Trina uncrossed and crossed her legs again as she licked the corners of her lips. The young priest preached to the church from the pulpit, his deep baritone amplified by the microphone he gripped so tightly. His body was completely covered by the robe he wore, but Trina didn’t need to see him naked to know his body was that of an African god.
She giggled and crossed herself. These were blasphemous, unholy thoughts she was thinking right in church. She crossed herself again and made prayers for the further sins she knew she was about to commit.
Father Aaron glanced at the door briefly when he heard a knock.
“Come in.” He said.
A young woman waltzed in, shutting the door and turning the key in the lock.
Father Aaron looked up at her with a small smile in greeting. “Hello sister Trina.”
The first time Trina had seen Father Aaron, she had just given a bum a quick head in a corner for a few bucks. She was shoving the crinkled notes into her bra after wiping cum off the corners of her mouth when she saw him – a tall glass of creamy delicious hot chocolate. He was dressed in regular casual clothes, his hands gripping a bag of groceries as he walked past her.
That vision fueled Trina over the next few days. Every time she went to work she imagined he was her client, and she responded accordingly, riding till her knees ached. . . sucking and slobbering over the lucky fools who thought she being extra nice because she found them attractive.
It was never enough though. Not when she put his face over other men, not when she conjured him in the darkness of her room while she used her rose on herself till she came. After a week of torture, Trina had enough. There was only one way to restore her sanity; she was gonna get the real thing. So she asked around and found out he was the new priest posted to the local parish.
At first, Trina was downcast—priests were meant to be celibate. But as she walked into a clothing store to pick out hats and “church clothes,” she felt her inner demon unfold its wings— Let’s see how long he could resist her.
Trina’s first day in church was uneventful. She got a few odd looks and whispers from the self-righteous women who thought she was some kind of annoying stain. During the sermon, all she heard was that voice that sent vibrations to her sensitive parts.
He was talking with another priest when she brushed past him for the first time. She was fully covered, like a nun, with minimal makeup, and was unassuming. When he turned to apologize, she quickly cut him short, apologizing instead and making her exit. She knew he wouldn’t spare her a second glance, but that was okay. This was not a sprint; it was a marathon.
The second time Trina went to church, her cute little hat sat on her curly natural hair, her skirt stopped mid-calf, and the top button on her button-down shirt was undone. Her makeup was still minimal; just sunscreen and lip gloss over her full, double-toned lips. She sat closer to the front row, doing her best to hear some of the words he said. At the end of the sermon, she approached him, apologizing again for stumbling into him the other day (which he had no recollection of as she expected) and pointing out a part of his sermon she found interesting. He thanked her for her kind words, and they parted.
Over the next weeks, Trina subtly increased how much skin she showed. Not so much to expose her profession but enough to make his eyes dart down when she cooed about how much she enjoyed his sermons. Each time, she made sure to be specific in her praise so it came off as genuine admiration instead of flattery. Each time, she spent just a little more time with him, cracked a light joke to make him laugh, and gifted him a smile of her own.
On the fourth week, as Father Aaron preached on the pulpit, his eyes scanned the crowd. When he saw her, he held her eyes for a beat before continuing on. That silent acknowledgement sent a thrill through Trina – it was time.
Over the next few days, she didn’t take clients or use her rose. Carefully concocting a story, she drove over to the church for a midweek service and requested to see him after.
Trina adjusted her milk-maid sun dress as she walked towards his desk. The thigh high slit wasn’t too visible when she walked or stood… but when she sat – let’s just say he was in for treat.
“Hello, Trina.” He said. She forced herself to smile back at him and nod in response to his greeting. Taking deep breaths, she tried to compose herself. Being alone in his office was doing something feral to her body, but she had to take it slow so as not to alarm him and scare him off.
She sat in front of him and went straight to the point. Talking about how she wanted to confess her sins. She told him about her profession, the depraved things she let men do to her for pay, taking care to mention specific details and the way she responded to them. Tears flowed down her face as she spoke, but her voice got lower and breathier as time passed till she was moaning her words, interjecting with a few sniffles here and there and accepting the tissues the priest passed to her.
From between her lowered lashes, she watched his face for tell-tale signs of arousal or leering and got none. Aaron’s face was an unreadable mask of concern and kindness. She wiped her face and nose as her story ended.
The priest smiled at her sadly and began the long speech of forgiveness and grace. Trina barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes; the only grace she needed right now was to see the tent in his shorts. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, her dress parting to reveal smooth brown skin, then she saw it; the crack she had been waiting for – his eyes flicked down the length of her legs as a raw animalistic hunger entered his eyes. He looked back up and lingered just a second at the point where her legs crossed before flicking his lids up to stare her directly in the eyes, and then his priest mask carefully slipped back on as his long-suffering smile returned to his lips.
Trina’s throat ran dry. It all happened very fast. For a moment, she felt her hunger was making her see things – that she had imagined the entire change in him from man to beast. The way he had looked at her said, “Stop playing with me before I fuck you silly.” But looking at his fatherly face right now, there was no way this man could have those kinds of thoughts.
She concluded her discussion with him and bade him goodbye, her mind already working on her next plan.
Aaron stood inside his small bathroom. The force of the water from the cold shower hit his body like a thousand tiny needles. This was penance for his sinful thoughts against the Lord's sheep. Trina had come to him as a father, hurt and in need of help. Yet the whole time she sat in his office, all he wanted to do was wrap those shapely legs around his waist as he buried himself balls deep in her over and over again. His flaccid cock jumped at that thought and he groaned, shutting his eyes. Terrible mistake, his brain whispered, as he was immediately flooded with images of the top of her soft breasts peeking out of the low neckline of her dress and her full lips. He imagined those lips around his dick milking him as his dick got harder. His muscles tensed with the effort it took to hold himself back from grabbing his throbbing erection and jerking it to the perverse images in his mind.
He shut the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist. He was going to pray till his mind was freed from these lecherous thoughts.
The next Sunday, Trina skipped church, and the next, and then the next.
That evening, she was reclining at home in a short flare dress with a deep V neckline and tiny straps. Seeing as the weather was hot, she had refrained from wearing a bra choosing a small black thong as the only underwear under her light cotton dress.
She was about to turn on her stereo when she heard a short rap at her door.
“Who is it?” she called out.
“It’s Father Aaron.”
Finally! Trina did a little dance before going to open the door. Father Aaron walked in dressed in his full priestly garb. He smiled at her politely, sitting down when she offered him a seat.
He started to talk about how she’s been missing at church and if she was well. But Trina’s head wasn’t in it at all. The whole time he spoke, she watched his full lips move, thinking about what she could get those lips to do to her. Would he lick and nibble at her nipples or suck in the entire areola? Would he suck her clit, laving her sensitive nub with his tongue as he pumped his fingers into her hole?
She felt a small gush of liquid and unsuccessfully tried to stifle a moan, earning her a lift of his eyebrows. She smiled and quickly got up.
"What would you like to drink?" She asked.
"Some coffee would be nice, thank you?" He replied warmly.
She brewed a small pot, putting her thoughts together as she mixed in some sugar, choosing Irish cream over regular cream in a split moment of inspiration.
She set down the coffee in front of him, aware of the front of her dress sagging to reveal her perky boobs. She took her time, allowing him to get an eyeful before stepping back.
Aaron's dick jumped at the sight in front of him. He took a large gulp of his coffee, suddenly feeling parched. Trina quickly spoke up at the slight furrow of his brow.
"I used Irish cream. I found out I had run out of regular cream. I hope you don't mind."
Aaron set down his mug. "I don't drink."
"Oh! Uhm, let me get you black coffee then." She hopped off to his side to grab the coffee, "accidentally" spilling it on him.
They both jumped at the same time, Trina apologizing profusely as she ran off to grab towels.
She returned and started dabbing off the spilled coffee from him, insisting when he tried to take the towel from her. Her body was pushed up against his, leaning over as she frantically worked on the stain.
Aaron tried to hold his breath. She smelled so good. She smelled like cocoa butter, vanilla, and chocolate. It didn't help that he could see her brown areolas from the dip in her dress. Her hand was dangerously close to his crotch, and he had refrained from wearing trousers under his robe due to the heat. The flimsy pair of boxer briefs he had on could barely contain him at full mast. He took her shoulders and lifted her off him.
"It's fine, I can manage." He said to her.
Her face fell... Then lit up. "Why don't you wash up in my bathroom? I have something you can wear while I dry clean that for you." She put on her best pouty face, "Please? It's the least I can do for being so clumsy."
Everything in Aaron screamed that this was a bad idea. His years of training and his inner voice told him to pick up his Bible and leave. He opened his mouth to say goodbye, " Alright. Let's do that." He heard himself say. Her wide smile as she turned to lead the way made him silence the last voice of reason in his head.
Aaron secured the robe Trina had given him. Opening the door he stepped out of the bathroom into the bedroom to see Trina standing there in nothing but her little black thong.
Time stopped.
The room was warm, but it suddenly felt stifling. Trina stood a few feet away, backlit by the low lamp on her dresser, bare except for that whisper of black fabric between her thighs.
His mouth went dry.
“I, uh…” he started, but the words abandoned him. He willed himself to look away, but his eyes refused to obey-- they roamed over her breasts, soft and heavy, tipped with brown nipples that begged to be touched. Her stomach, smooth and soft. Her thighs, strong and parted just slightly as she shifted her weight.
“I wanted to make sure you were comfortable,” Trina said softly, stepping closer. “Is the robe okay?”
Aaron swallowed. “Yes. Thank you.”
She took one more step, slow and sure. “You looked at me like you wanted to eat me alive,” she whispered, voice low and coaxing. “Back in my living room. I saw it. I felt it.”
Aaron clenched his fists at his sides, willing himself not to move. “Trina-”
“Just once,” she said, cutting him off. “Just this once. And you can go back to pretending I’m just another lost sheep.”
Her hand reached for the collar of the robe. He didn’t stop her. Her fingers, light and sure, skimmed over his chest, pulling the robe apart until it fell away from his shoulders, pooling at his feet.
For a moment, nothing moved. She stared at him, eyes wide-- and then her lips parted in a slow smile.
Something cracked in the air.
And Aaron reached for her like he was drowning.
His mouth crashed onto hers, all soft lips and suppressed hunger. He gripped her waist, pulled her flush against him, and moaned into her mouth when her hand wrapped around his cock -- already hard, already aching.
“This is wrong,” he breathed, kissing her jaw, her throat, the swell of her breast. “This is so wrong.”
She tilted her head back, offering herself freely. “Then stop.”
He didn’t.
He dropped to his knees, pulling her closer, his face pressed into her belly like a man praying for salvation in the very arms of sin. She ran her fingers through his curls as he kissed her skin--slow, reverent, desperate.
“You smell like heaven,” he muttered.
“No,” she said, voice husky, “you just forgot what this feels like.”
He pulled down her thong with trembling hands, and when she stepped out of it, he took a shaky breath before pushing her gently onto the bed.
And then he tasted her.
Long, slow strokes of his tongue over her slick heat. Fingers gripping her thighs as he devoured her like something sacred, something sweet, like the only way to feel whole was to make her come.
She was already shaking when she begged, “Aaron- please- I need—”
He rose, towering over her, eyes dark with need. “Turn around.”
She obeyed.
He gripped her hips, lined himself up, and paused—just a second, just a breath—before sliding into her with a groan that sounded like a man breaking apart.
Every thrust was thick with guilt and hunger and all the weeks of quiet longing he had buried beneath scripture and cold water and prayer.
She called his name like worship.
He came with his face buried in her shoulder, her body gripping him, trembling, pulsing.
Afterward, silence. Not shame. Just breath. Just the sound of a priest learning what sin tastes like.
Several hours later, Trina hugged her duvet tighter to her chest as she heard her front door close.
Twin tears dripped across the bridge of her nose and soaked into the pillow.
The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her she would never see him again.
