Religious Erotica
"Sinning in the Rectory" a sex story by Alan Canyon
Father Thomas O'Malley got down on his knees. He prayed for guidance, as always. But this time he prayed with the dire urgency of a man at a crossroads. His life's work was in danger of being destroyed. Temptation was his greatest enemy tonight; Lucinda Rodriguez waited for him in the confessional.
"Dear lord, please give me the strength to maintain my vow to you. Help me remain celibate for your glory. I have sacrificed for you with this vow. I am a man with needs and urges. The needs and urges you yourself bestowed upon me. I ask you to lend your will to my own that I may continue as your servant; that I may lead others in worship of you."
A drop of sweat ran down his forehead, breaking his concentration. Opening his mouth to continue, the salty fluid crawled onto his upper lip. Sighing, he closed his mouth, opened it again, and then closed it for the final time.
Crossing himself, he rose. Turning his back quickly from the glorious statue of Christ on the Cross, the young Catholic priest strode briskly from the cavernous room. Stained glass windows carried color from the late sunset onto the Father's tall frame. Not looking back, he climbed the back staircase to the confessionals, his muscular legs pumping quickly. Pausing at the top of the stairs, Thomas saw her jacket. That fine cashmere black jacket, hanging from the hook on the wall as it had for three straight days. He reached into the pocket of his snug slacks for the small tin of breath mints he sometimes swallowed before confessional.
'I don't always check my breath before taking confession, right?' he thought. 'But I sometimes do, it's cramped quarters in there, it would be rude not to.'
He had nervously chewed a breath mint the first time Lucinda Rodriguez had spoken to him. She was new in town, and didn't have any friends. She worked Sundays, but wished to visit the beautiful church some evenings. She had arrived at ten to seven on Wednesday as Thomas was preparing to lock up.
"Of course you may come in and pray or visit," he had said after introducing himself. She was wearing a tight black skirt with high, but classy, heels. Her black jacket, that same jacket now hanging before Father O'Malley, covered a simple white top with the top two buttons unclasped, framing a gold necklace that drew the priest's eyes to her tanned chest.
"Actually, father," Lucinda said while fidgeting with her long, black hair. "I would like to talk to you. But, well, could we talk in confession?" Her deep brown eyes darted, embarrassed, toward the floor.
She confessed that she had used the Lord's name in vain. A sin. She was not married and yet not a virgin. A sin. She lay with another woman. A sin. She had a long list of sins, minor and major, all of which Thomas absolved.
Then she confessed having impure thoughts. She had an all-consuming lust for a man she had only just met, but had been watching for several days. He was a handsome young priest with strong arms that bulged out of his short sleeved shirt at the grocery store. She knew it would be wrong to pursue her desire to be with this priest, but he haunted her thoughts at night until she touched herself in her, as she put it, "womanhood."
Father O'Malley forgave her sins Wednesday. He forgave her even more graphic descriptions of impure thoughts at seven o'clock on Thursday. On Friday, the young priest was slightly ashamed to find himself aroused by Lucinda's descriptions of what she would do to the priest, if it could be absolved.
Now, Saturday, Father Thomas O'Malley went to her again. One final deep breath, and into the dimly lit booth he went.
A pause, then, "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been one day since my last confession. I have thought again of my would-be lover. Would you like to hear my thoughts?"
"Y-yes." O'Malley's voice cracked in response.
"I thought of what I might do to him in confessional." Another pause. "After all it is dark in confessional. I could do lots of things in here that no one would see. First, I could unbutton my shirt slowly, exposing my lacey black bra. I sometimes wear a black bra with a white shirt, and no one knows because I keep my jacket buttoned up. Once my shirt was off, I could rub my nipples through my bra until they were hard. Then I could unzip my skirt. I wouldn't be wearing anything under it, of course. So I would only have to stand up, like this, to slide it off and be half naked.
"Would you like to hear more, Father?"
"Yes." This time Thomas answered with authority in his voice.
"I could unsnap my bra and let it fall to the floor in here. Then I would be wearing nothing but a gold chain. I would want the priest to take his clothes off to, of course. Right, Father?"
"It only seems fair, when you put it that way." Thomas took a deep breath, looked up to the ceiling of the confessional and shook his head.
Under his breath, "Forgive me."
Thomas spoke nervously. "He would take off his shirt first. Then unbuckle his belt. He would be nervous, because he was a virgin."
Lucinda took up the narrative. "I wouldn't care about that, not in the confessional. I'm sure he would not be a virgin to touching himself, touching his manhood. So, after he unbuckled his belt, he could stand and unzip his pants, then let them fall to the floor. His under shorts would have a wet spot already from his excitement, and then he would let them drop as my clothes did. Then . . ."
Thomas interrupted, "He would wrap his fingers around his manhood. His . . . cock. It would already be as hard as he could ever remember, and be very sensitive to his touch. He would stroke it slowly from top to bottom. Very slowly. And she . . ."
Lucinda responded while her middle finger circled her mouth. "She would lick the middle finger on her right hand. Then run that hand slowly down her chest, between her soft breasts and hard nipples, over her flat stomach and her, hair, and to her womanhood."
Lucinda moaned softly, and then continued. "She would be very wet already, as she would have been thinking of this moment all week. Her other hand would grip her left breast and pinch her nipple lightly at first. Then, harder. Her right hand would be circling her womanhood slowly. Her finger working deeper and deeper."
Thomas heard Lucinda drop to her knees inches away, separated only by a screen.
"Her . . ." Lucinda gasped. "Her legs would eventually buckle under her and she would have to kneel. She wouldn't stop doing what she was doing, though. In fact, she would quicken the pace. She would let her middle finger circle and tap and rub faster and harder."
"And he would cup himself with his other hand and squeeze!" Thomas blurted out. "His right hand would keep stroking, only faster now. He would pause slightly at the top of each stroke." Thomas moaned.
"Eventually," Lucinda whispered, "Eventually they would be moving their hands in the same rhythm. Pausing at the same time. Moaning together, in the dark."
Then, they both paused, and moaned. They stroked and rubbed and tapped and paused, and moaned. And moaned. And moaned. Thomas held his breath, and came in a spasm of ecstasy. Lucinda whispered a scream and pounded her hand on the screen that separated them. They breathed heavily for several minutes, not speaking.
Thomas opened his eyes in the dim light of the confessional as Lucinda rose and dressed. She kissed her hand and held it up to the screen. He placed his hand on the screen with hers. Then, she quickly walked away.
Father Thomas O'Malley rose to his knees and prayed for guidance.
Originally published September 2006 - "Divine"