were shimmying and shaking their breasts in front of other patrons - no touching of course. Deacon James knew his would be so much better. He then looked at his prize, her ass swaying from left to right, the loose gown flowing in sync with her hips, she was far too pretty to be in a place like this, but who was he to judge now?

They finally reached the last room after a series of turns. James figured this was designed for these kinds of interactions; it was a solidly built room with a trundle bed in the middle and washbasin in the corner. The room smelled clean, which James appreciated. 

Sugar turned on some muted lights and the music from the club came in over the speakers, not loudly like in the club, but more muted - James felt extremely comfortable back here - no one would ever see him here, he could be himself, rather than the judging, condemning, preaching, proper young man his profession asked of him. Sugar came over to him, threw her arms around him and whispered in his ear, "We are going to have some fun - no time frame and no interruptions." He leaned back and looked quizzically at her then asked, "I thought you said we only have an hour, plus don't you want to go back out there and make some more money?" She kind of laughed at him and replied, "Honey I don't do this for the money, I am at the end of my shift, I told Bobby, to not watch the clock, plus its not often someone my age comes in who is not a total ass - I am really excited about this!" She grabbed James' right hand and placed in over her panty covered slit, the heat was amazing, as he rubbed his hands up and down over her slit, he could feel the moisture, and he heard her soft moans as she grew more wet with each pass and with the anticipation.

She finally pulled his hand from her slit and put them on her gown-covered breast. They were firm, and the nipples grew more and more erect with each pass over them, they were tight and firm - James liked that. Back in his stomping ground - at the Inn - James had a favorite girl there, Kelly, she was older, firmer than the other girls, but her breasts were starting to soften he noticed. Not Sugar's, hers were very firm, as were her erect nipples.

James noticed himself getting hard, his cock pulsing against the slacks he was wearing. Apparently Sugar felt it as well, considering how close they were standing, she stepped back and looked down and said, "Someone is excited." James looked down, slightly embarrassed and said, "He kind of has a mind of his own." She laughed and said, "Do you know how rare it is for me to approach a guy here? Usually I can't have a minute to myself when I am done with my set, guys are usually booking me for lap dances like a hotel, but I kept watching you watch me on the stage, you didn't move a muscle, you didn't even think about coming down to watch - that intrigued me." James kind of laughed and said, "Then my plan worked- to stay pleasantly aloof, and see who would be intrigued enough to see who I was. I'm glad it was you and not some of these others."

Sugar blushed a little and led him over to the chair in the room, James set down as a new song came in over the speakers, Sugar started swaying to the music - free spirited with those beautiful almond shaped eyes - Sugar was the picture of perfection in this moment. Those almond shaped green eyes never lost their lock from James as she danced to the music, she wasn't twerking or grinding, this was as much of her way of letting loose as it was for James to take her all in, and he was.

As the next song came in, she slowly started to wiggle herself out of the gown she was wearing; it was loose enough that she let it fall from her shoulders. She stood there, in a leopard print thong and matching bra, still swaying and dancing to the music. 

She let her hands explore her body this time, lingering over her slit more and more with each pass, now there was a noticeable wet spot where her juices started to leak through the fabric of her panties. As she gently swayed with the music she would keep eye contact with James, except for those times her fingers were brushing passed her engorged lips. James could only imagine the beauty that awaited once she was fully stripped down, he could only imagine how wet she must be and how swollen her slit had to be, aching to be touched, licked, and serviced by him.

As the third song came over the speakers, she looked more intently at James, being the perfect gentleman, he never made a move for her, he wanted her so badly, but allowed her to work into it the way she wanted to. She had a devilish grin come over her face as she slowly started to undue her bra and let it fall to the floor. Her perky firm breasts hung there nicely, not too big, no large veins running through them, the nipples pointed slightly north, her areolas a slight tone darker then her tanned body, her hands rubbed and massaged her breasts, she took her nipples in between her thumb and forefinger and started to squeeze, eliciting a slight moan from her. She looked at James, who struggled to sit there without touching himself, without starting to take his clothes off, and fighting the urge to rush over and take her then - the perfect gentleman. She slid her fingers in between her body and the thong and slide them all the way down without bending her knees - James noticed and liked that a lot.

Completely nude she continued to gently dance to the music, allowing her hands to move rhythmically with the music over her now naked body. James looked her up and down many times, devouring her with his eyes, he lingered on the very neatly trimmed pussy, it was an arrow pointing to the opening of her slit, he liked the directional aid. What he liked more was the visibly wetness of her pussy, the small hairs were glistening with her juices, in a matter of about 10 minutes she was moist and dripping already. He could hardly contain himself, and his cock ached for release, or at the very least release from his pants.

As the song ended, Sugar walked over to him, still in her heels, her hips swaying with each step, she sat on his lap and leaned in to her ear, "What did you think of that?" Even as fond as he was of Kelly, Kelly couldn't hold a candle to Sugar, "He whispered back, that was perfection - you are perfection." At that moment they kissed, James resisted pawing at her like others may have done. She was a non-smoker, which he appreciated and she tasted like a Long Island Iced Tea. Their tongues intertwined for a little then she started to unbutton his shirt, he adjusted to make it easier on her. As his shirt came off they continued to kiss, he sat there, fairly sure that she felt how hard he was, as his cock started to hurt from being pent up so long. She broke the kiss, helped Deacon to his feet and led him to the bed. 

While still standing facing each other, Deacon could feel the bed on the back of his knees. Sugar leaned in for more kissing, which he didn't mind at all. She worked his belt free, then the button and finally the zipper, James could feel the smile creep across her face, he couldn't tell if she was happy at her accomplishment of undoing all of that, or finally getting one step closer, to that which she was now aching for. She slid his pants to the floor, James stood there in his boxer briefs, now embracing Sugar and his right hand on her lower back, his left hand circling her breasts and occasionally moving around her mound and slit, which always elicited a slight moan from Sugar. 

Still kissing deeply she finally put her fingers in between his briefs and his body and dispensed with them. Finally Deacons cock leapt forth. James was not overly endowed, about 6 inches in length when erect, but he was very thick, slightly less than a Coke bottle. He had never had any complaints from anyone. As his boxers fell to the floor Sugar broke the kiss again, apparently curiosity was getting to her as well. She looked down and saw the thickest cock she had ever seen on a man, it certainly wasn't the longest, but the long ones hurt anyways and were a bit of a waste, at times even painful...give her her five inch dildo that was three inches around and she was set, but this thing in front of her was something different. It glistened at the purple head, wet with precum. She looked for a little bit and James broke the silence between them, "I know it isn't huge, but I have yet to have a complaint." Looking from it to him, she leaned in to his ear, and said, "Don't worry, it is perfect, and I can't wait to cum on it." That statement alone made him rock hard.

Sugar slowly slunk to her knees, she had been staring at the bulge in is pants for almost an hour now, and here it was, finally free from its shackles, she needed to taste it, wrap her lips around it, she needed it to fill her. As she was moving to her knees, James stopped her and looked down at her, his cock almost even with her bust and asked, "I thought the tip I gave was for sex." She looked up at him and responded coyly, "I think we are past all of that." As she finished she reached her knees and was face-to-face with James' cock, she grasped his balls in her left hand and slowly started massaging them, as she grabbed the base of his cock with her right, she guided him into her mouth, the fit was perfect, her nose was in the tip of his trimmed pubic hair, while she felt his tip in the back of her throat, but his girth made it difficult to go any further, or to open her mouth any wider, she loved this complete feeling of being filled. She got wet just thinking about his cock going inside of her. 

Deacons head leaned back and moaned and she engulfed his cock in her mouth, he looked down at those beautiful green eyes staring up at him, she looked amazing with those soft pouty lips enveloping his cock. She slowly slid it out of her mouth and then hungrily devoured it again. She did this many more times, while massaging James' balls in her hand, then she started to really suck it, moving her head back and forth on his cock, leaving the tip of it in her mouth. James was starting to rock back forth slightly, while his eyes were closed and moaning, "Ohh God, fuck that feels good, you feel so good," it was the most honest prayer he had said in awhile. She could feel his balls tighten and his cock start to throb, Sugar knew he was close to releasing. She stopped and looked up at him, her mouth hurt for having to open it so wide, but she loved the feeling. She stood up in front of him, giving his cock time to calm down; she leaned in and started to kiss him feverishly again. He enjoyed tasting himself, most guys would have scoffed at the idea, but she put the time in and this is what she wanted so he was fine with it.

After some time of making out, she pushed gently on James' chest and he fell onto the bed, she climbed on top of him, but given his height advantage she straddled him at his lower stomach...she leaned and they kissed like high schoolers again, the music changing from the speakers to some rock. At this change Deacon lifted her up and put her on her back, he kissed her neck gently, which made her moan slightly. They he moved to her left breast and circled her nipple with his tongue, flicking the tip of it, taking the tip in his mouth and nibbling gently on it. This caused Sugar to moan more loudly and start gently bucking her hips more like she was fucking an imaginary cock, James could tell she was excited, he moved to the next nipple, doing the same thing which elicited the same response from Sugar. 

After giving her beautiful breasts the attention they deserved, he moved in between her legs, and kissed her stomach and upper thighs as he moved closer and closer to the promised land - he could smell her excitement and feel her warmth. She was gyrating with the music over the speakers now. He began his favorite task by making a long run of his tongue from her bum to the top of her slit - a tongue that was to be reserved for preaching God's word and receiving holy communion, enjoyed and believed in what he tasted more than any of those things right now. She arched her back and put her legs up on James' shoulders, allowing him to explore her more deeply.

He began to move his tongue in and out of her moistness still working from the bottom to the top, he got more forceful with his tongue on the strokes in till he felt her clitoris engorge, then he knew what was needed. Using the underside of his tongue, he teased and flicked her clitoris until she was rubbing and grabbing for his baldhead. He moved his hands up and began massaging her breasts, which heaved with every breath and moan. He began to rub Sugars' nipples between his thumb and forefinger, which made her start to breath more rapidly. She started saying her own prayer, "Ohh God, fuck that feels so good, work it, work it!" Her body began to shutter and Sugar arched on her back, Deacon knew the flow that was about to come rushing out, he kept licking and lapping at her clit as he felt a tiny squirt of her warm juices hit his chin and enter his mouth. Sugar collapsed, thinking James was done, but he kept going! This caused Sugar to climax two more times in rapid succession. James thought she tasted better than anything else he had had. 




Bless Me Father



While still uttering her prayer, Sugar clawed and pulled James up to her mouth, her hips still moving to the music, she noticed James was as rock hard as before, she pulled him in for kiss, his mouth found hers, with her smell and taste in his mouth, they kissed hungrily. She broke the kiss and whispered to him, "No one had made me cum like that before." He was glad he could please her that way and smiled back. He reached down and grasped his cock at the base and maneuvered it to be near her opening, she was still dripping wet, and his immense precum made it an easy entry.

As James slide his girth all the way in Sugar arched up to kiss him, as his balls rested on her anus, she whispers in his ear, "I feel so full right now." She started nibbling on his ear as he slowly backed himself out of her, leaving the head in, then he slide his length back in which she started moaning in his ear and wrapping her legs around his torso. She was hanging on for life as he began to punish her pussy, by using slow long strokes, you could her the music go back to R&B and his rhythm matched her hips and the music took sway over them as they fucked-it was the most primal sex Deacon had had. Both moaning loudly uttering their own prayers, with intermittent breaks for kissing. She was tighter than he thought, but he thought that about the girls in high school before he went into the Seminary, maybe he was that girthy. Sugar was in ecstasy cumming twice without warning. James switched his pace to short quick strokes in and out of her wet pussy, outside of the music and moaning you could hear his balls hit off her ass and the wetness of her pussy as his cock made his home in her. He felt his balls tighten and his cock grow rock hard, he knew he was close. Leaning in he asked her where she wanted him to cum, her answer shocked him, "Inside of me," she whispered, "I'm going to cum again too." He looked down at her and she nodded assuredly he continued his own prayer for another minute, then he saw stars as he exploded deep inside her, as he moaned his last, she moaned so loudly, he was sure everyone heard them. 

Sugar felt his cock harden and felt the gush of his sperm inside of her, she didn't care, she was on the pill. But how much cum he shot inside of her was shocking, when she thought he was done, it was just a minute for him to catch his breathe as she felt more enter her, and then she came herself, both of their juices mingling together made for an interesting aroma in the air. James collapsed on top of her, for a minute she thought something was wrong, but he rolled off, still half hard. "That was amazing," was all she could muster, and a nod was all the energy he had left for. She turned on her side facing him and kissed him deeply, breaking the kiss, she said, "Where have you been all my life - I have never been fucked like that before." James looked and thought cuddling with a stripper seemed weird, but he was too weak to move and enjoyed his time with Sugar. "I have been around, but this is my first time here, and I am sure I will be back!" They both giggled some and kissed more.

Sugar got up and went over to the washbasin in the room and took the washcloth and wiped herself down, she still looked amazing, even with her hair disheveled. When she finished she went to the bed and wiped James down as well, making sure his cock was clean and the sweat on his brow was removed. They got dressed in silence, and Sugar still looked amazing in her gown. Once they were all put back together she walked over to him and said, "I don't want this to be the last time." She gave him a long deep kiss and gave her a piece of paper with her name and number on it. He looked at the paper and then at her, "April - I like that name better than Sugar. While we are intertwined I wanted to call out your name a ton, but Sugar seemed kind of lame." She smiled and laughed a little then kissed him again and said, "I am going to lead you back to the front, and then I have to get my things - call me on Sunday I don't work then." She kissed him again, took his hand and lead him back through the maze of gyrating women on old men's laps to the door, and wished him a good night. He watched as she strolled back to the dressing room. Shaking his head at what luck he went out to his car and sat down looking at his collar in the passenger seat.

To be continued...



Bless Me Father



"Mum, I ain't a slut; Martin is the only man I have ever had sex with or even wanted, but he has killed that in one swipe. Making this film was his idea, had I known he was going to let his mates see it, I would never have agreed."

She wailed again and collapsed into her mother's arms while she sobbed.

When she had settled sometime later, they talked about her life and how she figured in their life.

"We love you baby and you belong here with us, screw Martin." The conversation drifted on until Mary said, in innocence.

"I wish we had done that with a camera. You looked so hot Baby and seeing you swallow him so deeply, just about tipped me over."

"Really? You liked watching me on film?"

"You bet." Mary felt the familiar heat in her loins and tried to control it.

Michael sat silently with his head twisting from side to side as the conversation passed from Mother to daughter. He looked like he was watching tennis and following the ball.

"Well, let's all watch it then. Fuck it, everyone else has seen it, so why not us." Eileen savagely hit the rewind button and then play.

The scenes on the screen showed that Eileen was something of a sexual athlete, getting into almost contortionist bends as Martins cock pounded into her shaved cunt.

"You keep it shaved?" Mary asked quietly

"Mmm yes, see?"

Mary looked at where her daughter had pulled up her skirt to reveal her naked mound. Without a second thought, Mary jumped up from beside her daughter on the settee and knelt on the floor between her slightly parted knees. Placing a hand on either leg, she pried open Eileen's legs and clamped her mouth over the hairless clit, sucking it into her mouth as Michael often did to her.

"Oh! God!" Eileen gasped and shifted her self forward to allow a better access to her cunt. Mary's tongue went to work, just as she had seen on the many films she had watched and how she liked Michael to do to her. She pried open her daughters lips with two fingers and then pushed them inside, feeling the silken folds envelope her wriggling fingers in a hungry embrace.

It didn't take long before she shot her amber cum straight into Mary's mouth and then the aftershocks caused her to twitch in lessening spasms. She looked up and saw her Mothers lover, spell bound and transfixed by the scene. Eileen smiled at him as if it were her permission. He started to undress until he was naked with a raging hard on.

Mary shucked of her clothes and helped Eileen divest herself of her skirt, blouse and panties. The coffee table was shoved across the room to create space. Then, Mary lay on her back with her knees drawn up and parted. Her heart thumped as adrenalin coursed through her veins. At last, she would experience one of her fantasies, it mattered not one whit, that the other woman was her daughter. In fact, it was better to keep it in the family.

Michael knelt beside her and lifted her head, tilting it to one side so that she could get his raging cock in her mouth while Eileen nipped and suckled Mary's Nipples.

A finger slapped wetly against Mary's clit. Not painfully, but with enough force to make her jump from the sudden violation. In her involuntary jump, her mouth opened and Michael's cock entered her throat, deeper than he had ever gone before. Then, a full slap hit her in the same place and sounded loudly in a wet resounding splat.

"I really like that. Do you?" Eileen was merciless in her slapping, each strike of her hand sending shock waves up to Mary's neural receptors. Each strike forced Michael deeper into her, making breathing difficult until she regulated the filing of her throat and the desire to breath with the slap of Eileen's hand. Her cunt was on fire, tingling and burning with desire and anticipation of the next blow.

Eileen shifted and planted a kiss on Mary's fur covered mound. The touch of lips to her blood engorged and supersensitive lips was electric. She arched her back and then, in a reversal of movement, forced her hips upward to meet Eileen's mouth.

Lips found Mary's raging clit and sucked it into her mouth, flicking an expert tongue over the hardened nub of desire. A massive orgasm crashed through Mary, only to be quickly quelled with several fingers pushed forcefully into her vagina. The fingers worked her, quickly finding her g spot and causing her to gasp around the base of Michael's cock. She couldn't keep him as deep and pulled her head back. He sensed her need for relief and gently laid her head to the carpeted floor.

Kneeling between her opened thighs, he pressed his cock head against her anal entrance while Eileen kissed her mothers mouth, forcing her tongue between the opened lips. He pressed forward and passed her sphincter and began to fuck her arse in a rocking motion. Eileen smacked her mother's clit once more, which forced her hips up and Michael to delve deep into her tight passage. Their combined attentions had her cumming in waves of passion that seemed endless. She could take no more and began to collapse.

Michael withdrew from her and would have been content to wank his orgasm and spill his seed over her tits, but Eileen had other ideas. Her engaging mouth closed around his soiled head and then, dived onto his cock, burying him to the hilt in her warm mouth. He could not control his reaction and shot his load to the back of Eileen's throat. She swallowed and smiled at him.

They slept together, wrapped in a tangle of arms and legs, replete in their excesses and united in shared love.

It was the first night of several over the next few months. They videoed one or two of their exploits for viewing when just relaxing.



 

Bless me Father for I have sinned....

Her journey up to now.

In the months since Michael had moved in, Defor had grown from an adolescent puppy into a fully-grown tub of lard. His liking for doing nothing at all and then sleeping like he had run a marathon afterwards, was taking a toll on his weight. Labrador's are not noted for there boundless energy, being more like a mobile fur rug most of the time, but Defor was a prize couch potato.

The weight gain was beginning to cause some concern. Breathing for the dog had become laboured where fat restricted the ability to expand his chest properly and so, put pressure on his lungs.

The Vet was adamant that Defor had to go on a diet, but not only that, an exercise regime to get some of the excess fat off of his frame and perhaps, prolong his life.

It fell to Mary to take the pooch out in the evenings. His food changed from the usual tinned processed fatty mush, to dry protein and fibre mix, tripe and cereal foodstuffs. At first, he turned his nose away and refused to eat the stuff, but when hunger eventually over rode his distaste, he managed to woof it down and even tried to boost some more. Mary's resolve didn't waver one bit. She measured out the correct amount and not an ounce more.

At first, their walks just took in the local park, just a gentle stroll around the grassed area. It took less than twenty minutes, but as his weight dropped, so his energy levels increased and they went further, wondering over into the wooded section at the back of the park.

Defor must have privately liked his owner's girlfriend, even though she was half starving him and dragging him around this insane track. He must have liked her because he nearly chewed a would-be attacker to death one day.

The scruffily dressed guy jumped out of the bushes and grabbed Mary. She screamed and started to struggle and flail at him. Defor, who was quite some distance off, heard the commotion and came running to investigate. The scene that he saw as he rounded a tree was of his mistress struggling with a stranger who was trying his best to rip her fur off. She was alpha female as far as he was concerned and, in a primeval regression towards instinct and the pack creed, he attacked the stranger. 

Clothing and the guy's blood flew before he ran away screaming blue murder. He would be nursing several deep cuts to his arms and legs. At least one cut was serious enough to need medical attention.

She missed another person pounding along the path in her direction, yelling at the top of his voice.

Mary hugged Defor in relief and thankfulness for his timely intervention. She sat on the damp grass, holding the dog, crying while her adrenalin leached away and the shivers stopped. In those moments together, alone in the park, Defor and Mary formed a bond that, up to now had only been a casual acceptance of each other.

"Are you okay?" She glanced up to see the owner of the voice that rumbled in a deep vibrato. "I saw what happened. The dog did well. The guy has run away, but I managed to get a photo of him on my phone." 

The man was tall, well dressed in casual clothing consisting of a jacket over a pink shirt, cord trousers and deck style, tan coloured shoes. His hair was greying at the temples and had a wave form that looked entirely natural. He was good looking with rugged features and designer stubble. He offered his hand to help Mary stand up. She gripped his hand and hauled herself upright. Something like a low level electrical charge was transmitted as her hand was enveloped in his. The contact was a little longer than perhaps was necessary. The hand that held hers was warm and promised a latent strength hidden beneath his gentle touch. Mary's quim clenched as a sexual energy passed between them.

"I'm Tim." He informed her expectantly, obviously believing she would proffer her name in return.

"Um... Mary and this is Defor." She actually fluttered her eye lashes and felt herself do it. She blushed as she realised the signals she was sending at a subliminal level and then, blushed even more when she saw his brows raise as the signals were received, loud and clear.

"Well Defor is a good dog and deserves a treat." He released her hand and reached into his pocket to pull out a dog treat. Defor, being almost permanently hungry on his diet, wolfed the unexpected treat down, hardly chewing it at all.

She realised his eyes, framed in long lashes and deep brown eyebrows, were the greenest she had ever seen. They conveyed a kindness, especially as he gave the treat to the dog. Her breathing increased as she realised that she was very attracted to this stranger. It was a feeling she had not felt before quite so openly.

"Now, where is that mutt of mine I wonder?" He whistled a shrill trill that soon brought about the appearance of a black and white collie, which trotted up to sit beside his left leg. The dog ignored Mary and Defor until, with a wave of his hand, her new friend announced them both. The collie came over to Mary, gave her a cursory sniff and then sat down alongside Defor as if they had been life long companions. 

"Um... thank you Tim. I should get going and I need to report this to the Police. I don't know what would have happened if you and Defor weren't around."

"Think nothing of it. Let me know if you want the photo for the Police. Perhaps I will see you again in the park." He waved as he strode away, his dog obediently trotting alongside his left.

"You liked the guy then?" Michael asked when Mary had told him about the events in the park. "I can see he had an effect on you, Mary, you're blushing as you're telling me about him. I do declare you fancied him didn't you?" He was laughing as he asked the question, not feeling threatened in the slightest by her obvious interest.

"He was kinda nice..." Mary could feel her pulse quicken as she recalled Tim's voice and looks. "... in a plain sort of way." She tried and failed to sound non-committal. It didn't fool Michael for a second.

"So, would you?"

"Would I what?" She knew exactly, but wanted him to actually say the words.

"Would you fuck him?" He smiled, knowing she was playing a game with him. He also knew the answer to his question. Since he had met Mary, she was making up for lost time. Their sex was amazing to say the least. With the addition of Eileen, it had gone through the roof. Several times, Mary had said she would like to be 'double teamed' as seen on the various porn films they had watched. They had also talked about her being screwed by different men. Michael was secure enough to know that she was totally in love with him and felt that it would be great for her to experience sex from a stranger, provided the guy was clean, discreet and not into battering women.

"I'm not sure he would go for it. Unlike you, he was a perfect gentleman, not some red neck from the wrong side of town." She playfully batted his arm as she said it. Tim had responded to her inadvertent signals, it was all the information she needed to know, her would jump her bones in an instant, given the chance. Logistics and location might be an issue, but not one that could not be overcome.

A few days later, after Mary had spend quite some time, hoping to see Tim, with his collie in the park, she saw him and waved. Her invitation for a coffee was accepted, shortly after, they were seated at Mary's kitchen table, talking like old friends. She asked him what he did for a living and was pleasantly surprised to find out he was a published writer or historical novels. It meant he spend days and months researching so that his stories could be as accurate as possible. The time spent had taken its toll on his marriage. His wife, supportive at first, had soon become bored with being on her own for months at a time, they split after a mutual agreement and remained friends.

All the time Tim was talking, Mary was sending subliminal messages, a flash of cleavage, her knees apart and direct eye contact, relaying her willingness to pair up with him. Any reader of body language would not be able to miss the covert signals. Tim was no exception.

"So, Tim..." She looked straight into his eyes. "...what do you do for sex?"

"Nothing like being direct is there?" He laughed, a little nervously. "I...um... well I don't really get into it. I mean I would, but somehow, the opportunity rarely arises or, I just don't get out enough."

"Would you like to?" She cocked her head to one side and looked at him from under her eye lashes.

"Would I like to what?" It wasn't that he was unsure, just that he needed to be certain there was in fact an offer.

"Have sex with me."

"What about your husband? How would he feel about that?"

"Michael is all for it. In fact, he would like to make it a threesome, but I wasn't sure if you would go for that, being you don't know us, that is."

"Um... well, having sex with you would be terrific. I mean, really great, but I have never... um... well not with another man. It isn't my thing. I like women." He blushed, a little, and looked down at his shoes.

"No... that isn't what I meant. We would love to have a man join us in screwing me, not a bi-sexual thing. You know the term, double teaming?" He nodded. "That's what I meant."

"Oh... Okay... I see..." He bit his bottom lip and shifted on the kitchen chair. "... When?"

"Why not come over for dinner tonight? We can have a bottle or two of wine, loosen up a little and see where it goes?" She knew it was a done deal. His eyes lit up as the thought crossed his mind.

He left soon after, giving her a lingering kiss at the front door and as a taster, managed to fondle her breast through her blouse. It left her breathless and anticipating a wild night to come.

She called Michael on his mobile and told him it was all set. Tim would be coming over for dinner that night and she asked him if he really was up for this fantasy of hers. His reply of, you fucking bet, sealed the deal. Again, her excitement and the realisation of one of her main fantasies was about to come to fruition had her pussy dripping. 

She chose her dress carefully and decided on a revealing silk kimono split to her thigh and mostly open at the front in a wrap over, with very little underneath. It was designed to be appealing. The cooking was done, just needing reheating when the men of her choice were ready to eat.

At seven thirty, Tim rang the bell and fairly shortly afterwards, was nursing a large glass of shiraz. His eyes hungrily followed Mary as she fussed around the kitchen. The kimono was doing exactly as she hoped, giving little flashes and glimpses of her skin, enough to tantalise, but not too much to tip him over.

Michael arrived soon after and they ate. The two men sat opposite the table and silently appraised each other through the small talk. Michael remembered to say thank you for rescuing Mary in the park. His assessment of Tim was that, the guy looked capable, about the same height and weight and even similar I many respects. He approved of Mary's choice. 

It was quite difficult to talk, knowing what was on the menu other than the food and wine. None of them was really quite sure how these things went, being new to it all round. It was Mary who got the ball rolling after the meal was done and two bottles of wine had been sunk. They sat on the settees in the living room, being quite awkward and somewhat hesitant until she took the initiative and got up, hitched the hem of her kimono up and straddled Tim's lap, facing him.

"Shall we stop with the small talk and retire to the bedroom?" She began to undo the buttons on Tim's shirt and wriggled on his lap. "Come on, let's go." She got up, grasped Tim's hand and pulled him from the sofa. "Are you coming Michael?" 

She felt a lot more nervous than her appearance might have suggested. Inside, she was a mess of jumbled feelings, all mixed up by the increase in adrenalin that was smashing around in her veins. Mary could hardly breath and her trip hammer heart felt as if it was trying to break out. She was shivering with excitement and lust. 

The two followed her into the bedroom, making way for each other as they passed the doorway. Mary sat on the edge of the bed, keeping hold of Tim's hand and undoing his belt, single handed. She moaned softly when his cock was eventually exposed. It was a good size in girth and length, even semi-erect as it was. He was circumcised as well, how she preferred a cock to be. Mary leant forward and sucked him between her painted lips and grasped him at the root of his cock. She had no intention of leading up to this with any finesse. Straight into it before anyone had a chance to reconsider.

Tim stroked her hair at first and then reached down to fondle her breast, managing to trap her nipple between his rough fingers. He pulled gently and squeezed her tit giving her a double sensation. With a mouthful, all she could manage was Mm.

Michael had shucked off his clothes and naked, came to Mary, fascinated at seeing her suck as much of Tim's hardening dick into her mouth. The sight registered in his cock which hardened immediately.

"Tim, I'm just going to lay Mary down so we can both get a bit of the action. Okay?" Tim nodded.

Michael pushed her down so she was lying along the edge of the bed, one leg hanging down and resting on the carpeted floor, the other stretched out straight. Effectively, her legs were now open and the kimono rose, offering no barrier to whatever Michael had in mind. If she wondered where he was going with this, she didn't have long to wait.

Michael dived for her sex, pulling her panties to one side so that he could get to her most sensitive parts. Within seconds, his tongue was lashing her clit and splitting her lips. Tim was back in her mouth and marvelling at her form as she lay beneath him. He grasped a pillow and pushed it under her head so relieve the strain on her neck. She appreciated the gesture and went to work on his cock with renewed vigour.

Mary's body started to respond, her lubricants began to flow, giving her a taste that Michael loved as his tongue lapped at her clit and then drove into her slit, sending her wild. The pleasure from Michael's mouth was tipping her over the edge already and having Tim's engorged cock stabbing the back of her throat at the same time, was taking her to a level she had not reached before. Suddenly, her back arched as she came noisily and wetly, covering Michael's mouth with her essences. He licked and swallowed as fast as he could, drawing her lips between his teeth and gripping them lightly. She gagged as Tim's cock went a little deeper than she was used to, but then she drove him straight back down her throat as far as she could manage.