The New Priest Has A Big Black Cock (9)

The New Priest Has A Big Black Cock (9)
He stands while I remain slumped on the bench, his heavy cock pulsing inches from my face.

I reach out with both hands, guiding him to my lips so I can taste the clear pre-cum glistening at the tip. But before I can savor it, his fingers lock around my wrist, pulling me violently upright off the pew.

He scoops me into his arms, his strides long and heavy as he carries me toward the door of his inner office.

As an altar girl, I know every hidden corner of this church—and exactly where every locked door leads.

Why would he suddenly want to fuck me right here in his office?

He kicks the door shut behind us, locking out the world, and sets me down on my feet.

“Hands on the desk,” he commands, turning toward the dark oak cabinet.

I obey without a single second of hesitation.

I bend forward, gripping the edge of the polished mahogany, arching my back in silent anticipation. He turns back around holding a vial of holy oil and a bottle of cold altar water.

He splatters the water over my bare skin, making me shiver, before pouring a thick stream of oil over my hips. His large palms smooth the warm liquid over my flesh, and then—crack—a stinging slap lands squarely across my ass cheek.

The sound echoes sharply through the small room. He strikes me again, his oiled palm gliding across my skin before his fingers tighten hard around my hip.

I bite down on my lip, shivering as the broad head of his shaft presses directly against my entrance. He didn’t bother oiling himself, but I know the oil was never meant to comfort me anyway.

He leans his full weight against my back, pushing forward slowly. He stretches me so tightly that I feel like my pelvis might actually break under the pressure.

I grit my teeth, fighting the sharp, tearing pain as if I’m being deflowered all over again.

Tears sting my eyes; my hands clench into white-knuckled fists against the desk.

He delivers another sharp sting to my hip and begins to move.

Slowly at first, taking long, heavy strides inside me. The agonizing stretch gradually melts into a fierce, blinding friction as my body reacts, slicking his path.

A breathless gasp escapes my lips, completely beyond my control.

“Fuck...” I sob out. “Fuck me, Father...”

Another hard slap lands on my thigh. “Your mother said the exact same thing!”

He’s comparing me to my mother again.

Is he even seeing me?

“Hold my waist!” I cry out, desperate for some kind of support.

His large hands clamp onto my hips, locking me in place. I try to shift, to match his pace, but his deep penetration holds me completely captive.

“How does it feel huh?,” he growls into the nape of my neck. “Do you still think you can empty my balls?”

He drives home with sudden, brutal speed, pounding into me until the impacts register like physical blows.

My eyes stretch wide. Tears spill over my lashes, dripping onto the dark wood beneath me. I drift into a numb, breathless daze, saliva pooling at the corner of my mouth.

My arms give out entirely. My chest crashes onto the desktop, my cries turning raw and raspy. The deafening rhythm of his weight against mine fills the room, and for a fleeting second, reality snaps away.

In the haze, I see Father Romanus standing among shadows in purgatory. I don’t know if I’m dreaming or if I’m somewhere I shouldn’t be.

He looks at me with that familiar, gentle face, his lips motionless as his voice resonates straight into my mind: Now you’ve received what you deserve.

A deep thrust from Father Martins jerks me harshly back to reality.

“Ahhh!” I scream straight into the wood.

He doesn’t care.

He’s too far gone, buried deep inside me, driving himself home with frantic, unhinged power. His fingers dig into my hips, pinning me flat as he pummels me without mercy.

My jaw aches as my teeth bite down hard into the desk, leaving fresh indentations right beside an old pair of teeth marks carved into the grain.

Mom’s marks.

Something inside me goes cold.

He isn’t doing this because I’m special. He’s doing this because I’m her daughter.

He’s not creating a memory with me. He’s repeating one with her.

She takes everything. She leaves nothing behind but her scars.

The worst part is that I hate her for it, simply because I wanted what she had first.

I wanted to be the one he chose.

If my father weren't my biological parent, I would sleep with him just to tear her world apart.

Father Martins’ relentless thrusts drags me back out of my thoughts. He’s growling something low, his hands gripping me tightly, but I’m entirely submerged in a cocktail of pleasure and rage.

A particularly deep plunge forces a shuddering gasp from my lungs.

“Quiet,” he growls, hitting his mark one last time before abruptly pulling free.

He grabs a fistful of my hair, hauling me backward onto the leather chair beside the desk. Stroking himself rapidly, he lets out a low, guttural groan, spilling his hot seed across my face and chest.

I reach up weakly, wanting to guide him into my mouth, but my arms are too heavy to lift.

He empties himself fully over my skin, then nudges the head of his shaft against my lips. I take what little I can into my mouth, sucking the warm residue clean until my eyes roll back and blackness takes me.

The next thing I know, I’m wearing a clean white dress in the altar girls’ dressing room.

My parents and Daniel are standing by the narrow cot. Little Jason stands quietly beside my mother.

“Oh, Calista,” Mom whispers, leaning down with a look of deep sorrow. “I’m sorry you had to go through exorcism.”

She presses her lips to my cheek—the very same lips that have wrapped around the holy men of this parish. A wave of intense nausea rolls through my stomach.

Maybe I want more from Father Martins.

Maybe I don’t just want to be used.

Maybe I want to be loved.

Preferred.

Chosen.

But I can't have that with my mother hovering over me, putting on her saintly act. Not with her hips wider than mine and her mouth wide enough to suck Father Martins’ big black cock.

My eyes sting. I don’t even realize I’m crying until I feel my mom’s hands.

She, strokes my hair softly. “It’s over now. You’re clean.”

Daniel steps closer, holding out a delicate yellow flower. “Calista... I’m so sorry for how I treated you the other time. I was wrong.”

Daniel’s apology should have mattered to me once.

It doesn’t.

Having anything to do with Daniel again feels like taking a step backward, but I don't have the strength to fight him.

I give a faint, lifeless nod.

“We should go,” Dad says softly, patting my shoulder. “The priest assured us the battle for your soul has been won.”

Dad carries me out of the church in his arms because my legs are still too weak to support my weight. Jason and Daniel walk behind us, but when Dad places me in the back seat of the car, I realize someone is missing.

“Where’s Mom?”

Panic flickers through me before Dad even answers.

“She stayed behind with Father Martins for special prayers,” Dad explains smoothly, brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead. “She’s doing a chain intercession to make sure the spirits don't return. She’ll be home by evening.”

My stomach twists into a knot.

Of course she did.

He kisses my temple and shuts the car door.

I lean my head back against the glass as the engine turns over and the church fades away in the distance behind us.

My mother is the real monster here.

And I’m just an amateur trying to play her game.