Sinful for the Priest: A Forbidden First Time

(Age Gap Older Man / Younger Woman First Time with a Priest) I can’t take care of my sinful needs on my own. I need my Priest to give me salvation and make me fruitful.
I am so pent-up. My parents thought sending me to do charity work for the church would set me straight, but my desires are out of control.
When I go into Father Stone’s office, it’s with the hopes that I can calm my need by myself. Instead, he catches me with my hand in my skirt, my blouse tugged open.
I can’t stand it anymore. I need a man to teach me my place, and who better to trust with my fertile first time than my parish priest?

♡ Excerpt ♡

I inhale and try to catch Father Stone’s scent in the air. There’s a soft hint of soap and I smile. It’s almost like he’s here in the room with me. If I close my eyes, so I do. My hand slips beneath my skirt, beneath my pantyhose, beneath my panties. My skin is smooth and supple, and I push my fingers down further until they’re grazing against my virginal slit.

Already I’m wet and I whimper with desire. I conjure up the picture of Father Stone, bending over, smiling. He has such a warm smile, but his eyes are so penetrating. He made me nervous when we first met because it felt like he could see right through me to what a sinful girl I want to be.

Now it’s one of my top fantasies. I envision him watching me, judging me with a little frown as he tells me to confess every filthy thing I think about. Honestly, I wish my parents hadn’t done me a favour by keeping the reason for my punishment between us. I imagine his eyes widening in scandal as they tell him about how I was drawing lewd art, that it was so detailed and crass. That it was a woman and a man, and that the man was pleasuring her with his fingers.

I part my pussy lips, gliding between them. They’re so hot and plush from arousal, and I whimper. I need more, but I’m still so inexperienced. It’s always just out of reach, this elusive ‘orgasm’. But still, I search for it, trying to follow those sharp jolts of pleasure. Maybe I’m too greedy, because the second I do, it fades, leaving me only with its memory.

My breathing increases, and I undo the top three buttons on my blouse in quick succession. My chest rises and falls, and I touch the cross there, mentally apologizing to God for what I’m doing in his house of worship. Then I dip my fingertips into my bra, and I find a nipple, circling it until it’s stiff.

“Ah, Father Stone,” I moan wantonly. “I’ve been such a bad girl.”

My own words send a shiver of delight through me, and this one doesn’t fade so quickly. Maybe I’m onto something! Maybe I just needed a soundtrack.

“I deserve to be punished.” Oh God, my nipple is so stiff it aches, I grab the cup of my other breast, pulling it away, only to find that nipple is its twin. Exposed to the air, the sensation is subtle but powerful. I moan again, rubbing myself more quickly between my thighs.

“Father Stone, ah… Punish me… Make me… ah…”

I don’t hear him. I don’t even see him. Maybe it’s that a shadow crosses past my closed eyes, or the air shifts, or something, but I know I’m not alone.

My mouth parts into an ‘oh’, just before I force my eyes open and I see Father Stone, the object of my fantasies, staring there in shock. That’s the last thing I remember before everything goes dark.