Sofia was glowing.
Not as a woman in love or pregnant. She glowed as one of the Lord’s angels on Earth.
At St. Andrew’s Parish, the office manager, Sofia Sinkoweicz, had become quite the force of organization, order, and efficiency. She was also, for want of a better term, the rectory’s very own concubine…just not one that would produce a child.
She preferred the title: The Church Whore. She was personally charged with providing sexual relief to men. Her pay was the blessings of the Holy Spirit.
It had been six weeks since she made the commitment to serve the two priests and their sexual needs while accomplishing her duties as office manager. She was quite good at both, and the rewards for all involved had been delightfully carnal. However, as simple as fellatio and masturbation were as physical tasks, they still had a spiritual weight. Yet so far, Sofia was not suffering any personal discomfort from carrying it. She was glowing because of it.
Blessings, not blemishes.
It had not all been easy, of course. She had new fears rise up and put weighty hands on her shoulders, not in the least of which was discovery by a parishioner or an unexpected visitor. She was sinning, almost daily, yet had not feared for her soul. It seemed rather easy for the two men of the cloth to accept her gift and service, as it could be forgiven with an honest act of reconciliation with his fellow priest. For the thirty-year-old widow, the sessions with these men had taken on more and more physical pleasure, as well as spiritual satisfaction. Could contrition remove those stains as easily as the washing machine removed the ejaculate from her clothing? She believed it could and was.
A late spring Monday afternoon found her on her knees in Fr. Timothy’s office, greedily devouring his impressive manhood.
“For what you are about to receive, Ungh– may the Lord make you truly thankFULLL.”
The priest found that reciting prayers and scriptures made Sofia work more diligently, hum more deeply, look more like a whore than ever (especially when her makeup would run and her impeccable hair would tumble). This made his personal climaxes more intense. The Song of Solomon was a favorite of hers, the sexual imagery not being lost on teenage Sofia years before.
This Monday’s session in particular left her face and chest dripping with so much manly spend she needed to change into another blouse she kept as a spare in the rectory coat closet.
Her regular duties around the office had not slowed down in any way. She was still handling calendars, appointments, supply orders, and church public relations information as if she were born to it. Father Jim even remarked that her own work ethic had improved greatly as she was smiling more and seemed to be filled with the Holy Spirit. Glowing.
It was all balancing well, and she still believed that the Lord had sent her to this place to perform this particular duty. But after being with Fr. Timothy on Monday, she had to admit that her lust had taken on a new level, and she needed something more.
After a day where sexual pleasure was part of the workday (usually twice a week for each priest; often on the same day), she would end her evening in bed with intense meditation and self-pleasure. She had started using her hairbrush handle and even a cucumber for penetrative pleasuring. Her climaxes were body-depleting. Her needs were bordering on insatiable. The ground was shifting.
One wonderful byproduct of all of this sexual satisfaction was a newfound comfort in speaking with either one of the priests, especially the young, handsome Timothy. There were no longer subject barriers between them, even though she kept the respectful tone and honorifics their positions as heads of the Church required of her. She was moved to confide in the two men she was growing to love as spiritual brethren: she needed to be filled with more than the Holy Spirit.
She noted that on Thursday, Fr. Timothy had an hour’s time free. Her own name had been added to the calendar slot in her perfect cursive the day before, so that if he had consulted it, as he should, he would have known she was coming. A few minutes prior to the meeting, she removed her pantyhose in the washroom. She felt quite naughty, or at least, hopeful.
After checking that her attractive yet modest pale pink dress was in order and her brunette hair was still up in its work bun, she lightly knocked on his door.
“Come in.”
As she closed the door, her crucifix from her late husband swung on its gold chain just below the open placard on her dress. Not enough skin to appear scandalous or seductive, but more than she publicly showed. Both priests very much enjoyed her revealing her décolletage during their relief sessions, and she enjoyed showing them. When their manly spend hit her skin with a cool splat, she would shudder at the decadence.
“Sofia, I saw we had an appointment. How can I help?’ He gestured to his small sofa, his favored place for their one-on-one encounters. When she served them both, she preferred the sanctuary. Was it blasphemy? Not if it is what the Holy Spirit wished.
“Are you here on an official capacity or is it more personal?” This was his code for their sexual encounters. She respected the euphemism as a kindness, though sometimes she secretly wished he would say he wanted to “cum on her tits!”
As she sat, she surreptitiously unbuttoned another button on her dress. He noticed. “I am here to serve you, Father. I crave it today…like sacred stigmata. And…” She cleared her throat and looked down. She made a sign of the cross and noted that he adjusted his body from an uncomfortable heat. She looked at his crotch and sighed. He was a very sexy man.
“What is it?” He placed his hand on her naked knee; a gesture that would have afforded him a stern reprimand from the Diocese, but in their relationship was welcome.
“I am wanting, no, craving more. I covet what married couples have. I miss…Stanley.”
He softened. “I am sorry. Grief is a long-term burden for some. Even someone as devoted to the Lord as you are, my child.”
“I miss him, yes, and as much as I enjoy what I have here with you and Fr. Jim, I crave a man…inside of me.”
The pause was full of doubt, fear, and electric arousal for them both. Timothy took a deep breath and let it out with a soft whoosh. He had feared this moment but always thought it would be his weakness manifested, not hers. He had longed for her naked body under him or on top of him even before she started her sacred service of orgasmic spirituality. Since these weekly ejaculation sessions, he had also craved it. “That would be an act I do not think I could reconcile. What if you -?”
“I cannot get pregnant!” she blurted out as if holding it in her mouth might burn her tongue.
“You -?”
“I cannot have children. I have known for nearly six years.” She closed her eyes and scooted a few inches closer to him and took his hand. “There would be no fear of a baby born in sin.” She looked at him with a desperate pleading. Her need was palpable.
The priest looked into her eyes as if willing the Holy Spirit to send a message through this beautiful creature. Perhaps he already had. “Sofia…understand that I very much desire that as well.”
Her heart skipped a beat, and hope flooded her panties. “And…?”
He paused as the entirety of his ordination vows scrolled past his mind’s eye. He and Jim had split some very thin canonical hairs. But actual intercourse?
She undid more buttons and opened her dress to reveal a pale pink overflowing bra. “I am the Church Whore, Father. I accept my role.”
He gawked, and his erection pulsed in his trousers. She was Eve’s apple personified: real sexual intercourse.
The sinful temptation overtook him. He would do it, but only with one stipulation. “Alright. But Fr. Boyd can never know.”
“Oh no!” The air in Sofia’s arousal balloon rushed out with a rude noise. She looked horrified. His erection deflated.
“Father, if you agree to gift me with sacred copulation, Fr. Jim must be allotted that same privilege. We are, ‘all on this cliff edge together,’ as you once said.”
He went from surprised to humored in a matter of seconds, blood flowing back into his suddenly tumescent sin. Dear Lord, she meant it. “Oh…alright then. So be it. Have you and he already…?”
Her eyes widened, then she laughed quite lyrically. “Oh no, Father.” She looked away and blushed. “I have mostly been thinking about you.” And with that, she slid the sleeves of her dress down, and her entire abdomen was now visible.
Any morality, devotion, sacred vow, or other restraint shattered as he dove toward her. He took her into a deep kiss that made her screech but not pull away. She hadn’t expected kissing, but it made perfect sense. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and they passionately kissed with their tongues exploring every tooth and palate.
She reached for his erection, and they both moaned as she gripped it through his pants. He worked out the last three buttons on her dress and then wrapped his arms around her naked back. He had no experience with women’s undergarments, so she would have to undo the brassiere clasp.
The kissing continued until she pushed back. He was panting and feared that she had changed her mind. Instead, he moaned in disbelief as she stood and pushed her dress to allow it to slide off her hips and drop to the floor. She was wearing modest underwear that matched the pink of her bra and his eyes locked on the slightly visible darkness of her bush. He was unaware that the darker tone at the gusset signaled her intense need. He would be made aware soon.
She slowly dropped to her knees with divine reverence. As they had several times before, her hands slid up his thighs as if ironing out any wrinkles. He flopped back against the sofa and surrendered control. If deified lightning was going to take them now, he would die a happy sinner.
Sofia made quick, familiar work of the opening of his pants, and soon he was lifting up his hips so she could remove them thoroughly. She smiled and then shuddered as her eyes locked on the head of his penis pushing through the fly on his boxers. It was nearly purple in its agony and drooling with hunger. The boxers joined the pants on the floor, and she proceeded to perform her sacred duty.
Her left hand gripped the shaft; her right made the sign of the cross. She said a silent prayer. Her mouth opened and she took the glorious head of his scepter into her mouth. Like each previous time it had passed her lips, she felt a sacred communion of sorts. Not as Christ and the eucharist, but sacred, nonetheless.
His erection was heated and pulsing and everything she needed in the moment.
She lifted off and allowed her tongue to slide down toward his nest of reddish-brown hairs. She licked across the skin of his pelvis and doubled back to taste one of his testicles.
He moaned and whispered, “Dear Jesus, please forgive meee….”
The scrotum held divine fluids, the gift of life from her Lord God in Heaven. It needed to be worshiped. All the while, her hands were stroking and pulling, his length increasing, his hardness…remarkable.
She sighed and let go.
Fr. Timothy O’Brien snapped his eyes open. Why had she stopped? “Are you alright?”
She nodded and let a sweet smile pass her expression, adding a touch of joy to the rapturous feeling of sexual abandon. She shook her head to clear away an insect of doubt that had flown past her ear.
She stood. Their eyes were locked. Her hands moved as if she were performing a sacred sacrament. She reached behind and unhooked her bra. Without ceremony, it fell into her hands, and she tossed it onto her dress.
“Sweet Mother Mary…” Timothy whispered, his hand going to his cock. She was stunning, with perfectly shaped teardrop breasts that sported dusky pink nipples. He sat straighter with the intention of putting them in his mouth.
“Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle, that feed among the lilies!”
Song of Solomon! “Ungh! Fatherrr!”
She rapidly moved onto the next station of sin.
With a slight tremble in her digits, she hooked her underwear and pulled them down and off. Her brown hair was sparse and already glistening with her arousal. Her divine femininity was preparing to receive the seed of life. Unfortunately, her ovaries forgot to tell her vagina that it was literally a fruitless endeavor. All the same, she was ready to have sex.
She fought an instinct to cover her privates and decided that hands folded in supplication below her breasts would somehow feel holy.
Her voice trembled. Not out of fear nor sadness but out of a pure lust that was driving her heart to hammer and her throat to dry up. “Hu-hu-how do you want me?”
His eyebrows raised in honest confusion. He literally had no idea. He had never had sex with a woman. There had been some sinful trysts with fellow seminarians, but those never involved any part of the female anatomy. He wanted this to be right, and he wanted to see her in all of her glory. “Can you just climb on top and…?” He gestured for her to ride him, and she smiled.
She suddenly realized that as a priest, he may have never done this before. He had confessed that any previous transgressions with the college girls had not involved penetration, and she had no reason to doubt.
Her skin exploded in gooseflesh at the thought of receiving his virginity. She stepped forward, straddled his waist, and took hold of his erection. It was at its pinnacle, harder and warmer, maybe even thicker than previous sessions. The ridge was nearly purple, and the head shone with priming fluids that began to drip down the foreskin and the just-over-six-inches-long shaft.
This had been Stosh’s naughty position when his beautiful wife would take over. It felt fitting that she would be in control of Father Timothy O’Brien’s first time.
The head of his cock felt enormous. He was not much bigger than her late husband, but she hadn’t had a real one inside her for four years. It entered and she threw back her head and choked back a scream of joy. She could not have Fr. Jim hearing them.
Fr. Timothy held his breath, emotions and morality battling in his head with faith as the referee. This felt unreal. The heat and wetness of her slowly engulfed his shaft and he marveled as the slightly hairy opening swallowed him whole.
When their pubic hair entangled, she held still. Her vagina pulsed with the fullness of him. The ridges and bumps of him molded into the walls of her unused birth canal.
“Oh yes! Thank you, Lord! This is what I have been… Oh myyy!”
She ground her hips twice, her button pushing against the stiffness of his pelvic bone. The man inside her could only pant in sexual joy. He was still keeping his hands on the sofa, as if touching her crossed the line that fucking her did not. She reached down and took them. In a very perverted rite of connection, she kissed the ring on his hand as if he were the pontiff blessing the crowd at Saint Peter’s. She whispered, “Amen,” and placed his open palms against her breasts. When he naturally squeezed them and thumbed her rubbery nipples, a shudder ran through her that threatened to cause her climax to arrive sooner than she wanted.
She began to move up and down. Squeezing his thickening shaft with each rise and fall. This was it; this was the gift the Holy Spirit had given her. This is what she had been craving.
Today, she was not just giving pleasure, but in this moment, receiving it from this holy man. And she was saving the purity of all of the potential young women these men would be pursuing for sinful satisfaction. She could think of no greater service.
For Timothy’s part, every sensation was newly overwhelming. What was unmistakable was the focus this incredible woman had. It would be a disservice not to match her in kind. He found solace in knowing she was doing this willingly. He slid his hands down her rib cage and gripped the sensuous curve of her hips. He pushed up off of the sofa, naturally finding power in the masculine animal act. This is how the Lord had meant for men and women to be together. Whore, concubine, slut- no labels mattered in the moment. She was a woman, an angel of sexual desire.
As they struck up a rhythm, he began to feel the familiar coil inside his loins, the need to expel his semen. He began to breathe more rapidly and push with more speed and power.
“Dear Lord Jesus…ohhh myyy…!”
Sofia sensed the impending climax and squeezed even harder. His hungry penis seemed to swell in response, growling for its sustenance. This was no cucumber. She bent forward and placed her own palms on his shoulders to steady herself physically and center herself spiritually. She brought her face down to him, the hair falling out of her tight bun, her skin flush with the pink of passion. They locked eyes, both of their mouths open in the throes of passion. Unspoken need passed through them telepathically. She boldly kissed him, and he kissed back. Their tongues wrestled. His voice rumbled. She rolled her hips back and forth, matching each thrust with equal energy from her own cavern. She reached her peak and made to scream but held back, knowing she could not make too much noise. She buried her face in his shoulder and grunted into his flesh, “Dearrr Lorrrd!”
Her body exploded through spasms of joy that rivalled all of the orgasms she had accumulated since her husband had passed. Sweat exploded on her skin, and chills slammed into it.
Orgasmic bliss had taken on new meaning for this thriving woman. It was so deeply sacred it made her cry out to God as well as convulse like a base animal. She was a concubine, giving her body to men for their pleasure outside of the sacred bounds of holy matrimony. She was Hagar, Bilhah, and Mary Magdalene reincarnated. She was rapture, release, and ecstasy. She was a living saint of copulation.
Timothy held his breath and let the sensations hit him like a wave of holy fire. These orgasms of the last weeks had been like nothing he had ever experienced. And they were working to assuage. Neither he nor Jim had had another sexual tryst since Sofia made her stunning offer. His balls contracted, and the head of his erection seemed to split open to allow for the blast of semen erupting from within.
“OHHH GAHHHD!” He shouted too loudly. Sofia clamped her open mouth on his to stifle the sound. He continued to vocalize each exquisite pump of his cream into her welcoming tunnel. Her orgasm cascaded like steps descending from celestial heights. She had to pull her mouth off his to suck in air.
She collapsed on top of him, spent, used, blissful. He wrapped his arms tightly around her torso and allowed tears to fall from his eyes. This was a heavenly gift.
They held each other until the air in the room cooled enough to make Sofia shiver. Fr. Timothy released her, and she shyly raised up, allowing his now soft yet slick penis to flop onto his pelvis. She cupped her sex and, with a small groan of stretched leg muscles, staggered over to a box of tissues on Father’s desk. She turned away to dab up the co-mingling fluids, suddenly self-conscious of her nearly nude body. She was still wearing shoes.
He had watched in fascination, then suddenly commiserated with her bashful reaction and turned away to dress himself. He then held out her clothing in his upturned hands, mirroring an altar boy in waiting during the mass. She smiled softly and murmured a soft, “Thank you,” and proceeded to dress herself in rapid determination.
She stepped to the mirror on the wall next to his vestment cupboard and chuckled softly at the state of her hair and makeup. He was behind her in the reflection and gave a look of concern. He thought he had performed well, yet, having no comparison, allowed doubt to take over his expression. She instantly knew why he had reacted and quickly turned back to him.
“Father Timothy. You were quite wonderful, and I am truly blessed to have given you the relief you needed. I was likewise honored by the female climax I received from the Holy Spirit. And…” She paused and looked down, color flushing up her cheeks again.
My Lord, she is positively glowing, he thought. “And…?” he offered.
“And I hope to do it again soon.” She looked up, and he was smiling sweetly and shaking his head in admiration. She smiled back and rushed out the door.
The young priest felt his still tingling privates pulse. He let out a long whistling breath and looked at the crucifix above his desk. “Dear Lord, what have we done?”
TO BE CONTINUED Father Jim gets his and then some.
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed yourself, please hit the like heart. If you really enjoyed yourself, go clean up and then hit the star for a favorite.
And as always, please leave a comment. I try to respond to them all.
Peace, Matt, a very EX catholic.
