Me And The Priest.

Fr. McNally was the typical elderly Catholic priest. Somewhat cantankerous, definitely set in his ways, and someone who, secretly, missed the days of the Spanish Inquisition. He was a fire & blood priest. 

But then God arranged for his prostate to explode and he took a year off on sabbatical, and we were given a ‘newbie’ almost straight out of seminary. Since he’s still alive somewhere I’ll call him Fr. Michael. I tell you, as he walked down the aisle that first Sunday, row by row, every woman in the congregation stopped singing. Even we in the choir stopped bloody singing. He was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. With absolutely no effort, one could imagine him shirtless, muscles bulging and a cheeky ‘come hither’ grin on the front cover of any magazine. I wasn’t the only girl in the church that morning who suffered from a severe attack of ‘splat panties’. 

This happens when there is a sudden gush of vaginal fluid caused by ones ‘horny-ometer’ being suddenly turned all the way up to 11. 

The more we got to know him, the more the wild fantasies grew. Confession times were suddenly packed as more and more people, usually women, sought a little 1:1 time with the lickable, suckable, and immensely fuckable Fr. Michael. Although I have no evidence for this, I guarantee more than one married woman in the place fantasised about him while fucking their husbands. 

But I suppose you want to know about me. 

Well, the organist had to take second place in my teenage desires for a while, although for variety, he was still very much in the running. Wanking myself to exhaustion over him was all well and good, but me being me, I began to think of other ways I could ‘interact’ with him and the confessional came to mind. 

I began confessing more and more ‘impure thoughts, words and deeds’, and more than that, I gave examples. Talking (semi) dirty to him made my head spin. By the time I emerged with a handful of ‘Hail Marys’ and a few `Our Fathers’, I was soaked and ready….i mean absolutely ready. Sometimes I didn’t even make it out of the church. I’d pick a dark corner to serve my penance, kneel down and press a hand to my crotch through my dress. 

And then came the dream. It went, with variations, like this.

“I think we should talk about this more, Anna. Will you come and see me in the Presbytry”

And so I arrived at the appointed time, dressed, decently though provocatively in a loose-fitting mid-thigh dress, panties that would show the slightest hint of moisture, and no bra, leaving my highly mobile nipples to poke the material at will. 

“Anna, you talk a lot about I pure thoughts, words and deeds, and I’m wondering if everything is alright.” 

“Yes, Father, I think so. I’m just a normal teenager….with desires.” 

And I got the lecture about offering them up to God, refraining from all forms of self-abuse, and reading their go-to book, ‘The Lives of the Saints’ or “The Little Flower”. During his advice, my knees had drifted apart and he was having trouble stopping his eyes darting down to my crotch which, I knew, was very wet. 

“Father, do you have a sister?” 

“Well, yes. Two, in fact.”

“Brothers?”

“No, just two sisters.”

“And you grew up with them at home?”

“Yes”

“Older? Younger?”

“One older, one younger, about a year between us, actually” (good Catholic breeding there!) 

“Well, Father, you must have noticed, being surrounded by teenage girls, that they had….feelings….urges….as you must have done.”

“I suppose” 

‘You see, Father, your sisters would have been doing exactly what I do…..masturbating in the dark, spreading their legs, rubbing themselves, fingering themselves, possibly even fingering one another. And you were there too, weren’t you? An unbidden erection tenting your sheets at night, you, wrapping your fingers around it. Be honest now, Father, you heard them sometimes, didn’t you? Little sighs and gasps in the night, bedsprings squeaking…..and their panties would have been just as wet as the ones you can’t keep your eyes off right now.” 

He gave up the uneven struggle and fixed his eyes between my legs. Slowly, I reached down and pulled the material aside showing my moist, pink vulva. ‘Come on, Father. Do with your feelings what God put them there for. 

He crawls towards me….crawls….and buries his face between my legs. I knew, absolutely knew that this was not his first time licking a girl out. Had he done this to his sisters? Or one of them at least. Maybe he’d practised on their panties first. 

He kisses up my body and to my immense satisfaction he already has his dripping cock out. I have to ask. 

“First time, Father?” He nods, the power of speech long lost. 

I ignore the fact that it’s my first time too. “It will feel like a warm, wet hug. Just push it in me slowly but firmly.” 

I stifle the lance of pain as my hymen tears around him and I begin to feel the immense stretching of having something inside me for the first time. I know he won’t last long. I know I won’t last long. I whisper in his ear the words I am certain he wants to hear. “Fuck me, Father….actually, no, …..fuck her.”  I feel him start to move slowly at first. He’s holding back’ ‘It’s ok, Father. You’ve wanted this since that night you first realised what she was doing to herself in bed at night….since you first wondered if it might be you she was thinking about.” His pace increases and I feel him start to swell inside me. “Fuck her.” He starts to bang me. It’s been less than a minute since he entered me, it he’s there already. With a stifled “Ohhh Mary!” He cums in me, and I cum on him.

Sometimes the dream ends there, but sometimes, my perversion of him lasts longer. Although in the real world, I had no experience of anal sex, I did know I liked my bum fingered, and I knew, even then, that anal would be a ‘thing’ for me later. So the dream may end with him fucking me up the bum, my panties crumpled on the floor and me kneeling, bent over a chair while he straddles me and fucks my bum. 

Oh, the times I masturbated over Fr. Michael. The times orgasms ripped through me like tornados. A 16 year old me, fantasising about fucking her priest. 

Bless me, Father.