Selena Kitt - Emily and the Priest

“Please. I’m begging you.” He was fighting hard to catch his breath. “I’m a weak man, Emily. You make me so weak.”

“Me?” Smiling, she traced the outline of his lips with her index finger. “I do that?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Yes, you do that.”

Oh his fingers were moving, slowly in and out of her wetness, exploring. She closed her eyes, his thumb rubbing occasionally over that sweet spot she had learned as a child to rub up against anything and everything, until that very first time, on the top of a wooden fence post of all things, she had experienced her first climax, the thrust and shudder of which nearly toppled her eight feet to the ground.

She’d done it a lot more after that, finding new and better ways to stimulate that spot. Her favorite was a teddy bear she’d had since she was six. He was old and faded, balding in several spots, but he had a hard, wide plastic nose that was just perfect to rub against. Her mother thought she was being sentimental in keeping him, but Emily’s motivation was far more calculated than that.

“Father Mark, please,” she whispered against his ear, daring to reach between them, oh god, the heat and length of his cock against her hand! It jumped like a snake under his zipper. “Make love to me. Right here, right now. I want you. Please. I love you so much.”

He didn’t respond, but his hand didn’t stop moving, working furiously between her legs, faster and faster, taking the sensation even higher. She moaned and cried out, her thighs quivering as she straddled him, her nimble fingers stroking his length through the denim of his jeans. They kissed, softly at first, then growing deeper, tongues twining, soft moans echoing off the pews, rising up to the steepled ceiling above.

“Father Mark!” Emily gasped, squirming, riding faster, oh she never wanted it to end! Her cheeks were flushed with heat, the sloppy, wet plunge of his fingers making glorious music between her legs. “Oh! Ohhhh! I’m… ohhhhh!”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he murmured, his other hand moving to cup her neck, bringing her head down to his shoulder as she shook with her climax in his lap. “Oh sweet, sweet Emily, that’s it. Let it all go. Beautiful. So beautiful.”

She whimpered, her orgasmic contractions pulling deeply at his probing fingers, sucking at them with every delicious spasm. Father Mark slid his hand from between her thighs and she cried out at the loss of him, wanting more, but he pulled her sideways on his lap, cradling her like a baby in his arms, raining kisses over her cheeks and forehead as they rocked.

“God help me,” he whispered into her hair. “I can’t help myself. What am I going to do with you?

“Everything,” she murmured, tilting her head back to meet his smoky, green gaze. His eyes were dark with lust. “Anything.”

He groaned again. “You are far too much temptation for me.”

“Is that a yes?” she asked eagerly, wiggling in his lap. He was still fully erect, throbbing.

“Emily…” He gave a deep sigh, closing his eyes, and when he opened them, her heart thrilled at his response. “Can you sneak out of your dorm late tonight?”

“Yes!” She had no idea how she would do it, but she knew she would meet him anywhere.

“Here at the chapel?” He kissed her mouth, soft. “Midnight?”

“Yes, yes.” She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Do we have to wait?”

“The carnival…” He reminded her of reality, sliding her slowly, reluctantly from his lap, putting her on the pew beside him. “Too many people around.”

She whimpered in protest, but she let him clothe her, bra and blouse, giving her a little kiss at the fastening of each button, and then he pulled her to standing.

“I don’t want to go,” she confessed, feeling him squeeze her hand. They had both just managed to catch their breath. “I can’t wait until tonight.”

He nodded, leading her to the front of the chapel. Up on the podium there were two prominent statues, one of Mary holding a baby Jesus, the other of Jesus on the cross. There were a few other minor statues as well, and one on the left that caught Emily’s eye particularly.

“Yes.” Father Mark smiled as she let go of his hand, wandering over to the statue, tall and graceful, a beautiful woman even though her eyes were painted black and two trails, like dark tears, flowed down her cheeks. “This is what I came here to show you.”

“Poor Lucy.” Emily touched the statue’s grey cheek, tracing the saint’s lovely tears.

“She can see, even though she’s blind.” Father Mark spoke in hushed tones. “God has given her special sight. She can see things others can’t. Her name means light, you know.”

“Does it?” She felt his hands on her shoulders, massaging gently, and she trembled at his touch.

“I don’t ever want you to hide your light under a basket, Emily.” His kiss fell on the top of her head, along her hairline. “Let it shine. Like St. Lucy.”

She sighed, leaning back against him. “You make me feel so good.”

“The feeling is very mutual.” His arms went around her waist and they stood there like that in the multicolored patterned late afternoon light coming in through the stained glass windows above, neither of them wanting to break the hushed spell. It was the sound of the carnival that reached them-the faint clang of a bell and the roar of people. Someone had clearly won the strongman game and the crowd approved.

“I’d better get you back.” Father Mark took her hand and led her down the podium steps.

Emily walked slowly, not wanting their time together to end. “Your great-great-great grandfather really helped build this place?”

“My great-great grandfather was also a preacher. But my grandfather was a rebel. He split from his family, and the Baptists, and converted to Catholicism. He left his family to become a priest.”

Emily stared at him. “He left his family?”

“Yes. My father was a baby at the time.” Father Mark ran his hand along the back of one of the polished pews as they hesitated at the back of the chapel. “He grew up hating the church. He’s an atheist still. We don’t speak.”

“He didn’t want you to become a priest?” Emily was beginning to understand his earlier comments about his father.

“No.”

“Why did you?”

“Honestly?” Father Mark led her out the same door they’d come in through, turning to lock it behind him. “Someone broke my heart a long time ago, and I thought I could never love anyone else. The priesthood seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, becoming a priest was a direct rebellion against my father.”

She watched him pocket the key, feeling slightly jealous of that long, lost love. “Do you think Catholic priests will ever be allowed to marry?”

“Technically, it’s possible. It’s Canon Law, not dogma, so the law could be changed. Some day. But I don’t think so, Emily. Not in my lifetime. Not in our lifetime.”

He turned toward her, taking her into his arms. It was so easy, and felt so right. If this was a sin, she decided, than she would burn in hell.

“Do you really love me?” She lifted her face to his, searching his eyes for the truth, and finding it. She traced the cross she had placed on his cheek, like a brand.

“I do.” His lips were warm, his words mumbled. “God help me, I do.”

“What are we going to do?” She put her head on his chest.

“I don’t know.” His sigh was felt more than heard, his hand moving softly through her hair. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to love you.” Her arms tightened around him. “Even God can’t stop love.”

He lifted her chin, his gaze falling to her mouth. “I don’t think he wants to.”