The presbytery hallway reeks of incense and polished wood. Midnight. Village dead quiet. Sainte-Agnelle-des-Buissons slumbers, 312 souls dreaming pious shit. I creep from my door next to the church, barefoot, robe loose. Heart hammers. Father Antoine texted: ‘Plug waits.’ That pink glittery demon from the donation box. I peek through his cracked door. Silhouette bends over desk. Moonlight slices blinds, stripes his soutane hiked up. Ass cheeks pale, tense. He turns. Eyes lock. Hungry. Forbidden. I step in. Door clicks shut soft. His hand grabs mine. Pulls. Rough. Breath hot on neck. ‘Chloé,’ he whispers, voice cracks. Fingers trace my thigh under robe. Up. Wet already. The plug sits there, silicone gleaming, lubed tip winking. Village dogs silent for now. But Jean-Claude’s cottage yards away. Germaine prays two houses over. Risk buzzes like pre-cum drip. He presses against me. Cock hard through cloth. We stumble back. Wall thuds light. Freeze. Listen. Nothing. Lips crash. Tongues fuck mouths. Hands everywhere.
He shoves robe off. Naked now. Tits free, nipples peak. His soutane drops. Body lean, priestly but ripped from garden work. Cock springs, veiny, leaking. Grabs plug. ‘For you first.’ I bend over desk. Ass out. He spits. Fingers circle hole. Push. Cold silicone breaches. Stretches. Burns sweet. I bite lip. Muffle gasp. Inch by inch. Full. He twists. Vibrates deep. Then his cock at pussy. Slams in. Wet slap echoes soft. Fuck. So full. Plug presses prostate-way inside me. He pounds. Grunts low. ‘Quiet,’ he hisses. But hips slap ass. Desk creaks. Papers rustle. Light under door? Footsteps? No. Just wind. Sweat drips. I clench plug. Waves build. His balls smack. Harder. Faster. Pulls hair. ‘Village sleeps. We sin.’ Moans escape. Hand over mouth. His. Mine shakes. Orgasm rips. Pussy squirts floor. He growls. Fills me. Hot cum floods. Plug pops out. Lands wet. We pant. Bodies slick. Risk peaks. Heard? Dogs bark faint. Shit.
The Contact
Pull apart. Cum leaks thighs. Wipe quick with robe. He kisses neck. ‘Go. Secret.’ I nod. Slip robe on. Door opens whisper. Hallway cold. Floorboards groan under feet. Heart thuds loud in ears. Stairs down. Shadow moves? Germaine’s cat? Or her, up for midnight rosary? Freeze. Breath held. It passes. Slip out presbytery door. Night air bites skin. Cross garden path. Neighbors’ windows dark. No lights. No eyes. Back to my bed. Door shuts silent. Collapse. Fingers trace ass, still tingling. Plug’s ghost throbs. Village none wiser. Tomorrow, mass. His eyes on me. Secret burns. We transgressed. Close. Too close. Fuck, the thrill.