EROTIC SERIES, PART FIVE
Virtues: The priest and his calling
He knew he shouldn’t, but the four women lived in his head
This is the fifth story in a series of five. The first four are: 1. The priest and her panties 2. Hope and the confession booth 3. Harmony and the bake sale 4. Charity and the chambers
Find them all here…
Content warning: this story mixes religious and erotic aspects. Please don’t read on if this can offend you. No priests or saints have been harmed while writing.
Priest Peter was no saint.
From that Sunday he delivered his second homily, he had noticed the young women in the front of the church. First there were three, and then, after the bake sale, a fourth joined the others.
Faith, Hope, Charity and Harmony.
He had wondered many times if their names were the main reason for them being friends. Or maybe their names had something to do with their sexual freedom? Or maybe their interest in sex was what made them become friends?
The priest, seated at the desk in his office, shook his head. He should stop thinking about them and concentrate on his sermon for Sunday. To be honest, he had been thinking about them far too much. They seemed to slip in his thoughts as unseen and deviant as those young women had proven to be.
It all started with those panties…
That day he saw the blush on Faith’s cheeks, he remembered the sound he had heard when he was up in the gallery. He closed the door behind her and walked back up the stairs. Walking towards the spot from which the sound originated, he almost tripped over the panties. Her panties. Spontaneously, he pressed the tiny piece of cloth to his nose, inhaling her scent. The memory still made him hang his head in shame, thinking of his excitement, the stirring between his legs. It had moved him, more than it should a priest, but… he was no saint.
Just a man of flesh and blood.
The smell of her arousal stayed with him for weeks. He had prayed so many times to forget it, and confessed his sin over and over. Confessed. With his thoughts still occupied daily with forbidden images of Faith, Hope came stumbling from the confession booth, mumbling unintelligible words and blushing profusely. A whiff of air followed her from the booth, reminding him of… sex. Sex he had in his teenage years, and young adulthood.
He hadn’t been a priest all his life.
Peter needed to go to confession even more after that. His daydreams were filled with images of the two women. Not only of them with him. He imagined them kissing and touching each other, enjoying the fruits that were forbidden to him. No matter how hard he tried to push it from his mind, he kept on seeing them together. And, when those images played in his head like a movie, his body responded in carnal sin.
He was a priest, not a saint.
At the bake sale he had almost betrayed himself, when he ran the table together with Harmony. While he had watched her struggle to keep her composure, he’d been observing her hard nipples pressing against the inside of her blouse. But, just like with the two other women, he had smelled her arousal, and her departure to the bathroom evoked images of a masturbating woman he desperately tried to erase while selling cake to his parishioners.
It was after the bake sale that the priest started doubting his faith. Was the good lord testing him? Had he made a mistake to become one of the clergy? His calling was so clear, and until he became the focus of the shenanigans of those young women, he had never doubted it. He prayed. Oh, how often he prayed. Morning, noon, and night. And many times in between. He confessed on his knees so many times, but the temptation lived in his soul.
Then Charity visited his chambers.
He had heard her move behind the curtains, but his own lust kept him from outing her. In that moment, he knew she had seen him. His cock had grown to the same size it had done so many times in the past weeks, every time he had masturbated to his filthy thoughts about the four women.
His hands on their breasts, caressing the gently mounds of flesh, squeezing the softness…
His mouth on their nipples, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nubs, feeling them grow harder…
His fingers finding and probing the wetness between their legs…
His cock thrusting deep into the core of them…
He shook his head once more, trying to erase the deliciousness in his head, but since priest Peter was no saint, his hand raised to his crotch, where he cupped his growing erection. His cock grew in his hand, the same way he imagined their nipples growing in his mouth.
There was a time when he wanted to reprimand them; to give them some kind of community service as punishment, but how could he punish them when his own thoughts were filled with filth?
Peter tried to fight the urge.
He couldn’t.
Slipping his hand under his robe and into his pants, his hand circled his member. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, the sermon on his desk totally forgotten. Images of four young women plagued his fantasy, drawing the scripture from his mind, canceling the vows he took, and replacing them with lust.
Pure hunger and lust.
Faith knelt between Harmony’s legs, her mouth opened wide, covering the other women’s sex. Offering her nipples to Harmony, Charity hovers over her face, while Hope pushed her nose between Faith’s buttocks, deeply inhaling her scent.
Peter’s hand moved up and down his shaft as the images in his head took form, shifted and grew more intense.
The women kissed.
He groaned. His cock hardened.
Pussies rubbed together.
He grunted. Precum leaked from his opening.
Fingers pushed inside and evoked moans mixing in the air.
Their imaginary orgasms exploded in his hand. Relief and shame at his reaction filled him in equal measures. He dropped to his knees and prayed.
Why, why was he tested like this? All he wanted was to be in harmony with his faith, to bestow charity on the needy and fill them with hope.
The words of his silent prayer, their names being at the core of it, stirred his loins once more.
He was just a man of flesh and blood, dealing with the temptations of his mind, and the four women who unknowingly would fuel the desires of his fantasy each time they sat together again on Sunday while he delivered his sermon.
Priest Peter was no saint.
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