Priest's Housekeeper: Part 2

I had been in the rectory five days when it happened.

The laundry needed putting away. Father Tobias had left a small stack of clean clerical shirts and black pants on the dryer, the kind of ordinary task that had already settled into my routine. His bedroom door stood half-open, the way he often left it during the day. I knocked once out of habit, heard nothing, and pushed it wider with my shoulder while balancing the folded clothes.

He stood near the dresser with his back partly turned.

The black clerical shirt was gone. So was the white collar. He wore only dark trousers, the belt undone, the waistband sitting low on his hips. His bare back was broad and still faintly damp from a recent shower. The line of his spine. The shift of muscle when he reached for something in the top drawer. I saw the edge of his stomach, the trail of dark hair leading down, the clear shape of his cock resting against the open fabric of his pants before he registered the sound of the door.

He turned his head.

For a second neither of us moved.

I should have stepped back. Apologized. Closed the door and waited in the hall. Instead I stood there with the laundry in my arms and let my eyes finish the path they had started—over the bare chest, the open trousers, the thick length of his penis that the half-undressed state did nothing to hide. Heat moved through my face and lower, sharp and sudden. My nipples tightened against the simple cotton of my bra.

Father Tobias did not reach for a shirt. He did not turn away. He simply looked at me standing in his doorway, arms full of his clean clothes, and let the moment stretch.

“Lena.”

My name in that low voice did something to the air in the room.

“I brought the laundry,” I said. The words came out thinner than I wanted. “I knocked. I thought you were downstairs.”

“I was changing for evening visits.”

He still made no move to cover himself. The trousers stayed open. His cock hung heavy against his thigh, and I hated how long my gaze stayed there before I forced it back to his face. Something unreadable sat in his expression—calm on the surface, darker underneath.

I stepped into the room far enough to set the folded shirts on the chair near the door. The movement brought me closer. The scent of his soap and clean skin reached me. My hands felt unsteady when I released the clothes.

“I’ll come back later,” I said.

“Stay.”

The single word held me in place.

Father Tobias turned fully to face me now. The open trousers framed everything. He watched my face while I tried—and failed—not to look down again. His cock twitched once under the attention, thickening slightly against his thigh. The sight pulled a warm pulse between my legs that made my skirt suddenly feel too warm.

“You’ve been careful all week,” he said quietly. “Quiet. Thorough. Never where you shouldn’t be.” His eyes moved over me the same way mine had moved over him—across the blouse that sat soft against my tits, the practical skirt, the places where ordinary work clothes still showed the shape of a body. “Yet here you are.”

“It was an accident.”

“And you’re still standing here.”

I had no good answer for that. The truth sat in the space between us: I had seen him, and I had not left, and the longer I stayed the harder it became to pretend the looking was one-sided. My cunt had already started to grow slick under my underwear. The knowledge of it made my face hotter.

Father Tobias reached down and pushed the trousers lower on his hips, not all the way off, just enough that there could be no mistake. His cock rose thicker now, the head flushing darker as blood filled it. He wrapped one hand around the shaft and stroked once, slow, from base to tip, while his eyes stayed on mine.

“This is what you walked in on,” he said. “No point pretending otherwise.”

I watched the motion of his hand. The way his fingers closed around his dick. The small bead of wetness that appeared at the tip. My mouth went dry. I pressed my thighs together under the skirt and felt how damp the fabric of my panties had become.

“I should go,” I whispered.

“You should.” He stroked again, the movement unhurried, open. “Or you could stay and keep looking. Your choice, Lena.”

The sound of my name in that tone undid something. I stayed rooted in the doorway, laundry forgotten on the chair, and watched the priest stroke his cock in the soft afternoon light of his bedroom. Every pull of his hand made the heat between my legs sharper. My nipples scraped against the inside of my bra with each uneven breath.

Father Tobias’s voice stayed quiet and even.

“Close the door.”

I reached behind me and pushed it shut. The soft click sealed the room.

He nodded once, as if that small act of obedience confirmed something, and continued the slow motion of his hand along his cock. I could hear the faint sound of skin on skin. The scent of his arousal mixed with the soap and the old wood of the rectory. My own body answered with another warm rush of wetness that soaked further into my underwear.

“Come here,” he said.

I crossed the small distance on legs that felt less than steady. When I stopped in front of him he released his cock and reached instead for the hem of my blouse. He didn’t ask. He simply lifted the fabric until it cleared my tits, then tugged the cups of my bra down so that they sat bare and exposed under his gaze. My nipples were already tight. He looked at them for a long moment before speaking again.

“You’ve thought about this.”

It was not a question. I nodded once.

“Good.” His hands settled on my waist, warm through the blouse still bunched above my chest. “Then we stop pretending the laundry was the only reason you stayed in the doorway.”

He turned me slightly, guided me back until my thighs met the edge of his bed, and held me there. His cock brushed the front of my skirt, hard and hot even through the fabric. The contact pulled a soft sound from my throat that I could not swallow in time.

Father Tobias’s eyes darkened at the noise.

“Evening visits can wait,” he said. “For now, you’re going to stay right here and learn what happens when you walk through a door you shouldn’t open.”

His hands moved to the zipper of my skirt, and the quiet rectory afternoon narrowed to the space between his body and mine.