Forgive Me Father, I’m Still Wet(5)

The rectory was quiet when I pushed the door open. No lights burned in the hallway… only a thin strip of yellow under his bedroom door. I stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind me.

Father Thomas sat on the edge of the bed in black trousers and an unbuttoned shirt. The white collar lay on the chair with the rest of his clothes. He looked up at me and said nothing for a long second.

“Take the dress off.”

I pulled it over my head and dropped it on the floor. I stood before him naked… belly round and heavy, nipples tight.

He stood, turned me around, and pushed my shoulders forward toward the mattress.

“Hands and knees.”

I climbed up. The mattress dipped under my weight, my belly hanging low between my thighs. He stepped behind me, broad hands gripping my hips firm enough to leave marks in the skin.

He pushed in without warning.

I bit the edge of the pillow. He was rigid and dark-headed, and the sudden stretch made my arms shake on the sheets. He gave me no time to adjust. He drove deep into my interior, pulling my hips back to meet every thrust.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice rough, all calm authority gone. “Seven months gone and still taking my cock like a bitch.”

I pushed back against him. The wet slap of skin filled the small room. My belly swung with every heavy impact.

“You’re going to stay full of me,” he growled. “Every day. I don’t care whose baby it is. This cunt belongs to me.”

I moaned into the linen. He reached beneath my body, pressing two fingers over my clit while maintaining his rhythm.

I came fast, legs trembling, face buried in the sheets. He didn’t stop. He fucked me straight through the contractions until I was gasping, slick running down my inner thighs.

He pulled out clean, rolled onto his back, and spread his legs flat on the mattress.

“On top. Ride me.”

I shifted over his hips, keeping one hand under my belly for support. He held his cock steady at the base. I sank down onto him slowly until he was buried all the way inside.

“That’s it. Move.”

I started rocking my hips. He watched me with dark eyes, palms resting on my outer thighs. My belly rested over his stomach. I held it with both hands as I rode him, rising and dropping in a steady, heavy cadence.

“Faster.”

I picked up the pace. The bed frame creaked against the wall. Sweat ran down between my breasts. He thrust upward to meet my weight, matching every drop.

“We’re damned,” he said. “Both of us. And I don’t care.”

“Neither do I.”

He sat up, wrapped one arm around my upper back, and pulled me in close until my heavy stomach pressed tight against his chest. He kissed me—rough, open-mouthed, tongue tangling with mine. I kept moving on his cock while he held me pinned against his shirt.

“I’m going to fill you again,” he muttered against my lips. “Keep you running all night.”

“Do it.”

He flipped us without pulling out. My back hit the mattress. He hooked my legs over his forearms and drove into me hard. The angle forced him deeper.

I came a second time, crying out against his shoulder. He followed right after, driving in to the hilt and flooding my interior with thick, hot pulses. He stayed buried while he finished, chest heaving, his forehead pressed against mine.

When he finally pulled out, his cum leaked onto the sheets between us.

We lay there in the quiet for a long time. He rested one hand over the curve of my belly, fingers sprawling across the skin. I turned my face into the crook of his neck.

Outside the window, the sky began to lighten. Morning was coming.

Neither of us moved to get up. Neither of us said a word about stopping.