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The words slipped out like honey into tea and she licked her lips as I broke from her gaze, flailing around for a hand holdof control. If she likes something enough to watch it twenty-six times, I’ll acquire the taste for it too and watch it another twenty-six times if she’s next to me.
The walk to her room nearly brought me to my knees, knowing I would leave her at the door when every cell in my body crackled and burned to throw her onto the squeaky, horrible bed and deliver my soul into her womb.
My cock has risen and he will not be denied. I paced my quarters until sunlight broke over the angry ocean this morning. During the night, the sea went from rolling into the sand to crashing against the rocks at the base of the old convent.
I battled my lust with hours of bare-fisted pounding into the punching bag that hangs in the corner of my bedroom.
Becoming a priest only pushed me to maintain my physical strength, not lose it. The school has a gym and a workout room, although the machinery is decades old, but going old school has served my body well.
Feelings for females in my past were nothing like this. I dabbled at best in the world of lust and attraction only to find that my own proclivities were viewed as deviant. Perverted. Unwholesome.
From when I was a boy, my fantasies were not of the women on the glossy pages of the magazines stolen from between the mattresses of my friends’ fathers. No, the females there with their oiled bodies, enhanced tits and sultry smiles did not ignite my adolescent lust.
It was the girl that seemed…lost. Unsure. Insecure. Needy. Yes, a little broken and without the confidence of a woman splayed wide in a grainy movie or on a free porn site.
With swollen hands from my hours of punching the heavy bag, I fist myself, my erection refusing to yield. My thoughts of fucking into my stepsister are stronger than any I’ve ever had.
My pulse races through my veins, pounding behind my eyes as I imagine licking at her pink pussy, letting her know how beautiful she is. How I will take care of her forever and lay waste to anyone that ever hurts her again.
How would she taste?
Like an angel.
How would she feel as I fed my dick into her?
Like home.
The image of the bruises on her arm turn my vision red as my cock turns to a missile in my grip.
Flashes of the pictures from her phone haunt me. The glaze in her eyes, the lifelessness behind them makes my heart want to rip from my chest.
How is this happening? I would give up everything to have Kitty under me right now. To feel her body welcome me for the first time, to hear her sweet voice calling me by the name that has beckoned to me since I felt those first sparks of desire.
I clench the back of my neck with the hand that isn’t consoling my dick, panting, eyes closed as the vision of the soft brown swirls of her hair rest on my pillow, her knees pressed together, eyes searching mine for approval as I praise her for being my good girl, then turn her over and rip her clothes from her soft body and drive myself home on a roar.
Fire lashes at my belly as I loosen my grip on my neck, brace my hand on the wall next to the picture of Jesus raising his three fingers in forgiveness, release my cock and turn the lock.
There is no fight left in me.
I give in, three seconds after I secure the door, I drop my sweatpants to the floor. Spit into my palm and do what I haven’t done for a decade.
I’m wrong for her in all ways. I’ve given my life to the church, to God, although my reasons for doing so are not what most would expect.
I close my eyes, the memory of her warm flesh in my hand makes my balls throb. The way I toyed with her nipple, then salivated as the sight of her bare pussy lip escaping from her shorts as she exited the limo.
It’s wrong. All these thoughts are wrong and I’ve worked so hard to rid myself of every female that could ever harm me. It’s university all over again. University where false accusations ended my career before it could begin.
My resolve to avoid women is cracking, and it’s all because of her.
I hate fuck my hand. Plowing up and down, punching my balls at the base with every stroke, over and over, up and down.
Whoever left those bruises on her will be begging for my mercy by the time I’m done with him. I’ve taken vows, but I’ve not forgotten who I was.
Who I will be for her if necessary.
Behind the brains, there was brawn. By day I was the tattooed, surly chemistry phenom, but behind it all, I took out my rage on anyone unfortunate enough to cross me. Intentionally or not.
There are commandments that are meant to be broken, especially when it comes to protecting the innocent.
