Priest Spicy Chapters Novels & Stories

Orphanage Home: 213 Lukward Street, Los Angeles. She was shocked and didn’t put it into consideration until she saw another familiar writing on the paper. The old priest stated: “Fred and I. May the Heavenly Father forgive us.” Her eyes widened, confusion hit her hard. “Why would the old priest demand forgiveness from the Lord for him and Fred”? “What’s going on?” she gasped. The room became thick, each walls held secrets of decades. Tension grew. As Secrets are about to be unveiled.

He lowers his eyes. “Nothing to worry about, Sir Ryan. This is not new to this retreat. There have been worse cases that happened here.” Sister Glenda shares, smiling. “So, I have to leave you here and I will inform the kitchen staff to prepare their breakfast by 9 in the morning.” “Thank you, Sister.” His voice fills with gratitude. The speaker in the morning tackles about character development and the importance of God in molding their spiritual identity towards social transformation. “Who is he?” I ask, wondering who this priest sharing jubilantly the discussion to the students.

Maybe take Dante along and go somewhere far away, far from Father. "Such beauties you got here." The man stretch his right arm for Camila breasts. Camila shove his hand off before he could make contact with her body. He hissed, then smirk, "A true wide one. You will make an excellent lover." He waved some of Camila curls aside. Camila jolts backward disgusted by his dirty fingers across her hair. Her body had been unsteady the entire time, her breaths too. She was cold, but refuse to show the man before her that she was scared of him. She made that 'ready to kill' glare at the man, maintaining eye contacts until the man walked backward to the door. He left the room carrying his lamp along.

“Bones of saints. Fingers of martyrs. Tongues of virgins. Sealed in 1893 after a scandal the Church buried deeper than the dead. Now it’s mine.” He entered me slow, thick, and bare. No condom. No hesitation. Just heat, stretch, and fullness. I arched, cried out, and the rope biting my wrists, the velvet slick beneath me. He fucked me like a prayer—deep, deliberate, and each thrust a syllable of Latin I didn’t know but felt in my bones: “Dominus vobiscum… et cum spiritu tuo…” The cameras rolled. The candles burned lower, wax dripping onto the stone like tears of the damned.

he moaned, “just like a vice around my cock." He used his palms to spread my ass cheeks like a loaf of bread. My eyes watered when his tip touched that spot. “Yes Daddy please,” I begged, gripping the edge of the chair hard as he increased his pace. “Harder,” I moaned, heat surging through my veins. The smell of nicotine filtered through my nose and with heavily lidded eyes I saw Mr. Sinclair watching us lazily from his seat on the couch, his protruded cock still bobbing as he puffed on his cigar.

The convent chapel was silent except for the soft flicker of candles. Sister Magdalene had begged me to come after Compline, her voice trembling over the phone with a mix of shame and desperate need. When I arrived, she wasn’t alone. Three priests stood in the shadows — Father Elias in the center, flanked by Father Marcus (the former altar boy from Chapter 5) and a stern older priest, Father Dominic, known for his rigid discipline. All three wore their cassocks open at the front, cocks already hard and ready.

“Don’t waste your remaining energy anymore, I just wanted to inteoduce myself before you’ll be gone...forever.” Gone? Is it really the end for me? What about my family? Lili? My old life? “Parris.” he said. “Remember it, our priestess.” I can feel his sharp claws dug my skin and I can see his fangs are starting to show and ready to bite me off. Tears are slowly streaming down my face and that’s all I can do because i can’t feelmg body anymore. It’s like my whole being just accepted the face that i will be gone forever without even answering my questions. I’m starting to lose concuousness and before I could close my eyes, I saw another figure behind Parris with its’s claws ready to attack, th

when I reached for spices. I’d also done something else. When Claire wasn’t looking, I’d slipped a generous pinch of the ghost pepper spice mix Ethan loved into her serving of the sauce. The same spice she’d always complained about at family dinners—“too hot, too much, I can’t handle it.” She would always say. She hated it while He adored it. I smiled sweetly as I plated her food. Lunch started politely. Claire complimented Ethan’s cooking, laughed at his jokes, touched his forearm when she spoke. Every time her fingers grazed him, my stomach twisted with something dark and possessive.

– Sasha said, turning around, almost leaving, but looking at the priest in blue and purple clothes. - Are you from a sect? – He questioned him. - I am of a religion, lord Delphos, I am of the order of Zarathanis , of the religion of Um-Mu. – He said, introducing himself. - What do you want from me, money, a large amount of money ? – Sasha questioned him. - I don't want your money. – Priest said, sitting next to him, when he left a message at reception, waiting for him at a table in the corner.

The rot thickens here, sweetened by old magic that has gone wrong. My stomach turns, but I keep moving, one breath at a time. I skid through the gore, and my hands are blood slick and shaking. Behind me, the prisoner drags himself forward, grinning like a man who tasted death and found it lacking. Ahead, Kael shoulders bodies aside like broken branches. A priest lunges from a side passage, mouth bubbling with words spilling out, including curses and words stitched in rot. Kael grabs him by the throat mid-chant, crushes it with one savage squeeze, and tosses him aside without breaking stride.