“You’re being childish, Father.”
“You can’t hide in there forever, you know. Eventually you’ll need to eat.”
Sophia Caladena stood on the stonework outside of the priest’s wooden door wielding a basket of her own home cooking. A small blanket covered it and the two bottles of wine she’d hidden below the bounty. It was a hot day, the sun shone down through the trees and their leaves ringing the old temple. The rain from the night of their first encounter had entirely dried, leaving no trace. She wondered of the rain…the storm…
“Father, do you intend to neglect your duties as priest of this village? To cower away in there forever? I thought men of God were made of sterner stuff.”
…Footsteps, faint and quiet approached the door from the other side.
On the other side of the door, Father Marcos Vilpena grimaced. She was right, of course. His bread had run out yesterday, his stomach already wrenching and growling in protest. He looked around. He couldn’t hide in here forever, but…nor could he go outside, and face the…women.
He shuddered. He recalled, tried not to remember their night together, but it sat there, loud and raucous in his mind. It had been a violation. The first had been from Mrs. Caladena when she forced herself upon him. The second was his own, when he failed to stop it. He could still see her there, framed in shadows, her bare, generous chest rippling as she inflicted sin, pleasure upon his body.
…Their night had not just been a violation, but also a revelation. That was what he had denied himself when he took his vows. It was no small wonder that they made the young men do so while they were still virgins. If they had any idea what they were giving up…
His climax, his first and only, rose like fire upon his mind. His cock welcomed, sucked inside her deep embrace, the fiery lightnings he felt, the wall of bliss that crashed down upon him when he was empty. Mrs. Caladena’s loving touch, her kisses, how sweet and soft she was…
He stood there, prepared to turn away from the door. He knew. He that if he opened the door that his fate would be sealed. He pondered that truth. He knew it was true, but why? Why was it true? Because, he realized, as he dropped his head to gaze at the floor, at his shame, he wanted to feel that again. He wanted to love her, to make love to her, he wanted, desperately, to bury himself inside her and to-
“I know you’re there, Father.”
He sighed. “…Mrs. Caladena, please-”
“Open this door now, you foolish man. I know you have no intention of starving to death in there, so let’s not waste any more time.”
…He reached out and slid the bolt out of the lock, then stepped back.
She pushed it open, wrapped once more in her black garb, a veil over her face, her luxurious black hair hidden, concealed, wrapped and covered. “Thank you,” she said, looking at him, smiling. The smile had warmth, yes, caring, yes, but a deviousness, a cunning, an edge he’d not encountered in anyone, let alone a soft and gentle feminine creature. She strode through the room, past him, and laid out her bounty on the desk that was his only table. Turning, she regarded him. “Eat. I can see you’re hungry.”
…He shut the door to the chamber, blocking out the light, and obeyed her. The food, her food was rich, filling, fragrant, and spiced. She watched him as he ate, careful not to gorge himself in her presence. He took no wine, though he watched her pour herself a glass, and then another.
When his plate was cleared, the food gone, he sat back, wiping his mouth. He said nothing,
“I take it that you enjoyed my cooking.”
She sighed. “Father, you do see that you are being silly, don’t you?”
“Silly? Silly?!” he turned to look at her. “Mrs. Caladena,” he began, but did not finish. “I thank you for the meal, but I really think you must leave now.”
“You and I both know that I’m not going to do that until I get what I want.”
His eyes widened, a look of stunned stupidity across his face. That she could be so open, so brazen, to say such things so plainly.
She laughed at him, smiling and hiding her smile behind her hand. “Father, you’re adorable.” She regarded him, looking up and down. “Do you intend to lie to me?”
“Do you really expect me to believe that you didn’t enjoy our night together?”
“I know you did, Father, but not nearly as much as I did.”
She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “It hasn’t sunk in yet, not for you at least, but I promise you that I am going to save this village.”
“You’re mad,” he whispered.
She smiled, somewhat sadly, “You don’t see it yet, but you will.” She stood, even from a distance she seemed to loom, tower over him. She reached up and unfastened her veil, laying it on the table. As she freed her oceans of sensual hair he recoiled, his chair creaking under him as he tried to get away, yet failed to move an inch.
She disrobed, letting her garments fall to the floor, letting loose her gorgeous skin, glowing and deeply tanned. Her curves, her bounty was a song, a hymn, a prayer of pleasure, sacred and pure. She smiled down at him as she crossed the floor to him. She reached out and smoothed his hair, letting her fingers trace a line down his face to his chin. “Taste me,” she whispered.
…Slowly, so slowly, he reached out his finger tips to touch her hip, his hand sinking down and across her soft flesh. He pulled her closer to him, pressing his face, his lips into her belly. She rested a hand on his head, through his hair. He licked her skin, tasting the salt and sweat and curve of her. He filled his nose with her scent and his arms, his hands found her body, coiling themselves around her, holding her tightly against him.
He spread his knees, his thighs to draw her closer. His hands slipped to her bottom, squeezing and kneading the meat and muscle there. She applied a gentle pressure, driving him down, and down to the scented black hair above her sex. He stared at it, seeing it plainly for the first time. It was a wondrous thing to promise so much pleasure.
She laughed, a lilting giggle. “Come Father, give my lips a kiss.”
He pulled her close, his face driving into her sex. He nuzzled himself there, the scent, the heat of her overpowering, crashing through his senses. He kissed, he licked, sliding his tongue between her lips. He felt her shudder and heard her cry in his arms as he’d found some weakness, some vulnerability. He listened to her gasp for breath as he exploited it.
“Yes, Father. Yes,” she whispered, her voice demanding more, so much more.
A glistening wetness was running over his chin, down his throat, out of her sex, down her thighs. She ran her fingers through his hair and wrenched his head back and away from her. She gazed down at him, her bosom heaving, her nipples hard and firm. She leaned down, braced her hands on both sides of his face, gazed into his eyes, then she kissed him, planting, driving her lips against his. She moved her hands to his throat and held him there as she stepped over his thigh, then his other, and poured herself into his lap, her bosom pressed against his chest.
She pulled away, throwing her hair back and letting fly her mane. “You’re going to give me a miracle, Father. A gift from God.”
He had no words with which to reply, no need to. He had been reduced, plowed over by her body, her affection, her intention.
She reached down, into his robe, parting it, her fingers searching, finding the base of his cock. A wide and true smile spread across her face as she found it, gripped it, prepared it to enter her. She leaned forward, set her face on his shoulder, nuzzling against him, and sighed as she pressed the head of his cock against her sex. She moaned, a deep and resonant lusty cry rising from her belly as she welcomed him inside of her.
His mouth fell open as once more he was welcomed back into heaven, still yet in his mortal coil.
She swooned, melted around him as she sank deeper, deeper onto his strength. She dug her fingers through is hair, braced her legs, her feet against the stone floor, and began to bounce on him, sending herself up and down, grinding her hips, her sex, sucking him deep with each movement.
They moaned together, coiled in and upon themselves as Sophia worshiped him, herself, their sex. The chair creaked rhythmically under them.
“Give me a baby, Father,” she whispered hot in his ear. She whimpered as she felt him twitch inside of her. “Give me a-”
He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her against him and he stood, his sex impaling hers. He grunted and strode over to the table where he reached down, holding her body against him with one hand, and swept the meaningless items off of it. He dropped her down and fell on top of her, bracing his legs, his feet against the stonework and immediately was thrusting, driving himself in and out of her depths as she engulfed, split home to take him, to love him.
She squealed, shrieked with delight, surprise. “Father!”
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and unleashed himself, driving faster and father and-
His molten bliss tore up from his depths as his strength succeeded, his mouth fell open as his love poured inside of her, her walls, clenched, locked around him, ensuring that nothing would be lost, no drop of his essence would be left inside of him.
Her song of delight rang, tore through the chamber as she sighed, swooned, giggled, collapsed.
He too, collapsed, lying there, a thing without endurance, without strength, but filled with an ocean of bliss that crushed the wondered, the mind from him. His eyes were half open but he did not see. He panted for breath. He smiled.
She wrapped her legs around him, ran her nails up and down his back, swooned and cooed in his ear, kissed his cheek. She laughed, lying back, reclining, basking in the heat that flowed within her, a promise of victory, of continuation, of new life. “Good, Father. Very good,” she whispered.
…He sighed, head resting against her bosom.
She smiled. “You rest now. Recover.”
As he lay there, he closed his eyes.
Her smiled widened. “You’ll need to your strength.” She laughed, thinking that nothing could prepare him for what was to come, thinking of the women down there in the village who were all willing for their turn…