J'ADORE

Blasphemy

Warning :  sexualized priesthood (kindly avoid if this feels uncomfortable)

It was inspired by fleabag's hot priest

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Shaky breaths escaped your lips as opalescent rosary beads threaded through soft fingers. This was the tenth Hail Mary you’d finished, alone in the weathered chapel of St. Patrick’s. The kneeler barely padded, a worn red cushion over an oaken slat.

Your legs ached almost as much as your thighs. Though that was a far different story, and likely hand prints blossoming on your hips as well. It hadn’t been your first time with him , or your second or third, for that matter. He wasn’t a rough lover but extremely possessive, his grip tightening as though you were vapor slipping through his fingers.

Trying to focus was on the prayer was a pointless as telling yourself that the last time was the last time. It was forbidden fruit that you had been all too happy to sink your teeth in. The man was the most addictive drug you’d ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

And you’d lived in the big city your whole life; there were decades of experimentation with nearly every narcotic known to man. Nothing even remotely compared to high you felt with him.

Those hands cupping your face, like something precious that would be swept into the wind in an instant. How the good monsignor would whimper and moan against your skin, wanton with pleasure as he buried himself deeper within you.

Praising you as if you had exorcised all the demons from his soul, not the one responsible for them being there in the first place.

You were drowning with no intentions of ever coming up for air; how could you when being with him it was like warm honey dripping down the back of your throat and spreading to the tips of your toes. Sinning this greatly had never felt so holy.

A smiled played at your lips during the attempted penance. Nothing had ever been so futile or pointless. History would always repeat itself, albeit that some cases were quicker than others. Slipping your aunt’s rosary into your pocket, you’d return it to the mantle beside her ashes.

She’d been a lovely woman, the only person in your family that ever made you feel wanted. It wasn’t shocking she’d left you property. But what you did in the small town ,  the deceased’s invitation was frowned upon and did little upkeep to her memory.

Pushing yourself back upon the pew, you sat awash in the golden rays of the sun. It was difficult not to bask in it, possibly the only heavenly rays of light that would touch your shadowy soul. Scurrying up and out of the ancient church, you began the hike back to the house.

The walk was uneventful, thankfully.

He looked holy as the beams from the golden hour draped him. It took a moment for him to even realize you were frozen on the path only a few yards away. Though when he did, a thousand firecrackers set off inside you.

What this man was capable of without even laying a finger on you.

Those cognac eyes regarded you like the Virgin Mother herself, honored by your very existence. A gaze that pierced through the armor you had so carefully constructed, destroying all the walls you had built. It was hard not to melt as on the spot. His fists were buried deeply in his signature cardigan, clad in jeans far too tight for any respected member of the clergy.

“This could be scandalous if anyone saw us, Father.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped dryly. Thankfully the pine trees boasted their thick fir branches, hiding you both in a cloak of foliage. The slatted path where he stood was at the crest of a small hill while you were at the top, looking down on him was a rarity considering his stature.