Pastor!Art had me thinking something like...
“I'll pray for forgiveness...” he says, his fingers moving higher between her thighs, the words like a vow as he whispers. “Just let me worship you first.”
I thought I’d combine this with the SIN story I wrote.
The church emptied out, golden rays of the sinking sun glittering through the stained glass. You were sat in one of the wooden benches while Reverend Donaldson was talking to a younger couple about their upcoming marriage.
He’d seen you at mass again, your boyfriend dutily at your side, holding your hand. There was a soft glimmer in your eyes every time you looked at Art, or maybe he just imagined it. Wishful thinking.
But now he could see you from the corner of his eye, sitting there patiently, only waiting for him to finish his conversation.
He was looking awfully good that day, the dark black of his shirt looking absolutely stunning against his pale skin. A stubborn strand would consistently fall into his eyes and your hands were itching to push it back for him.
You tried to focus, you were here on a mission. It was your boyfriend who’d had the idea at first, seducing—corrupting—the towns Reverend. It was only a game to you two. Sure, you’d get a couple orgasms out of it but your boyfriend was the one who wanted to go all out.
“You can lure him out of his corner, I see the way he looks at you,” your boyfriend had murmured, kissing your cheek gently.
“I don’t know. I know Reverend Donaldson for a long time now. He’s a good pastor,” you’d said unsure about his deal. He pushed a few strands gently out of your face, kissing down your neck.
“Come on, do it for me. Just wanna see if he bites. How fun would that be? Imagine we film him fucking you.” He bit gently at your collarbone.
You’d flinched at first at his suggestion. Despite you being up to anything, it felt wrong to tease Art. While your boyfriend only attended mass to get off on the fact that the town’s Pastor was thirsting after you, you genuinely enjoyed mass.
Reverent Donaldson’s sermons always made you feel lighter and happier. Like there was hope after all. At first you weren’t really turned on by the idea to seduce him. Yes, he was an attractive man but far too old for you. You doubted he’d even fall for your ruse.
And despite your feigned nonchalance in front of your boyfriend you started to crave Art’s touch. The way he talked, whimpered and even breathed. It played in a loop in your head, every time resulting in your hand sliding into your sleeping shorts.
You’d find yourself more often than not, imagining him fucking you, when it was your boyfriend’s cock pounding your cunt.
Art was finally finished, his steps echoing as he walked over to you. You could see that he was being cautious, a gentle mask settling on his face.
“How can I help you today?” Completely ignoring the fact that he was knuckle deep inside you only the week prior.
“I was hoping you could take my confession again,” you blinked innocently up at him. Art shivered at your words, images drawing in his mind again. As if he didn’t fall asleep to your panting picture every night. As if he didn’t imagine his wet fingers plunging into your cunt at every wake hour.
He refrained from touching himself. He didn’t earn it. The strain in his balls and red head of his cock was a new form of penance but it made this situation with you all the more dangerous.
“I don’t take confession today,” he swallowed. “I can call Brother Zachary, I’m sure he can help you.”
Art went to turn but your hand shot out and grasped his wrist. Art turned as if you burned him, his gaze growing darker.
You quickly drew your hand back, forcing a flush to your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you said gently. “I’m just so used to you. I trust you enough with my sins.”
Your words were pure devotion. Reverend Donaldson’s jaw clenched as he straightened slightly.
“Like I said. I am not open for confessions today.”
He could draw his Roman collar as tight as he wanted but he couldn’t fool you.
“Could you make an exception?” You took a step closer, making Art inhale sharply. A divot formed between his brows, taking the angelic look from his face.
“Listen,” he sighed. “I am only telling you this because I know you’re a good girl.”
You shivered at his words and Art tried not to notice. He went on, “what we did wasn’t right. I tried to help you and damned myself for it.”
You shook your head quickly, reaching for his hand again. He didn’t flinch this time. “You did help me. You made me feel good.”
Art shivered when you intertwined your fingers with his. “What we did wasn’t wrong, Reverend.”
He shook his head quickly. “It was a sin of the flesh.”
Arts head slowly hung forward and at the devastated long on his face you almost felt bad. Almost.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, enjoying the way your thumb ran over his knuckles. You knew you only needed to push him a little. If you overdid it he’d be scared and draw away again.
Slowly, his head rose again, taking in your face. Your plump glossy lips, your innocent wide eyes. His eyes dipped lower and a soft sound left his throat.
“You want me to burn in hell,” he murmured before he tugged at your hand.
You tried to push down the slow smile of satisfaction as he rounded the podium and tugged you harshly over to the stone altar.
“What—“ before you could talk his hands found your hips and lifted you onto the cold slab of stone. “Reverend—“
“Stop calling me that,” he hissed. Art pushed the skirts of your dress up again, revealing the skin of your thighs.
“What would you like me to call you?” He didn’t answer the question as his fingers hooked your panties to the side, cheeks flushing at the sight.
“I’ll pray for forgiveness…” he said, his fingers moving higher between your thighs, the words like a vow as he whispered, “just let me worship you first.”
His hold on your thighs tightened as he pulled them so far apart you felt the stretch in your muscles.
You cried out when his tongue took a long drag over your cunt, eliciting sparks all along your spine.
“Hold still,” he murmured, his tongue moving faster, wetness pooling from your cunt along your thighs and dripping onto the altar.
You were an offering to the gods, the salvation to all evil as your juices dripped onto the sacramental stone.
“Fuckk,” Art huffed as he sucked your clit, one hand moving upward and closing around your tit. You arched into his touch, whimpering softly.
Art pushed a finger into your pussy, tongue lapping up your taste as his nose repeatedly pumped against your clit. His hips were humping the air desperately, moans leaving his lips like a prayer.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” the words tumbled passed his lips easily as he groaned against you, the vibration making you buck your hips up desperately.
“Day and night you’re my only thought,” he kept going desperately, the taste of you working like a truth serum, making him confess all his sins.
Wet sounds echoed around you when a wooden bank creaked. Art looked up in panic but there was no one around. Your hand found his head and pushed him back. “Don’t stop,” you huffed, hips circling desperately, yearning for friction.
Hesitating, Art lowered his head again, sucking at you. Your hand took his wrist and slowly dragged his hand from your tit to your throat. Art shivered looking at you for a moment as you squeezed your throat with his hand.
His gaze grew darker as he squeezed your throat, fingers fucking you faster, tongue working harder.
“Oh fuck, just like that,” you choked out. Your walls started to flutter around his fingers and his teeth tugged at your clit.
“Oh, fuck, god, Art,” you lost it completely, hips bucking, drool slipping past the corner of your mouth as you came undone on his fingers.
He kept pumping his fingers, the tips curling and your eyes widened in shock.
“Art, Art, Art—you need to—ah, get out get out—“ panic clouded your voice and he quickly withdrew his fingers only to watch you gush from your cunt.
“Oh fuckk,” a long whine left your lips as you squirted all over the altar.
Art watched you like you were his god, lips parted and cheeks flushed.
“You,” he whispered, the grip around your neck loosening. He slowly crawled over your body, the pressure of his weight against you making you shiver, soft after waves hitting you.
His lips captured yours quickly and messy, spreading gloss and drool along both your faces. After almost crawling into you, he softly pulled back, watching you. His hand reached out to push a few strands of hair from your face.
He dropped another kiss to your lips, this one soft and gentle. Something stirred inside your chest and you almost wanted to get up and flee.
“You’re going to ruin me,” Art whispered and you gasped softly.
“But I’d rather die of the ruin of you, then walk the earth starving every moment without your presence.”
