Sunday Sinner

This story is not for those sensitive. Please, do not read if you are offended by blasphemy.

I stood in the mirror, taking one long last look at the outfit I was given for the evening. How the fuck can anyone expect me to wear this? Though I declined the appointment, Dave refused to let me. The client was top dollar, and as sick as his fetish was, turning down money would never happen.

Smoothing my hand down the stiff black material, I couldn’t help but laugh a little at my appearance. Adjusting the white collar and the headpiece, there was only one last thing to do. A small box laid on the bed. The contents would send me straight to the other side. Not heaven, but into the eternal sun. I opened the box, lifting out the beautiful beads. Ornate, they were both shades of lavender and rose weaved into the small hand blown crystals. God, what was wrong with this man? Standing in front of the mirror, my right foot on the chair, I spit all over the beads, saturating them with saliva. As I rolled them around in my hand, my other hand bunched up the gown before spreading my tight, bald slit. One by one, I inserted the beautiful rosary into my pussy until only the cross dangled from the tiny opening. If this wasn’t so sick, it would be a breathtaking sight.

“Well, this is going to fucking send me to an early grave,” I laughed, letting the gown drop back down to the floor.

Forty-five minutes later, I stood in front of the Catholic church, watching as the congregation filled with those giving their weekly confessions. With hesitation, I entered the church, slipping into one of the pews in the back of the church. As the last person left the church, I slid to my knees, my hands in front of me as I fake prayed. There is no fucking way I am going to pray to a God I no longer believe in, but I can fake it well.

“Sister?” said the male.

I shivered as my eyes went from the floor to the male standing in front of me. He was tall, older, and dressed in the typical Priest attire. I guess he was attractive, but it’s hard to look at a man of the cloth like that without giggling.

“Yes, Father?” whispering.

“I’m ready for you to come take communion,” he said.

Automatically, my thighs clenched as I rose to my feet. A little trickle of nectar ran down my inner thighs. Holy fuck, I am getting wet for this sickness? As the man walked to the front, I followed, stopping as he reached the altar. The Catholic inside of me knelt, gave the sign of the cross before advancing to the first step.

“On your knee’s sister,” said the Priest.

Doing as I was told, I dropped to my knees, hands behind my back and my fingers laced. I spent many years in a private Catholic school and knew the routine well. I didn’t like it back then, but today, that might change my mind.

Preparing the cracker, the Priest held it out in front of himself, asking, “This is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Happy are those who are called to His supper.”

I opened my mouth, my tongue out as he placed the cracker on the curl. Before I closed my lips, his cock was out, pushing the cracker down my throat with one fluid stroke. Gagging, I swallowed the hard cracker and the head of his cock. For a brief moment I felt the vomit rise, but the longer his cock stayed in my throat, the easier it was to keep the holy meal down. Right there at the altar, the holy man grabbed the back of my head and fucked all 9 inches of his cock straight down my throat. Tightening my fingers within each other, the nails cutting into my flesh with ease. As his nail dug into my scalp, he pushed my head to a tilt to force my eyes up to his. It was the Devil I saw that day. A creature within a man that caused invisible welts to blanket my flesh.

“The Devil invited a whore into my church and now she will serve as an example,” he laughed, yanking back off his dick. A thin line of saliva still connected, the Priest took the advantage of an open mouth. Clearing his throat, a wad of spit landed where his cock once rested.

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned,” I cried.

“Whore,” he wailed, his cock pushing his saliva all the way down until a breath could no longer be taken.

I gulped and swallowed, my nostrils flaring to steal any form of air that could be passed. He was choking me with the tip for what seemed to be an eternity. Tears poured from my eyes before he released the hold. Falling forward, my lungs ached from transferring air, or the lack of it.

“Sister, get up and bend over the altar,” panted the male.

Without hesitation I moved up the stairs, bending over the table covered in crosses, and the bible. Whatever he had planned, I would never find my way into heaven after the blasphemous act. Resting my cheek on the holy book, the engraved cross embossed on my cheek. Something was wrong with me to allow such an act to happen, but I was soaking wet.

The Priest walked the stairs, lifting the habit of the sister, smiling when he noticed the cross dangling between her legs. His breaths labored. He pulled the small rosary from her core, placing it around her neck. The cross would sit at the center of her back.

“Do you want to be forgiven?” he asked.

Nodding, “Yes, please forgive me, father.”

A quick thrust and every inch of his cock bore a hole inside. A complete fulfilment of dick into her cunt. He held it there until the walls loosened around the meaty shaft. The Priest pulled back, thrusting into the core as he recited passages from the bible. His cock the sword of punishment as he pounded in the word of god.

“Oh fuck,” I growled, my tight walls sketching with each thrust. It’s the pain that I crave, and the way he tore into my pussy. All I felt was sheer anger. Arching my ass, my hand instinctively reached out for the cross, gripping the statue tight. As his cock plunged to the final depths, my mouth wrapped around the top of the cross, sucking in a lover’s embrace.

“Dirty fucking bitch,” he snarled, yanking back the rosary, twisting the beads into a noose.

My eyes rolling back in my head, breathing stopped, every inch of my body shaking for the need of air. Pushing back to meet every thrust, the sounds of the fuck echoing through the church, bouncing from the stained glass windows. My juices running down my legs in a river of scalding heat, the body of Jesus receives a bath from my tongue. God fucking damn, the poison inside of me consumes me with a rush of heat that can only be compared to a dip into a exploding volcano.

“Fucking whore,” he yanked, flooding the river with a damn breaking amount of Jesus juice.

Believe me, we don’t pray the same.

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