Forgive Me Father, I’m Still Wet(2)

The wood bit into my knees as I dropped onto it. My belly hung heavy between my thighs. Father Thomas stood over me, hand locked around the side of my neck as he unzipped his black trousers with his free hand. His cock was rigid and dark-headed. He guided it straight to my lips.

“Take it.”

I wrapped my mouth over him. He pushed forward until the head hit the back of my throat. I gagged. Tears stung my eyes. He held my jaw locked a second longer, then pulled back just enough for air to hit my lungs.

“Deeper.”

I took him back in. His hand clamped the back of my head, controlling the pace. Slow at first, then driving hard. The wet sound of my mouth filled the narrow space. Spit ran down my chin, dripping onto the collar of my dress.

“Eyes on me.”

I lifted my gaze. His jaw was set tight.

“You came here dripping for this,” he said.

I tried to nod. He pushed deeper, pinning my head against his hips. My throat burned. When he dragged back out, I gasped.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” I rasped.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Father.”

He sank back in. My tongue worked the length of him. His breath turned rough, hips rolling in short, heavy thrusts. Every time I gagged, he slowed just enough to let me swallow, then forced me back down.

My hand slid between my thighs. Slick and swollen. Two fingers slid inside easily. I worked my thumb over my clit while he used my mouth.

He caught the movement.

“Hands off.”

I froze.

“Behind your back.”

I locked my fingers behind my spine. My belly rested on my thighs. He gripped my head in both hands and fucked my throat with full weight. Relentless. My eyes watered. Spit soaked the front of my dress.

He pulled out suddenly. A slick string connected my bottom lip to the head of his cock.

“Up.”

I forced myself to my feet. My knees ached. He turned me toward the door of the booth and steered me out into the empty nave. Rain hammered the roof. He walked directly behind me, one hand heavy on the back of my neck, guiding me past the altar into the sacristy.

He locked the door behind us.

The room was silent. A heavy wooden desk sat against the side wall. He spun me around and lifted me onto the edge. The wood was cold under my thighs.

“Lie back.”

I leaned onto my elbows. My belly rose high between us. He dragged my dress up to my waist. Bare underneath, legs parted, cunt slick and open.

He stepped between my thighs, fully clothed except for his open trousers. The white collar stayed locked around his neck.

He rubbed the head of his cock through my wet folds, coating himself.

“You want this while you’re carrying another man’s child?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me, Father. While I’m pregnant.”

He drove in.

One hard stroke. I cried out. The stretch burned. He gave me no time to adjust. He gripped my hips and started pounding me deep and steady. The heavy desk creaked. My belly bounced with every impact. I braced one hand against the wood, the other supporting my stomach.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “So tight.”

He leaned forward, one palm planted beside my head, the other holding my thigh open. The angle changed. He hit a spot that made my legs tremble.

“You sit in that booth every week getting yourself off thinking about this,” he said, his voice low and level even as he drove inside me. “Don’t you?”

“Yes—ah—yes, Father.”

“Greedy. Coming to confession with your cunt already running.”

He thrust harder. The wet impact of skin echoed through the room. I moaned loud, nails digging into the desk.

He pulled out clean, flipped me onto my side, and climbed onto the wood behind me. One of my legs hung over the edge, the other lifted in his hand as he drove back inside in one long stroke. The angle let him go deeper.

His free hand wrapped around my belly, holding it firm while he thrust.

“Full of someone else’s baby and still begging for my cock.”

I pushed my hips back into his stroke. He growled low in his throat and picked up speed. The desk rocked. A stack of paper slid off the edge, scattering on the floor.

“I’m going to fill you,” he said. “Say it.”

“Please fill me, Father. Do it while I’m pregnant.”

He slammed in full depth and stayed buried. His cock pulsed hard. Heat flooded inside me in thick bursts. He kept thrusting through it, short and rough, until he was empty.

He stayed buried for several seconds, breathing heavy against the back of my neck, then pulled back. The warmth began to leak down my inner thigh.

He stepped back, tucked himself away, and zipped his trousers. The collar remained straight.

I lay on the desk, dress bunched at my waist, legs open, his cum dripping onto the polished wood.

He looked down at me.

“Clean yourself up. Mass is in two hours.”

He unlocked the door and stepped out, leaving me alone in the sacristy while the rain hit the roof.