If I had a nickel for every time I loved a fictional man in a waist coat I would have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice
alcina venting in her diary after the meeting about how much she hates the lords right before ethan breaks into the castle and murders all her daughters
Summary: Father Clayton has only been with your church for a few months now, and yet he has already made you a filthy sinner and sent your soul straight to hell.
Warnings: fem reader, religious imagery, fem masturbation, fingering, sexual intercourse
4.8k words
You were sitting in the pews closest to the back of the church. You had planned to come in a few moments later than your family so you could get away with sitting elsewhere. After the embarrassment of last Sunday's sermon where you became a fidgety and distracted mess much to your family's annoyance, you wanted to sit alone. It wasn't your fault though. No, it was the new priest who had rolled his way through town and quickly landed a spot in your church; Father Clayton Spencer.
You were quite shocked to see someone so young and so handsome take up the recently vacant position in your church. When you picture a man of god standing before you at the altar, he was the last thing you expected. He was quite well built for being a preacher. Bulky, with wide shoulders and a muscular frame. If you saw him on the streets you would have guessed his profession would have been anything else. A weight trainer or a fighter, but not a holy man like you saw him every day. Freckles littered his pale face, surrounding his captivating hazel eyes and exhibiting his charming smile. His hair was a long, fiery red, which when down almost reached his waist. It was pin straight and seemed to always shine in the bright sunlight that would shine through the large church windows. It was a color and length that was both uncommon in town and in the church. The long locks were always neatly tied back or tucked tightly behind his ears.
You had often heard some of the older women gushing about him in hushed whispers around town. Before service began last week you heard your neighbor, a married woman in her 40’s, talking to one of the other women. She mentioned how she had been walking by his home one morning and saw him at work in his garage. She went on about how his large hands moved gracefully as he demonstrated his woodworking talent and that the piece he was making was almost as beautiful as he was…and that his shirt seemed a little bit too tight. For the rest of that day you couldn't help but imagine the way his hands might have looked as they worked. The muscles in his back through his tight shirt or the way his fingers curved. The fantastical image alone was enough to make your mind wander for days to come.
You caught your mind drifting as you observed him at the altar and quickly brought yourself back. You couldn't help the way your thighs squeezed together whenever he spoke. His voice was deep and erotic with a hint of a southern drawl that would make any woman quiver in their skirts. The passion for religion and leading was evident in his voice, which did no favors for the aching in your loins.
As the sermon went on you listened intently. You were hung on every word falling from Father Claytons lips. Not because you believed it, but because it was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. The only heavenly thing you cared about was his voice, and you wondered what it sounded like when he said other things too. Other not very holy things. As your mind drifted once again as it often did, your eyes were still hung on him. He cracked a wide smile. You felt your heart skip at the pretty sight. The smile was followed by a laugh. A deep euphonious sound that echoed across the holy ground of the church. Your body writhed in the wooden pews, the sexual frustration was becoming too much. It was hard to sit still.
The feeling of your now soaked panties rubbing against you in the most pleasurable ways caused you to jolt. You couldn't help but grow hot at the feeling inside you. The last place you should be feeling sexual pleasure is in church, let alone in church during a sermon! You squeezed your thighs together and shuffled as you tried to bring forth the same pleasure from seconds ago, and hopefully more. But it wasn't working. You just couldn't seem to rub that same spot again. You wished so strongly to be back in your bed, sprawled out and rubbing yourself to completion at the thought of the oh so handsome, young priest.
A nervous shake took over your hands as you looked around at everyone else in the room. They were all in front of you since you were sitting the farthest back and seemingly at angles where they wouldn't be able to see past the pews in front of you. You slowly pulled the hem of your skirt up to your hips, exposing the wet penties underneath. The inside of the church was warm but the chill that ran through you was ice cold as well as an extreme rush of adrenaline.
Your fingers slowly moved up to rub the spot over your panties, testing the waters for your indecent act. If you weren't going to hell before, you definitely were now. Fingers ran up and down the crevice in the fabric, causing the arousal underneath to seep through the cotton. Your bottom lip trembled in a mixture of nervousness and pleasure. You slowly and carefully ducked your fingers underneath the wet material. The pads of your fingers coming in contact with your irreverent slick. You glanced down at your thighs as your fingers softly rubbed at your clit. You bit your lip in an effort to contain the rising moan from deep in your throat. Your eyes flicked back up only to be met with the hazel eyes of your preacher man.
Father Clayton's eyes almost blew wide, but he stopped himself before people would have taken notice of his reaction. His handsome face turned a pretty shade of red in embarrassment. His adam's apple bulged as he tried to compose himself, almost tripping over his words. He was shocked when you looked up at him with a glazed over look in your eyes. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth and a timid blush creeping across your cheeks. What Clayton saw was a look of pleasure and it was written all over your face.
Your face ran hot as you made eye contact with Father Clayton. The look in his eyes let you know that you had been caught. Your hands immediately retracted from your aching pussy to grip onto the pew below you. Your wet fingertips left the wood damp as you white knuckled the seat in embarrassment, afraid that too loose of a grip would cause you to slip away. Although that probably would have been for the best at that moment. Even though he was no longer looking at you, the feeling of still being watched was prevalent in your gut. A look around showed that no one was looking at you, but the feeling still lingered. It felt as though God himself was staring down at you with disgust and disappointment. You could never be granted absolution in His eyes for as long as you lived. Your soul now tainted like the now damp wood beneath you where you sat.
Father Claytons bellowing voice caused your stomach to drop for a moment before you realized he was concluding the weekly sermon. You were relieved that service was wrapping up and you could run away and hide without causing a scene. You quickly started adjusting your panties and your skirt as the sound of echoed footsteps and voices bounced around the church walls as people started to make their leave. You quickly started to make your way toward the large oak doors, hoping to make your way outside. Being inside the church was starting to feel small and claustrophobic. A firm hand grabbed your shoulder, causing you to spin around. Your eyes were met with those of Father Clayton as he towered over you, a confused yet far off look in his eye. Your already quick heartbeat seemed to get even faster. Being so close to him and having him look into your eyes made you feel like you were seconds away from hitting the floor.
Your name being called diverted your attention. A quick look in the direction of the voice and you locked eyes with your mother, smiling as she made her way through the crowd of people leaving the church. “Please take me away.” Your thoughts pleaded. “My heart can't take anymore embarrassment today.”
She greeted you before turning to Father Clayton, grabbing his hands and squeezing them before letting go. A wave of unexpected irritability moved through you at the sight.
“Oh Father! What a lovely service as always!” She gushed. “We're all so glad to see you settling into our church so well.”
He bowed his head slightly with a sweet yet flustered grin. “Thank you ma’am, that's very kind of you.”
Your mother smiled down at you as she gave your arm a small nudge.
“You didn't sit with us, we weren’t sure if you showed up!” You nervously chuckled, eyes darting between Father Clayton and your mother.
“Sorry, I was running late so I just sat in the back so I wouldn't interrupt.” You lied. A quick glance at Clayton and the look he was sporting showed that he knew that as well.
“Are you still planning on getting breakfast with us at the diner?” She asked.
Before you could speak, another voice cut off your words.
"Actually, they have graciously offered to assist me after the service." Father Clayton smiled innocently at your mother, before turning to you with a smile that held something different than the last. You tried your best to hide your confusion. You never agreed to that, and he never asked. It took you a moment to realize that your preacher just lied to your mother to keep you longer. She raised her eyebrow in curiosity.
"Is that so? Well that's awfully kind of you!" Her voice was shrill as she reveled in your “kind gesture”.
"Well don't forget you're coming over for Sunday dinner, we'll see you tonight." Your mother adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder and kissed your head before saying her goodbyes to Father Clayton. Making her way out the church doors to meet up with the rest of your family while you stood next to him, awkwardly shifting around on your heels.
You watched him intently as he said his goodbyes to the others who attended his service. Your mind couldn't help but race as you waited. Did he really know what you were doing during his service? And if he did, what would he say? What will he do?
Once everyone had cleared out and the church doors finally closed, Father Clayton let out a jagged breath. He looked down at you with a straight face before he motioned for you to follow him. The walk through the church and to his office felt both too long and not long enough. The door to his office let out a loud creak as the hinges bent with the motion.
“Have a seat.” He said as he pointed towards a wooden chair sitting opposite of an old desk, which you assumed was his. You nervously sat down in the chair while Clayton sat in the big office chair behind the desk.
The air was heavy with tension and embarrassment as the two of you sat in silence. Father Claytons eyes bore holes in you, yours in your church shoes. You wiggled your toes in an attempt to distract yourself from your harshly beating heart.
"Well?" He broke the silence. "Care to explain yourself?" His words hung heavy in your ears.
The sound of his voice did nothing but make you blush harder and make your heart beat more vigorously to the point where your chest began to ache. You stayed silent, finger fiddling with the material of your skirt. "There's nothing I could say to him to make this any better." You thought to yourself. Your eyes flickered up to him for a short moment before casting themselves back down to the floor. He sighed before standing and making his way around the desk.
Father Clayton crouched next to your knees, in an attempt to make eye contact with you.
“We aint leavin’ here until you tell me.” His voice whispered, it felt heavy in the surrounding air.
You shifted uncomfortably in the wooden chair. His eyes on you made you flush, but the closeness of him on his knees in front of your naked legs was an even more intense feeling. Your hips swiveled as you tried to situate yourself more comfortably, legs shifting. The holy man before you unknowingly let his eyes drift, making their way to the area between your legs and getting a view of the damp panties under your skirt. His face ran hot when he soaked in the sight of you. He immediately rose to his feet and shuffled back to his desk. He stood with his broad back facing you as he laid his palms flat against the wood and hung his head. Wisps of soft orange hair fell over his eyes. A chorus of curses floated through his mind as he tried to silence them. The loudest being the image of your dripping cunt mere inches from his face. His mind was racing, the internal struggle inside of him was incredible. On one side was his faith, what he fought to be since he was a young boy back in Killmor. All his days as a young man studying his religion. Since he was old enough to read the bible on his own, Clayton lived and breathed Catholicism, priesthood called his name like a beckoning choir. He felt like it was what he was made for. But something else beckoned him as well. The pretty church girl who attended every service and hung on every word he spoke.
Clayton turned around to face you, leaning back against his desk. His toned arms crossed in thought as he studied you. Regardless of how conflicted he felt, he knew he felt a certain way about you. Certain that he wanted you, even if it was something he shouldn't dare admit. From the stolen glances every week and the blatant sin you committed in church today, it was obvious how you felt about him. He wanted to test the waters and see where he could take you, and where he could take himself.
"Rise." He uncrossed his arms for a moment, his long fingers making an upward motion. Your body seemed to blindly follow his orders. Not even fully realizing what he had said before you were already on your feet.
“Do you take me for a fool, little one? Cause rest assured, I am most definitely not." His words spewed confidence, but deep down, his nerves were snapping against his freckled skin like rubber bands.
He leaned up off his desk and took a nervous step toward you. He couldnt help but think you looked so small and meek as he gazed down at you. His figure shadowed you. His large hands reached out to rest on your upper arms, softly rubbing up and down them. You froze at the contact, the feeling of tightness that had been building up inside you all day just felt tighter. His own body ran hot at the feeling of your warm, soft flesh under his palms.
"If- If I read the signs wrong.." Clay stuttered out. "Jus' tell me to stop and I will. Okay, sweetheart?" For the first time since he spoke to you, your eyes flickered up to meet his. Clay felt a blush rise to his cheeks as he made eye contact with you. You were so much more pretty close up. The colors in your eyes were hypnotizing to the young priest. Your hands rose to grasp at his forearms. You could feel the muscles under your hands.
"I dont want you to stop." You spoke, your voice low and sweet. Clay nodded slightly, trying to hold back a smile. He hesitantly leaned down towards your lips, his body stuttering as every holy cell in his body screamed at him to stop. But in that moment, he felt like no more than a man. A mere man who deeply wanted the person that was in his arms.
His lips finally made contact with yours and he felt the intense breath that you both fought to suck into your lungs. His lips slowly pressed against yours and pulled away, the loss of contact felt deeply upsetting to him. Without even thinking his lips moved back against yours with an almost inaudible moan. Your sinful hands dropped to grope at his torso through his holy robes as his moved upward to cup your face. His large hands held you in place as his lips moved faster and carnally against yours. He spun you around and Clayton backed you up, the backs of your thighs hitting the solid oak of his desk. The fire of arousal in the pit of your stomach only grew in intensity once you felt the growing heat of his kiss.
"Father Clayton.." you exhaled heavily with a low moan. His hips bucked against you of their own volition, a low grunt clawing its way through gritted teeth. He didn't know why the sound of his religious title slipping past your sweet lips lit a fire inside him. Possibly because of the many unholy thoughts that swam through his mind as you said it. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, that he could be exiled from the church and shunned if anyone else were to find out. But he couldn't hold back any longer. He couldn't force himself to sit through another sunday service with your eyes watching his every move and not knowing what the flesh of your hips felt like under his hands.
What your soft lips moving against his felt like.
What the heavenly softness between your legs felt like wrapped tightly around him.
He effortlessly snaked his arms around you and lifted you off the ground. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his wide waist, your skirt falling up your thighs. His large hands squeezed you as he set you down on top of his desk. His palms were rough as they trailed over you, kneading and squeezing every inch of skin he could get his hands on.
Clayton reached around you to shove the many papers, folders, and pens that littered his desk to the floor below. His beloved bible found its new home on the hardwood floor where it fell open, bending and creasing its thin and previously pristine pages. Your fingers moved quickly as each button of your shirt popped open, hands shaking with need. Clay helped you slip the shirt off your arms before tossing it over the back of the chair you previously sat in. You broke the kiss to adjust your position before easing yourself backwards. The chill of wood against your back contrasted heavily with the pools of heat that littered your body. Your eyes softly shut as his large hands traveled up the outer expanse of your thighs as they wrapped around him. Once his hands reached your hips he gave them a soft squeeze, gently rubbing circles into the flesh underneath him. You let out a sweet hum as a delicate smile took over your lips. He preached about God's heavenly angels weekly during his sermons, but he never imagined he would have one as soft as you under his fingertips.
His hands slowly trailed downwards, all the way to the outside of your thighs. He began kneading the soft flesh, moving his hands inward as he went. His fingers softly trailed up to the spot between your open thighs. His thumb rubbed deep circles over the wet spot on your panties. His eyes trailed up your body as your back arched in pleasure from the small contact. He continued to rub you while you writhed on his desk, soft moans slipping out from between your lips.
He hooked his long fingers through your panties as he tugged on them. Pulling the damp fabric off of you and moving them around your ankles. You wiggled your feet as they dropped to the floor. Your thighs slowly parted and a shiver ran up your spine as your wet cunt was now fully exposed to Father Clayton. His breath caught in his throat as drank in the sight of you.
"Fuck," He cursed. His curious fingers swiped up and down through your wet folds. "So fuckin' pretty."
Without warning he plunged two long fingers almost fully inside of you. You squeaked at the sudden intrusion, rolling your hips as a signal for him to move his hand. He slowly pulled his fingers out, leaving only his fingertips in before sliding them back inside, fully this time. He pumped his fingers slowly, picking up speed the closer you seemed to get. Your high was approaching, and it was approaching fast. The sexual frustration that had built up during today's service heightened the pleasure you were experiencing tenfold. The fact that you were finally getting the relief you needed mixed with it was at the hands of the preacher man you had fantasized about lit the hottest fire in your core.
Clay pressed his large palm against your lower stomach, fingers splayed out, as the fingers on his other hand were still working inside you. His fingertips pressing into the soft flesh of your stomach. They pumped and curled as the pressure from his other hand made the bubbling inside you begin to reach its peak. Your hands reached out for his as you whined. Fingers wrapped around his wrist as your orgasm finally took over, causing you to writhe and shake under his touch. His hand on top of you that was intensifying the pleasure was now pressing harder to hold you down as you wiggled on his desk. The added pressure doing nothing but making you feel even tighter inside and a shrill moan being pushed out of you.
Clay withdrew his fingers as you started coming down. His hands, now damp with your slick, tugged at his robes. Your cum seeping deep into the holy fabric. He quickly started undressing himself, tossing the holy garments in a crumpled pile on the floor. Much like his sacred vows, they were thrown aside.
Now left in only his boxers, you could see what the other women were talking about. His broad shoulders and toned body were on full display for you. He looked so much bigger than he did under his robes. The loose fabric hid his muscles well. Your ego soared at the thought of you of all people being about to take Father Clayton to bed, metaphorically speaking. You hoped that maybe there would be other times where you would indeed have him in his bed, or him in yours.
His cock strained itself in his boxers. The obviously large appendage created a tent in the fabric, a damp spot soaking itself through.
His strong arms hooked themselves around your thighs tightly and pulled you closer to the edge of his desk. Your legs hooked around his waist as he pulled down his boxers enough for his now fully hard cock to stand tall on display for you. You couldn't help but let out a soft moan at the sight as he slowly gave his dick a few lazy pumps as he looked down at you. He gripped his cock just above the base and ran his head through your wet folds. You couldnt help but let out small whimpers whenever he ran over your clit. The veins that ran through his hands and up his arms pulsed as he let out heavy breaths.
His movements stopped, holding the head of his dick right at your entrance. You were so wet that he could easily slide himself inside you with one ill move. His hazel eyes looked into yours as if silently asking for permission. This was your last moment to turn back now and tell him no, he prayed you still wanted him. You subtly adjusted your position with your bottom lip tucked behind your teeth and a small nod. Clay slowly slid the fat head of his cock between your folds and inside of you. He held his breath as he slowly inched himself inside you. The weight of his dick inside you, stretching you wide was like no other youve ever experienced. It was a shame that a man as well endowed as Father Clayton would be sworn to a life of celibacy. But it seemed like it didnt matter to him now, as his vow to never experience earthly sexual pleasure was snuffed out like a candle.
Once he was fully inside of you, a moan escaped you as his thumb slowly rubbed at your clit.
"Darlin', open up f'me." His hips moved slightly, giving you a miniscule thrust. "Thats it, c'mon." His thumb continued to move as his thrusts slowly became bigger. He gazed down at your moaning, writhing form with a sexual intensity. His eyes hung heavy as his thrusts became faster, leaving only the head inside you each time he pulled back.
"This what you wanted, sweetheart?" His drawl was thick with pleasure. "Is this what you were thinkin' about as you played with yerself before a man of God?" His thrusts continued. His words were enough to make you moan. His voice sends sweet arousal through your body. You nodded in response.
Clayton leaned forward, driving himself deeper inside of you. You let out a shrill moan as he hit that pretty spot inside you. One hand pressed firmly into the desk by your shoulder as the other held onto your waist. A smirk crossed his lips as his thrusts increased in their speed. The desk below you creaked harshly under the weight of your sweaty bodies and the velocity of his thrusts. You could feel yourself dripping onto the beautiful oak beneath you like viscous holy water. Your legs squeezed tighter around him as his cock continued to hit that spot inside you that had you seeing stars.
"Father Clayton!" You were surprised the words actually came out coherently. "Im so close! Please!"
"Sweetheart, Im gonna bring you closer t'God." He said through heavy breaths. "Im gonna make you feel so good."
Your pussy squeezed around him in reaction to his words.
"Fuck!" He cursed, his thrusts getting faster. "So fuckin' good!" His head hung low as he started getting lost in you. Long strands of ginger hair hung over your chest. He was getting close, that much was obvious, as were you. His moans getting swallowed by his heavy breathing. His hand on your waist moved back down to your clit and started rubbing messy circles into the sweet bud. Your back arched with the contact and your arms wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him closer. His lips ghosted yours as your moans mingled together. Clay grit his white teeth as he tried to hold back his orgasm, needing you to let go first. He was having a hard time as you began spasming around him. Moaning beautifully as you soaked his thick cock.
Right as your orgasm concluded, Clay pulled himself out, not being able to wait any longer. He rubbed his shaft through your wet lips as he loudly grunted. He stared down at his cock as thick ropes of cum coated your stomach. His hips jerked along you as he emptied himself all over your soft skin.
Your arms dropped to your sides from around his neck as your felt yourself sinking into the desk. Clays hand ran up your side, his thumb dragging itself through his cum and trailing up your torso.
"Darlin', this needs to be our little secret, okay?" His eyes pleaded with yours. "No one can know the sins we've just committed." His tongue darted out of his mouth to lick at his bottom lip. You tiredly nodded to him. He shook his head. "No.. say it." His voice was soft yet demanding in tone. You studied the flecks of brown and green in his eyes as your hands moved upwards to cup his cheeks, tenderly rubbing the stubbled flesh with your thumbs.
"I promise, Father."
☾ notes: after a long time coming, i present to you *drumroll* Father Clay smut!
☾ tag list: @rottent33th, @damien-mlm, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @the-pinstriped-hood, @allthingsblood, @25bohemianmoons, @devil-doll13
Also thank you to my bestie @rottent33th for helping me with a few of these. Love you boo 💋🖤
He isn't incredibly loud in bed but he isn't silent either. Hes at his loudest right when he cums. He lets out the cutest pants during the deed and then lets out these high pitched whines and moans when he cums. He becomes a twitching, whiney mess when you make him cum and its absolutely stunning.
Loves to watch you ride him. it's one of his favorite positions. He gets to see all of you in all of your pleasured glory. (Also, it's canon he likes Slayer, so imagine riding him while Slayer is blasting 🥵). His hands will run up and down your body as he watches you bounce. If you have breasts, his eyes will dart back and forth between them and your face. Loving to watch your face contort in pleasure and watch your tits bounce over him. His hands will drift up and squeeze them, rolling your nipples in his fingers while watching for your reactions.
Overly eager about giving oral. His techniques aren't the greatest, but he absolutely loves to go down on you. I mean, he's trying, and that's the most you could ask for, right? He makes up for his lack of skills with enthusiasm.
Excellent fingering skills. He loves to have you laid out in front of him while his fingers slowly work themselves inside you. He'll talk you through the whole thing and praise you. Whispers lovely praises in your ear while marking up your neck.
Brian is all about body worship. His hands will drift all over your body while making out. He doesn't want to leave a single part of you untouched. He's always rubbing and squeezing at every part of you, whether it's something as innocent as your upper arms or a little more sexual like your inner thighs.
The body worship continues during sex as well. He'll thrust inside you while nuzzling his face into your neck, sucking deep bruises and telling you how beautiful/handsome you look underneath him. His hands constantly move about your body, holding onto you while he thrusts and mumbling about how he loves all those parts of you.
He isn't one to take sex super seriously unless he's incredibly horny and needs to get off. He'll crack jokes and giggle with you while you're rolling around between the sheets together. Its incredibly cute, he gives off himbo energy sometimes.
He loves having his hair pulled. He didn't even know he liked it until you tugged harshly at it, and he let out a moan with a giant grin.
Sometimes he likes to thrust real hard into that spot that makes you see stars, so you'll be loud for him. He may not be the loudest, but he likes it when you are. It makes him feel good knowing you're practically screaming out his name.
Speaking of wanting to make you scream, he can be a bit possessive. If he ever catches his brother saying something or looking at you in a way he doesnt like, he'll fuck you that night specifically so he can hear. He'll fuck you rougher and harder and make sure he slams the bedframe into the wall to really make his point.
He absolutely loves having his dick sucked. He'll get you to do it everywhere. In the park, in an alley, in his living room, the shower. Theres something he loves about the erotic image of you on your knees with your lips wrapped around his cock. His face will go all red and hot, and he chuckles as he watches your mouth take more and more of him. He lets out the sweetest little moans as he grabs your hair and throws his head back. His hips not being able to help themselves as he gives your mouth shallow thrusts.
What do you mean the Sinclair’s are evil they’re literally southern gentleman. They are calling you darlin’ and opening doors, murder is just their hobby.
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