All Chapters of DIRTY DREAMS: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

He crosses the room, lifts me up, and sets me on the teacher’s desk before kneeling again between my legs.“I’m going to eat you on this desk,” he says, “and you’re going to stare at that chalkboard and cum thinking about every fantasy you had in this room.”His mouth lands on my pussy and I look at the chalkboard – green, still green, someone’s written WELCOME BACK CLASS OF 2006 in white chalk for the reunion – and I cum thinking about tenth grade. About the girl who sat in the third row and wanted so badly it hurt. About her notebook margins filled with his name. About the nights she spent with her hand between her legs imagining exactly this, and how none of her seventeen-year-old fantasies came close to the reality of a forty-year-old man’s tongue on her clit in the classroom where she learned to want him.He eats me through two orgasms on the teacher’s desk. His tongue is relentless, and his fingers are pumping at a pace that shakes me. I cum gripping the edge of the desk and sta

I haven’t been to church in ten years.Not since I was twenty-two and decided that organized religion and I had a fundamental disagreement about who gets to control my body. I stopped attending Mass, stopped confessing sins I didn’t believe were sins, stopped kneeling in pews that made my knees ache for a God I wasn’t sure was listening.Then my mother died. And the funeral was at St. Augustine’s – the church I grew up in, the church where I was baptized and confirmed and where I sat through a thousand Sunday services fidgeting in itchy tights while Father Morrison droned about salvation in a voice that could sedate a racehorse.Father Morrison is gone. Retired. Replaced.The man who stands at the altar and delivers my mother’s eulogy is not the same Father I grew up seeing.Father Dominic Luciano is thirty-four years old. Transferred from Rome six months ago. And he is – God forgive me – the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in a religious robe or out of them.He’s tall. Lean in a de

His tongue is desperate.It's not the technique of a man who’s done this regularly.This is a man who hasn’t tasted a woman in over a decade and is eating me like the last supper. His tongue pushes between my folds – broad, hot, tasting everything, a groan vibrating from his chest against my clit when the flavor hits his mouth."Oh fuck –" My hands grab his head. His hair is short – barely enough to grip – so I hold the back of his skull and pull him closer and his tongue pushes deeper and he moans against my pussy with a sound that doesn't belong in a church or anywhere else – the sound of a man tasting something he's been starving for.He finds my clit. Circles it – clumsy at first, then finding the rhythm and learning in real time what makes my hips buck.He learns fast.His tongue is pressing harder, varying speed, paying attention to the sounds I make the way he pays attention to scripture – with total focus and the intention to master.His fingers join his mouth. Two long, olive

“Then choose.”He slams deep. His hand tightens on my throat. His cock swells and I feel every pulse of the thick, hot cum flooding a pussy for the first time in eleven years.He makes a sound that starts as my name and ends as something primal, something that existed before language, before God, before man, before the vow he just broke with his cock buried inside me on his prayer bench.The crucifix pendant rests against my spine. His cum fills me. His hand loosens on my throat. His forehead drops to the back of my neck and I feel wetness that isn’t sweat – tears. Silent. Dropping onto my skin.“Father Dominic.”“I’m not crying because I regret it.” His voice is thick. His cock still inside me. “I’m crying because I don’t.”The floor in front of the cross. The sacristy. After midnight.The church is locked. The world is outside. We’re on the cold floor in front of the crucifix – the same floor where he prostrated himself during his ordination, where he lay face-down and promised his

I uncross my legs and spread them slowly, my knees falling apart, revealing my pussy to the camera. I’m bare – shaved clean – and the camera captures everything. My lips are parted slightly from arousal, and the wetness is glistening in the lamplight. My clit is also swollen and very visible."Jesus." His voice cracks. His hand strokes faster. “You’re soaking. Already. I can see it on the screen.”“Three weeks of this, Marcus. Three weeks of cumming alone and pretending it’s your hand.”“Touch yourself. Slowly. Start at the top and slide down.”My hand leaves my tit and travels down my stomach and straight between my thighs. I press two fingers against my clit and circle slowly and lightly, the way he starts when he’s teasing me. The contact after waiting sends a shockwave through my body and my hips lift off the bed.“Not yet.” His voice firm. “Slower. I want to watch you build.”I slow down. Barely touching my clit – featherlight circles that keep me on edge without pushing me forwa