Novel & Cerita God And Man Touching Fingers

“So fucking wet for a man of God. What kind of devil are you?” “Your devil,” I gasped, grinding against his hand. “Don’t stop. Finger-fuck me harder, Father.” He did. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers slamming into my cunt filled the small room. He added a third finger, stretching me, preparing me for his cock. I was dripping down his wrist, my juices coating his hand. The pressure built fast and brutal. I grabbed his shoulders, nails digging into the black fabric of his cassock. “I’m going to come,” I whimpered.

They were like Eve and Adam as they lost themselves in their own paradise, oblivious of anyone who was watching them. My breathing went rapid as I let my middle finger invade my private entrance. Ecstasy filled me as I moved my fingers going in and out of my core while watching the man who was now standing, pumping so hard on his woman, who was at her back, bent, with her hands on the wall supporting her weight.

My fingers idly continued running through his hair, reveling in the fact that he was here and still safe. A spark coursed between us and I knew what would come next. His hands moved slowly, as if reverently touching every inch of me, while slipping his fingers under the t-shirt.. His touch on my skin sent electricity racing through my body. Those long fingers curled into the stings of my thong then pulled them down my legs.

“Can I… touch you?” To my request, he closed the distance between us, reached for the shower, and turned it on. Warm water began raining down, cascading over his body. His curly hair soaked instantly, and he stood there like a force of nature, raw masculinity in full display, waiting, leaving himself open for me to explore. My palm rested on his chest, where sacred runes as he had called them, sprawled like divine scripture. My heart swelled. It felt like a sin just to touch them, like I was daring to lay my hands on the Moon Goddess’s blessings.

Nothing he can say or do will help. “God help me. We need to get a divorce; I already hate you and it’s only been one morning.” “It’s against my religion, looks like it’s till death do us part.” He scoops my hand in his and surrounds my fingers with his snugly, pulling my hand onto his lap and cradles it there. I don’t stop him. Wishing the normal soothing warmth his touch gives me was present, but it’s not. I just stiffen, let my hand go slack and don’t react in the way I normally would at his touch. That sense of calm and safe is dead. I feel restrained.

“I’d make it my wallpaper, the first and last thing I look at every day, love.” Goddess. “Tell me, doll,” he murmured. “If I touch you there… how wet would you be for me?” “I—I don’t know,” I whispered shakily as his fingers traced my folds. He pushed one finger inside me, slow and deliberate, pulling a whimper from my throat. I felt impossibly full. “Goddess, doll,” he groaned. “You’re dripping for me.” He pushed his finger deeper—then stopped abruptly. His gaze locked on mine, raw possession burning in his eyes as a satisfied smile curved his lips.

His middle finger touched her at the right spot. “You’re so wet,” he commented in a hush. She breathed in heavily and opened her mouth. “T-Touch me,” she said. Lyzza could no longer recognize the voice that came out of her throat. It was the voice of a woman filled with lust and the desire to be touched. She was desiring to be touched by the man whose name was Gideon—her one and only husband. Gideon started brushing his fingertips against her wetness, sliding his middle finger into her wet folds, and teasing her sensitive clit using his thumb.

Our fingers, entwined in a shared gesture of solidarity, radiated a warmth that seemed to transcend the physical realm. Reciprocating his grasp, I felt an unspoken connection pass through our touch, a silent pact that extended beyond mere words. It was as though our hands, intertwined like the delicate interplay of fate, held within them the potential to shape the outcomes of the uncertain path before us. And as I held onto his hand, I couldn't help but echo his sentiment, albeit in a whisper, "I fervently pray that your words will find their place in reality."

'Make me confess with your hand inside me. He chuckled darkly, two fingers plunging in without preamble, thick and insistent, stretching my walls. I cried out, gripping the desk's edges as he pumped them deep, curling to stroke that sensitive spot inside. His thumb circled my clit, rough and unyielding, while his other hand slapped my breast, the fleshy mound jiggling from the impact. 'Pray, Maureen. Tell God how much you love being finger-fucked by your priest.'

“I came here to tempt you.” He pushed two thick fingers inside me without warning. I gasped and grabbed his shoulders. He was not gentle. He fucked me with his fingers right there in the confessional, curling them deep while his thumb rubbed my swollen clit. The wet sounds of his fingers moving in my soaked pussy were loud in the tiny space. “So tight,” he groaned. “So wet for a man of God.”