Sinner's Den : A steamy stories collection

06- LEAD ME INTO TEMPTATION

~Fr. Peter~

I wasn’t the preacher anymore. I was the man who had blood running through his veins, pumping into places that even the saints would screech about. And yes, I wanted to devour her, under her command. I was thirsty, and I couldn’t be more glad that she had asked me to drink from her fountain.

I dropped to my knees like a man before his altar, not out of duty, but devotion. The soft gasp that slipped from her lips as I spread her thighs was holier to me than any hymn. My hands held her with reverence, my fingertips grazing the delicate inner seams of her thighs like she was a sacred relic.

My breath almost stopped as I took in the sight of her. Open, trembling, flushed with anticipation. I tilted my head slightly, my mouth parting in awe, my tongue wetting my lower lip as if I was preparing to take some kind of communion. The almost non-existent thong she wore did nothing to hide her cocoon. In fact, the mappings of the wetness could be seen without trying so hard.

I reached out and cupped her, wanting to have a feel of what it felt like to finally touch her this intimately, and not imagining it with her nudes. It was nothing like I’d imagined.

Our eyes locked as I leaned in, heat pooling low in my gut. I allowed one hand to travel slowly up to her thighs, not to rush, but to savor, to make her feel every inch of my intent. I looked at her the way a saved man looks at his first taste of heaven. My lips brushed against the inside of her knee, a soft kiss that made her hiss through her teeth.

“You know you’re not supposed to do this,” she breathed. “But watching you do it is so hot.”

I looked at her, her eyes dark with lust. I cupped her hips, thumbs caressing the curve of bone just above where I wanted to bury my mouth.

“I know, but God forgive me. I would kneel before no altar but this.”

She gasped as I parted her thighs further, guiding her gently back until she rested on the pulpit’s edge. The irony wasn’t lost on either of us. The holy place where I once preached abstinence and repentance now bore witness to my greatest sacrilege.

I leaned in, letting my lips ghost over the skin of her inner thigh. She whimpered, her fingers threading into my hair.

“Do I make you feel filthy?” she asked.

“No,” I whispered against her skin, inching higher and shifting her thong with my teeth to expose her delicious center. “You make me feel alive.”

My tongue darted out and slowly slid up her sinful slimy lips, tasting her essence. A low moan rumbled in my throat as I finally indulged, slowly and purposefully. She arched against my mouth, her sighs and moans like the sweetest hymn ever raised. I devoured her like salvation, like every sin that I’d ever denied myself now existed in the taste of her.

And God forgive me but she was sweeter than any wine that I’ve tasted. In fact, the essence that dripped down the crack of her back was the best thing in the whole world. I was going to get addicted to this soon enough. I’m so sure of that.

I circled my tongue around her, before finally flicking it up and down against the little piece of engorged flesh. She whimpered as I plunged my tongue into her warm, waiting opening and widened her thighs just enough to not get suffocated. Her fingers twisted in my hair, not gently, not politely, but in a needy way. Her hips tilted along with the stroke of my tongue, chasing every stroke like it was the only truth she’d ever known.

Wanting an extra feel of her, I inched my hands higher under her dress up to her chest. Her bra was in the way and I was too impatient to unhook it. Hiking it up from under her, I released one breast. It was smooth and her n****e was rock-hard. I rubbed a thumb around it before gently pinching it.

“God,” she gasped, trembling, “What are you doing to me?”

I glanced up, my lips glistening with her juice. “Praying,” I rasped, my voice soaked in deep sin. “Don’t stop me now.”

She didn’t.

Her head fell back, the wooden edge of the pulpit digging into her spine as everything slipped away from me; morality, rules, shame. They all burned underneath the heat of her p***y on my tongue. I slipped a hand up her belly, trying to get hold of a n****e.

“How are you so good with this?” she moaned loudly, her thighs clenching around my head as pleasure spiraled around her.

“Don’t stop,” she whimpered, “Please don’t stop.”

I groaned in response and my hands gripped her hips harder, dragging her closer to my mouth as if I needed her to feel just how deep my devotion ran. My tongue flicked, circled, then flattened with a slow, deliberate pressure that sent stars bursting within her. With every action, I felt myself getting harder and the last sets of surviving morality fleeing from me.

She gasped my name and with every flick of my tongue, every stroke and suck, she came apart, whispering broken prayers that only I could hear.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was a wave that drowned me, loud, shaking, waterfalls, soaked in sweat and ecstasy. Her cry echoed through the church like a profound Psalm but I never stopped. I stayed there, my mouth buried between her thighs, worshipping her through the aftershocks, drinking in all the waterfalls that she almost drowned me in.

When she finally opened her eyes, she was breathless and wrecked. I looked up at her like a man who had just discovered a gold mine.

“I’d burn for this,” I whispered hoarsely, my lips wet and swollen from worship.