Forgive Me Father, I’m Still Wet(4)

I was still bent over the altar rail when the side door opened.

Footsteps.

Father Thomas didn’t pull out. He pressed his weight against my back, trapping me against the marble rail. His palm clamped over my mouth, shutting off my breath. His cock remained half-buried inside my wet heat.

I froze.

Footsteps crossed the stone floor of the choir loft—slow, deliberate, even. A key rattled in a lock.

We stayed locked together in the dark. My breath hit his palm. My chest pressed against the cold edge of the marble, my seven-month belly squished under his stomach. His other hand gripped my hipbone, fingers digging into the flesh.

The footsteps turned, went down the wooden stairs, and faded into the main aisle. An iron latch clicked shut.

Silence returned to the sanctuary.

He waited three long breaths, heart pounding against my shoulder blades, before dragging his cock out of me. Warm slickness spilled down the inside of my left thigh.

“Don’t move,” he whispered into my ear.

He stepped back, zipped his trousers, and adjusted his collar. He walked out of the side aisle, shoes clicking against the stone.

I stayed bent over the marble, legs shaking, before I pushed myself upright.

The next afternoon, the parish office smelled of paper, floor polish, and warm air.

I walked down the corridor carrying a thin cardboard folder against my stomach. Voices drifted from the reception desk down the hall. A typewriter clacked steadily in an adjacent room.

Father Thomas sat behind a broad oak desk at the end of the room. He looked up when the door swung inward. His jaw was clean-shaven. His black shirt looked crisp.

“Close the door.”

I stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind me.

He stood up, walked past me, and turned the brass lock. The bolt slid home with a heavy click.

He grabbed my upper arm, spun me around, and shoved my back flat against the oak door. The wood hit my shoulders.

“You came,” he said.

“You told me to.”

He reached down and yanked the hem of my cotton dress up past my hips, bunching the fabric at my waist. Bare underneath.

He shoved two fingers straight into my cunt.

A sharp breath escaped my lips. I was wet. The slick sound of his fingers filled the space between us.

“Quiet,” he muttered against my neck.

He unzipped his trousers, freed his cock, and grabbed my right thigh. He lifted my leg, hooking my knee over his hip. The movement forced my legs open while standing. My heavy belly pressed against the front of his shirt.

He lined himself up and drove inside me in one long stroke.

My teeth snapped shut on a moan. The back of my head hit the door.

He started thrusting. Standing up. Fast. No buildup.

The heavy door rattled on its hinges with every drive of his hips. I threw my arms around his neck, fingers digging into his shoulders to keep my balance on one leg. His trousers rubbed against my clit while his cock sank into my wet interior.

Outside in the hallway, shoes clicked past.

Someone stopped outside the office.

Three sharp knuckles knocked against the oak frame.

“Father Thomas?” a woman’s voice called through the wood. “Do you have a minute to check the altar linens?”

He didn’t stop.

He gripped my lifted thigh tighter, pinned my lower back against the panel, and slammed into me deeper. Heavy.

His mouth pressed against my ear, his hot breath on my skin. “Don’t make a sound.”

I buried my face into the crook of his neck and bit down on the black cotton of his shirt. I tasted salt and sweat.

He kept pounding into me against the door. Every thrust forced my heavy stomach to bounce against his chest. My slick folds slapped against his hips.

The woman knocked again.

“Father? Are you in there?”

His right hand shot up, covering my mouth, pressing my head back against the wood.

He drove in to the hilt and held.

His cock pulsed inside me. Hot bursts of cum flooded my interior while I stayed pinned to the door, my single grounded foot trembling, my teeth locked onto my lip beneath his palm.

He didn’t move until the pulses slowed to a steady drag.

Outside, footsteps turned and walked away down the corridor.

He lowered my leg to the floor and pulled out.

Warm cum leaked down my inner thigh, dripping onto the tops of my shoes. He adjusted his trousers, zipped them, and smoothed the front of his shirt where my teeth had left a wet mark.

He unlocked the door and pulled it open three inches, turning his back to me to review paperwork.

“Come to the rectory tonight,” he said under his breath, his voice flat. “After the perimeter gate is locked. Don’t knock. Use the side door.”

He raised his voice, speaking toward the open hallway.

“Thank you for delivering the volunteer forms. I’ll review them shortly.”

I pulled my dress down over my hips, smoothed the bunched fabric across my bump, and walked out into the sunlit hall with his cum sliding down my leg.