Alright you freaks want more Soulless Sam…here ya go.
I’ve been wanting to write a priest Sam fic for a while. But I’m putting a twist on things. We’re doing Soulless Sam Winchester Priest. Which means all the fun things that come along with it. I’m setting this one up as another few parter series. I LOVED the way this went!
Your menu (trigger warnings not in order of events):
Dubious consent (putting this here because it reads that way)
Religious themes (most likely inaccurate since it’s been 10 years since I’ve set foot in a Catholic Church)
Please be aware. I grew up Catholic, so I’m basing this off of what I knew. Which is limited! Even more so because I don’t really live a faith based live style, very earthy hippy universe girly now. I do have some experience with nuns, my Grand Aunt (sister to my grandmother) was a nun from age 16 to the day she died. Got to go to a convent and meet the sisters. The church or parish (I guess I don’t know) is fake? There is one out there with the same name (kinda) but just in case for legal reasons obviously not connected in anyway. All fake to me.
I went FULL on virgin mode with this. Innocence at its finest. These descriptions might be a bit cringe and I went with a tighter dialogue for you because…I don’t know your a virgin devoted to God who’s about to go to church. If you catch my drift.
This is only the beginning…
I’d devoted myself to Christ not six years ago. Even before him, I’d known lust — but nothing like this. After the death of Father Johnston, the church felt empty. He had been one of the only constants here while I was adjusting, he had been the one who confirmed me into my faith.
My day started like any other, I had my morning meditation, followed by prayer, and a fast in memory of Father Johnston. His penance to God, a fast every Wednesday morning for the meals he had eaten with greed before joining the church. Then he arrived, Father Samuel. Mother superior and him were in a meeting long enough for a few of us to make rumors that maybe he was to be the new priest, or worse they both were dead.
“Sister (Y/N),” Mother Superior had cooed, her hands on my shoulders, squeezing in that motherly way of warning. She introduced him to me, Father Samuel. He was taller and regrettably more handsome than most of the priests that had come into our convent. “I would like you to show Father Samuel around, if he needs guidance be there for him.”
“Yes, mother.” I said quietly, trying my best to keep my eyes to the floor.
“Do not disturb him with your wild tales,” she said under her breath. “Father Samuel—“
“Please, Tabatha, call me Sam.” His deep voice is humming in my heart. Why was I feeling this way? I’d been around countless younger priests in my days of living here, but this was different. I felt a tremor run down my spin as Mother Superior flushed a deep red. Embarrassed at her own words?
“Sam, will be investigating Father Johnston's death. It has piqued his interest and I fear I can not reason with him.” She chided, her voice scratching with an elderly tone.
I bowed my head, “happy to help anyway I can.” Looking up finally to see his chiseled face, a strong jaw line complimented with stumble, and hazel eyes that— Please Lord forgive me for where my thoughts were taking me.
“Give him the full tour,” Mother Superior said happily before leaving us alone. Warning in her eyes. Maybe this was a test, to see if I can suppress earthly wants. I’d never wanted another before, only God and I could never lay with him.
“Sister (Y/N), as I told Tabitha, call me Sam,” he smirked. It was improper to call the priests and higher nuns by just their first names, at least that’s how we did it here at our convent. Respect was everything at Our Lady of Sorrows. We were built on structure and the grace if God as some may say.
“I’m sorry Father but it is a sign of respect…” his eyebrow cocked at this. His smirk grew as he seemed to bite the inside of his cheek. My heart was thudding in my chest and my core…why was my core in this equation?! Could he smell it? My fear? Father Samuel kept to his space, his hazel eyes scanning my covered frame with x-ray-like intensity. Was he looking for a way in? Was I that weak?
“I’ll allow it for now,” Sam finally said in a tone I was unaccustomed to. He sounded sensual. Like those men in the video Sister Miranda tried to make me watch. “Tabitha says you give a wonderful tour.”
“Yes!” I said excitedly, diving right into it.
Beginning the tour of the convent. I showed him where everything was held that the priest should know, as well as the best places to hide if one needed to get away and pray in peace. He had many questions, most of which I was able to answer and others that left me wondering if he were asking me something very different. Of course men aren’t allowed into the women’s dorms, but for tours we allow soiecla cases so in case of an emergency a priest could assist with any task if needed, regardless men are always escorted within these halls. Even the holy ones.
“Which one is yours?” Father Samuel smiled, his eyes grazing over the other plan doors. We didn’t decorate. As much as I would have loved to have my door be covered with a flowery wreath Mother Superior wouldn’t allow it.
I stopped in front of the door at the furthest end of the hall. All by itself. Just like me. I was one of the rare cases, I didn’t have a roommate. I was alone, unlike most of the sisters who found friendship through their roommates. “This one,” I smiled back.
“May I see inside?” He asked politely and I obliged. No one had ever asked to see my bedroom before. I’d always wanted to show someone why little drafts I did to keep myself busy, since we don't have cell phones on hand.
His eyes scanned my room. Very plan with pops of little things I couldn’t get rid of. Like my (f/c) CD, player and CD binder that I’d play on the lowest setting only whenever I wanted something other than silence in my room. Hands glossing over my books, more earthly things I was unable to leave behind. However, allowed. Classic works of fiction that were approved by Father Johnston himself.
“Oh?” Sam said picking out the last book I’d ever wanted him to touch.
It was placed backwards for a reason.”Father, No!”
Pulling out one of the novels Father Johnston had given me personally. It was…sinful. He thought it a joke. Buying a book for me with a half naked man and a woman in a red dress clasped so tight to him you could see her nails digging into his biceps like some crazed animal. “You might need to go to confession for this.” He chuckled.
I swiped the book out of his hand, throwing it into the trash. “It was an April fools gift. I haven’t even opened it up.” I huffed, feeling my cheeks grow that feverish hot from before. I’m an idiot. I should have given it away or even better disposed of it after Father Johnston had left.
Suddenly I felt him, Father Samuel, invading my space. I backed up to get out of his way, hoping he was looking at the books in my shelf, but he wasn’t. He backed me up against the shelf until my back was pressed against it, my head knocking and causing a few books to fall. “Father—“
He didn’t say anything. Father Samuel’s thumb brushed against my cheek, choking my face so sweetly I was terrified. Would he kiss me? I would definitely go to confession for the way he was making me feel, pushing me like this.
“Stay still,” Father Samuel whispered, his hands coming to my face. Topping my chin upward to keep his gaze. Hazel scanned my features with an intensity I dreamt about as a girl, someone gazing upon me with an interest, maybe even curiosity.
“What are you doing?” I asked out of fear. “Please Father Samuel.”
“I told you, (Y/N). Call me Sam.” He seemed to hum. If I was a cat I’d be purring. This closeness drives me to a place I’d never felt before, or really ever thought about.
“Sam,” I said in a voice so small. His hazel eyes bouncing in a triangular motion, my lips then to my eyes. His scent is so intoxicating, it could be compared to a drug. Why did I like this? Maybe because I’d wished for something scandalous to happen to me. Childish dreams of being desired by someone, even though I’m meant for God.
“You have an eyelash,” he said, brushing it off of my face, holding the lash out for me on his finger. I gazed up at him with wide eyes. Unsure of what I should do next. Lean in and kiss him? Thank him? I felt so confused by the act that I was stunned. My heart thudded in my chest. “Blow.” He instructed.
This broke me out of my trance. “What?”
“Make a wish, (Y/N).” He chuckled so innocently. There was no way this man hadn’t known women. Not with the way he held my face, looked into my eyes and his tone. Mother Superior must hate me for this. “Make your wish, or I’ll make one for you.” Tentatively I did as instructed. Blowing lightly on his finger, my lips brushing against his index finger. I felt something poking against my hip, maybe his pocket bible?
His warmth still against my face, tracing down my neck. I stood there for a second still in shock. Against everything my body was telling me, I pushed away. I ignored his question. “Thank you, Father Samuel. I would have never gotten that by myself, but—“ I stammered, trying my best to make more distance, as his hand held my waist.
“I asked you to call me Sam,” he growled in my ear. Panic pouring through my veins. “Sister (Y/N), how many times must I tell you.” His grip tightening on my hips. Whatever is in his pocket moving as I did, as if it had a life of its own.
“Father, please.” I seemed to beg, I tried my best to stay still. I didn’t know what I wanted. For this turmoil in my stomach. Did I want this? Or was this just my Earthly wants taking over?
“Sam, please.” I said once more as he let me go. Slipping away from his grasp just to be knocked against the wall. My heart thudding in my chest, the sensation between my legs becoming unbearable.
My chest was pressed against the cool concrete. His own against my back, spreading my legs. I felt so moist between my legs, my thighs drenched in what I could only imagine to be blood. I’d never felt this way before, or reacted to someone else’s touch and attention.
I felt his fingers through my hair before his nose traced down my neck, taking in my scent. “You smell so sweet.” He hummed, his hot breath making me want. I tried to keep myself still, yet my hips swayed against him gently grinding into something long and hard. This was driving me mad. My body craved something it shouldn’t have, but so desperately wanted.
“Have you ever been with a man before,” he whispered softly against my ear. Chills running up and down my spine.
“No—“ I choked, mostly to save myself and the truth. A virgin. Untouched in every way one could be sexually. “No I haven’t.”
“Do you want this?” He whispered, his hips grinding against my backside. Creating friction, I felt myself following his movements.
A soft moan caught in my throat as he cupped one of my breasts in a large hand. His hips rocked against me, the hard object in his pocket poking my backside as his other hand worked my skirt up. Following the soft line of my leg and thigh, finding my secret. I wasn’t wearing any underwear.
“Oh (Y/N), how sinful.” He bit my ear. Tongue tracing down my neck as his attention became direct. Snaking to the front of us. I felt him shutter against me. “Dirty girl,” he growled.
“Please,” I found myself begging. His fingers were so close to where I wanted him. The pressure inside of me screaming to be released.
I felt him smirk against my skin. “Please, what?” His finger brushed over the sensitive bud of nerves. I felt my body tense against him. Did I want this? I felt his hand around my throat now, applying pressure - just enough to bring me back to reality. “Tell me, (Y/N).”
“Please,” I breathed. “Touch me.” I felt myself whine as he began to draw soft circles. My hips rocking back into him as the sensation began to roll through my body. Is this what pleasure feels like?
“What a naughty girl you are,” he cooed against my neck as he began to leave sloppy wet kisses against it, making me spiral. I felt a pressure begin to build. Something knotting at my stomach.
“S-Stop…” I choked out as his attention followed my orders. I was close to succumbing to all of his temptations. His hold loosening on me.
I heard him growl against my neck, something cool pressing against my skin, as he pulled away. Instead of feeling fear curling in my stomach I felt disappointed. I wanted him to act whatever he may have been thinking. Ignore my demand and relieve this itch between my legs once more.
I straightened myself up. Acting as if his touch didn’t just send me into overdrive. “I would prefer it if next time you tell me, instead of—” I said, gaining my power back, whoever small it may have been, “touching me.” I had decided to ignore what just happened. Focus on the catalyst.
Other priests had made advances at me before in the past. Evil ones who made me lock my doors at night, but him. I’m terrified of him. A locked door may not be enough for me. Unlike all of them, I want this. I need to feel whatever this emotion is infecting me.
“My apologies…” he said frankly, respectfully distancing himself from me. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, (Y/N).”
I kept my head bowed low, so he couldn’t see how flushed I was. “May we continue the tour?” I said in a weak voice.
“Yes of course,” he said with a smile, leaving my room.
What the H-E-double hockey sticks were going on here? Assuming Father Samuel saw anything in me, would it be so bad if— I made a quick sign of the cross, kissing my hand and putting it up in the sky quickly. “Please, Mother Mary I could use a little strength right about now,” I mumbled to myself. Praying for a little luck before I go back out there. Protecting myself from any of his advances, and my wandering mind. God willing.
As our tour continued, Father Samuel was still attentive. His hand brushing against my own every now and again, I did what I could to keep space between us, but somehow either he or I were always pulled back to those little touches. He listened to me without interruption as I went over the histories of each building. Ghost stories the older nuns had told in the dark to scare us younger ones into line. In years past, many had stopped me or said they were uninterested but Father Samuel — he enjoyed it. He practically begged me to delve into my own personal theories about other deaths that happened within the stone walls of the convent. The scandals that have happened that the church tried so very hard to bury.
“Thank you, (Y/N),” he said with a soft smile. It was nearly nightfall. He’d let me prattle on so much that the tour lasted four hours, long enough for the sun to set behind the hill tops. “You’re a wonderful tour guide, you know that right?”
“No need for that, F—Sam,” I tripped on my words, stopping myself. “I’m glad I could give you the full history of this holy sanctuary.” I liked his praise. Heat crept up my face as I bit the inside of my cheek trying to choke his girlish smile before it could surface. Maybe it was a fever? My face never felt this hot. My body, what was my body doing? I felt as if my period had snuck up on me, my center wetter than usual - a heavy period? This soon?
“What are you doing tomorrow morning?” He asked tentatively. So much so I fear the devil, maybe the one speaking, his voice so deep and sensual I felt sin on my body.
“I am…” I could say I am busy. I had things to do, like keeping myself safe away from him, and yet — “nothing at all. As Mother Superior stated, I’m at your beck and call, Father.” His eye brow cocked, his jaw tightening. “Sam.” I corrected myself.
I was there to serve him and help him be comfortable while he remained here - however long that may be. Mother Superior said anything he needed, I was to assist. The corners of his lips circled into something I could only compare to smirk. Why would he be smirking?
“Then in that case, I require your company,” that smoother smile on his face. My eyes lit up, meeting his hazel which was dripping with something I’d never seen before. “You must get breakfast with me, and you can tell me a little more about Father Johnston?”
I stiffened, feeling my blood run cold. Why would he want to know more about Father Johnston? “Father,” I said as he cleared his throat, clearly annoyed with me. “Sam,” I corrected. “There isn’t much to say about Father Johnston. He was a good man—“
He invaded my space, backing me up against the wall. His finger against my lips, like before my heart began to thud in my chest. Afraid of what he’d do next. Wishing someone would come around the corner, and stop him. My hand on his chest to keep the distance, feeling his own strong and steady heart beat under my fingers. “You're shaking, Sister (Y/N),” he whispered as I felt myself begin to melt. “Are you okay?”
I could feel myself breaking, the temptation in my center rising as his scent took over me. Foolishly, I imagined what his lips would taste like. If his stubble would scrap across my skin or tickle it uncomfortably.
“Yes, Sam,” I swallowed hard. “I’m fine, it’s just—“
“Tomorrow, over breakfast. You will tell me everything you knew about Father Johnston.” Father Samuel said in such a stern and direct tone, I wanted to melt. I could smell him, the soft odor of his cologne. Sandalwood and pine, mixed with something masculine. Almost primal.
“Yes, Sam.” I whispered, my knees completely weak. I didn’t protest. I wanted to as his finger left my lips, his scent following with it.
“I’m on confessional duty until ten, we can meet there after.” He said as he walked off.
“Okay, sounds perfect. H-Have a good night.” I stammered, dashing off to the women’s dorms as quickly as I could.
The next morning I felt off. I was tempted. The thoughts of Father Samuel in my room, his body so close to mine and his scent enveloping me. When I’d made it back to my room I learned, I wasn’t on my period like I had thought. Instead, I was wet.
Something my biology book explained as normal for women who became, “aroused?” I whispered. It was true Father Samuel had made me feel something, but I didn’t think it was something sexual. Just fear of temptation.
I quickly went through my routine. Rushing to the church for a quick confession. My dreams are filled with images I’d never even experienced. Father Samuel above me, making my body feel so—
I sat in the box waiting for someone to sit on the other side, I made sure that I got there before eight since the priests would take an hour on and an hour off. I’d seen Sister Miranda go in with Sam, which meant it would be Father Franklin. When I heard the little window slide open still concealing the identity of the listener, I did a quick sign of the cross, and began.
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” I said nervously. “It has been four days since my last confession.”
The other side stayed silent, unusual but better for my kind. “My first sin…” I stuttered, I never did this. I was always so sure of my wrong and yet this time, I wanted it to be right. “I’m realizing that I am indeed human, more than I’d like to admit. I used to pride myself on being a strong wall built on the divine power of God. But I have the wants, and desires of any normal woman.”
“It takes great power to realize your own faults sister.” The voice said in a deep growl. I knew that voice and yet even with my fears of the truth. “How did these thoughts affect you, sister? Did you act on them?”
“No, Father.” I felt my stomach curl in on itself. What was I doing, thinking I could confide in anyone about these feelings. “I did…however, I wanted him to touch me. I thought about him last night, his thumb grazing against my lips as his eyes stared into mine oozing something I can only describe as lust. A great sin I’ve never committed, until now. Lusting after another.” I sighed leaning back in the confessional feeling myself becoming wet at the thought. “I nearly gave in to the matters of the flesh.”
“Do explain, sister.” He said, I could hear him adjusting in his seat. Must have been one of the large priests by how he groaned and breathed heavily.
“Father, I fear that matter isn’t—“
“You can speak frankly, Sister. I am just a vessel for the Lord, and he doesn’t judge you or your actions. No matter what they may be.” He said calmly. Soothing my mind and its worries with the deep drawl of his words.
I bit the apple. “I have never touched myself. I’ve never felt the touch of another person,” a lie up until yesterday I’d never been touched by another person. “I have kissed a man and once a woman before, but only in childish wanderings. Nothing that meant—“
“That’s not what I’m asking, sister. I’m asking what you thought about.” I heard something rustling, maybe the sound of a zipper?
I felt myself blush. “I thought about his hands on me. Taking off my clothing, and my underwear.” I cleared my through, my hand following the soft line of my frame. If I were in here God could forgive me.
“But you weren’t wearing any,” I thought I heard him groan.
I ignored this, continuing on. “His large hands touching my bare skin. Bringing me to the edge where I’ve never been before.” I heard something wet begin to slide up and down beside me. Soft moans.
“Sister, God must know where else your thoughts have strayed.” He groaned, his voice so broken.
I shifted myself, my legs spreading and tracing gently against my inner thighs. “Father, I wanted to know if he’d hurt me. If all of it, sex, hurts as badly as they claim. If he’d make me bleed or if everything I’ve read is a myth.” Then I found it, I never really wore underwear. The dresses were long enough I didn’t have to, and here I was in the confessional, circling softly against my sweet little bundle of nerves. Something my books said would be hard to find.
I heard him gasp. Father Samuel. I knew it was him. I could feel it. “Sister,” he breathed. The sounds slowing, still wet. “You’ve gone silent. Tell me what you're doing.”
“Father, I—“ I felt a soft moan escape my lips. My head was thrown back as I massaged my own nerves.
“(Y/N),” his voice strained. “Tell me.”
“No I—“ my stomach was twisting in on itself. I’d never der anything like this before. The sensation felt addicting. Was I close? If I continued, would I cum?
“(Y/N),” Sam growled as I let out a small whimper. The sounds of his groans becoming more restrained. The wet noises from his actions grew as my own fingers dipped inside of myself.
“Stop.” He instructed as my hands left my pussy. “Stand up.” I did as I was told. “Lift your dress and put you ass to the window,” he said as the window was opened, where the hand written penance notes were given and now.
I didn’t question him. I did as he said, a low hum came from the other side. His fingers brushed against my inner thighs, I didn’t move away. I let him caress my center, fingers running through my folds before dipping in. I covered my mouth with my hand as he began to pump gently in and out of my pussy. Another finger brushing against my clit.
“Stay quiet,” he instructed. His attention becoming quicker, fingers curling inside of me. Making my legs shaky. He growled, feeling me tighten around his hold. Just as I was about to be sent over the edge he left me.
“Father,” I whined. “Sam, please.”
“Your penance is to go back to your room, and wait for me,” he demanded. “Do not continue.”
I dropped my dress just as the window closed. Then reality hit me hard. I was in a confessional touching myself. Instead of confessing my sins, I was committing new ones that couldn’t be undone. Without answering I got up and rushed out of the confessional. This couldn’t happen. I can’t let this happen, and yet I felt this disappointment once again. If he’d deprive me of my pleasure, so would I.
I didn’t go to my room, like I had wanted to. I stayed strong. I went to the dining hall. Not long after Father Samuel appeared, his eyes meeting mine. I was in trouble.
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