Forgive Me Father, I’m Still Wet(3)

The sanctuary was empty after Mass. Shadows stretched long across the nave. The heavy oak front doors were locked for the night.

I sat in the third pew from the altar, hands folded in my lap. My belly rested heavy against my thighs. I had stayed behind on purpose.

Boot heels clicked against the stone floor behind me.

Father Thomas stopped at the edge of the pew. He didn’t speak at first. He just stood over me, shadow falling across my face.

“The doors are locked,” he said.

“I know.”

“You’re supposed to be home.”

I looked up at him. “I needed penance.”

He stepped into the pew and sat beside me, his thigh crowding mine. I could smell the altar wine on his breath and cold night air on his coat.

“Stand up.”

I stood.

He took my wrist, pulled me out of the pew, and led me three steps to the altar rail.

“Leaning forward.”

I bent over the cold marble ledge, gripping the smooth stone. My dress dragged up my thighs. He gathered the fabric with one hand, pulling it high until it bunched at my waist. Bare to the cool air.

He planted his boot between my feet, kicking them wider apart. The angle forced my belly to drop lower, the strain pulling tight at my lower back.

I heard the sound of his zipper.

He didn’t warm me up. He aligned himself against my wet skin and drove deep into me in one hard, heavy stroke.

I gasped, fingers locking over the edge of the marble.

He started high-speed, long thrusts that rattled the brass rail. The wet impact of his hips echoed straight up into the dark vaulted ceiling.

“Still dripping from this afternoon,” he muttered, his voice gravelly against my ear.

He reached down, wrapped his hand flat around the top of my pregnant belly, and pulled me back hard into his stride.

“Ask for forgiveness.”

“What?”

“You came back to church for penance,” he drove in deeper, hitting my throat with a low groan. “Ask for it.”

I swallowed hard, cheek resting against the cold marble. “Forgive me, Father.”

“For what?”

“For coming back. For taking your cock in the house of God.”

He slammed in harder. “Say it again.”

“Forgive me, Father… I’m still wet for you.”

He picked up speed, his grip on my stomach holding me firm while his hips pounded against my rear. The marble dug into my palms. My belly bounced with every brutal stroke.

He reached around with his free hand, slipping two fingers between my thighs to crush against my clit.

I came instantly, my legs buckling, a sharp moan escaping into the silent church. He didn’t stop. He fucked me straight through the contractions, driving deeper while my body trembled around him.

“I’m coming inside you again,” he growled, teeth brushing the shell of my ear. “Say you want it.”

“Fill me,” I whimpered, tilting my hips back into him. “Fill me again, Father.”

He jammed in full length and held. His cock pulsed hard, flooding hot inside me. He kept himself buried deep, chest heaving against my shoulder blades until the last pulse faded.

He pulled back half an inch, then stopped. He didn’t walk away.

His heavy hand stayed locked around my belly. His cock remained half-buried inside me, holding me pinned against the marble rail while we both breathed heavy in the dark.

Then, high in the choir loft above us, a door handle turned. A heavy hinge creaked open.

Neither of us moved. He held me still against the rail, his breath hot on my neck, his cum leaking down my inner thigh, while footsteps started down the wooden stairs.