In The Eyes Of God

There she sits, ever the image of the lonely widow, the sole occupant of the pew closest to me. Playful draughts lift up from the cool stones and dance in the ermine at her milky white neck. A word from me and she bows her head in supplication. Soft brown curls at her nape tip forward against her exposed collar bone. She suggests penitence in the graceful curve of her shoulders and lowered gaze. Only I know better.

I smooth my fingers along the gossamer-fine pages resting in front of me. I have no need of them. The well-worn words spill forth, sonorous amongst the hushed echoing whispers of choral responses. As I regard my flock, the only reverence I have is for the dark swell of cleavage, just visible beneath her dipped head. From my position, she has provided me with the perfect view. Temptress.

Only moments ago was she on her knees before me, head tilted back at the perfect height and angle to receive. Sweet, smoky incense surrounded us as she parted her scarlet clad lips and gently presented her moist tongue to me. Steady and assuredly, I placed the crumb upon it, holding it there a touch too long, uttering, "the body of Christ, keep you in eternal life."

Deep hazel eyes fluttered open and up at me, encased by immaculate dark lines of kohl and endless fanned lashes. "Amen." The word is an invitation. So be it.

The word resounds again with finality, the many voices wresting me from my reverie. I draw the service to its blessed close. I open my arms wide, embracing all the watchers, saturating them in the peace of the lord. At once, the wave of departures begins to ebb and flow along the aisles but one vision remains of fervent prayer in the front row.

Finally, the next rite can begin.

Silently, I slip back to the vestry: my office, my sanctuary. I check all is secure, removing my outer surplice and stole, closing the vestment wardrobe door tightly. I seat myself at my large, expertly organised desk and wait.

A subtle knock speaks at my door.

"Enter."

For a brief moment, she stands framed in my doorway, a masterpiece to be admired. My gaze takes in her perfectly tailored two piece suit, navy, fur trimmed. A small complementary pillbox hat adorns the finger waves tumbling against her high sculpted cheekbones. Lambskin gloves, pale ivory in colour, clasp both the door handle and the frame, steadying both her teetering stilettos and her nerves. She reeks of expensive perfume and lust: a heady mix.

Almost believable in her tentativeness, she steps lightly over the threshold and asks with her smooth treble, "Are you ready to receive me, Father?"

I lean back in my chair and beckon her inside with a wave of my hand, legs spreading slightly to accommodate the growing sense of urgency pressing against my thigh. So delicious. I turn my eyes from her to look down at a nondescript memo beneath my hand. It would not do for her to see the heat growing my gaze. Yet.

She enters slowly, aware of how she controls every limb and curve she owns to wield them with seductive power. As she pushes shut the door and heavily turns the key, I flick my eyes at her rear view: they travel up the fierce points of her heels, up the lines of her stockings, eventually landing on the wide hips barely contained within her figure-fitting pencil skirt.

Oh, these war widows know how to set us men alight and do so, quite rightly, without fear of condemnation. I consider it my service and duty to ensure certain needs are met in the absence of those previously chosen by God to do so. Luckily, as a well-built single man, carrying my age and stature gracefully, my services seem in constant demand. And I am certainly a man of duty never afraid to be called to action.

"Mrs McManus. How may I be of service to you today?" I ask. I look directly at her now, as she steps forward steadily, removing her gloves slowly, enjoying the attention. She comes to rest opposite me, lowering the tips of her fingers to rest in front of mine splayed on the desk. I meet her sultry gaze. "Is it guidance or do we have some other act in mind?"

She leans forward, her glorious cleavage once again presented to me, stoking my appetite. Her lips part invitingly as she utters, "I was hoping to spiritually and physically find a connection to a higher power. I always feel so...satisfied, and...renewed after our time together, Father."

My hardening cock twitches and my heavy balls tighten at the thought of what is to come. This vixen knows the effect she has. The cassock's heavy fabric betrays no secrets, though her glance is most certainly scouring for the truth of my arousal. Thoughts of her, naked, in bed with previous lovers, her husband, other playthings, flit across my mind: yet, she returns to me. Flattering. And unsurprising. The thrill of the prohibited combined with my prowess is a draw few can resist. Who am I to deny bodily pleasure and comfort as well as spiritual? After all, we are made of flesh.

"Mrs McManus." I push back from my desk yet remain seated. "Your presence here is always a blessing to us both, I feel." My eyes have not once strayed from her ample breasts. "I must tell you though, my evening's intended ministrations to the unfortunate prevent me from spending as much time...seeing to your needs...as I would wish." My thoughts are lost in the idea of plunging my face between them and starving myself of breath.

Her breath quickens slightly, chest rising and falling in tandem. "Then we must not delay." Her fingers remain firmly pressed into the aging green leather of my desk, small indentations forming as her scarlet nails claw gently, as she is wont to do on my back.

Intentionally, I rise to my feet, eyes never leaving their intended mark, and move to stand next to her against the wood. A heavenly body with a scent that reaches into your throat and steals your breath. I reach out and smooth my hand gently over the perfectly curved edge of her arse, closing in to envelope the cheek. A small sigh of pleasure escapes her moistened lips.

With one small step, I am between her and the desk and turn her gently to face away from me towards the wardrobes, her behind brushing my fierce erection as I do so. Patience. Restraint. Gratification is all the better when delayed.

My hands encase her wide hips, holding her exactly where I want her, perfectly positioned. Her slender waist is the perfect rest point on my hand's journey to her shoulder, fingers grazing along her collar bone before deftly swooping her lustrous hair to one side and pressing a kiss to her soft neck. She drops back into my chest as my hot mouth presses harder, tongue tasting her deliciously warm skin. I am delirious with her scent.

Planting light kisses along her fine jawline, my dexterous fingers find their way to the pearlised buttons of her jacket. With little effort, her ample breasts burst forth, freed from their herringbone cage. My thumb and forefinger quickly locate her proud nipples, encased in the silk drapes of her shift. Her sighs turn into a more guttural moan; her desire is palpable as her head knocks back into my broad chest.

I continue to work a nipple as I discard her jacket. The bare skin of her arms, the warm stretch of her midriff under the silk and up to the firm underside of her breasts: no part of her upper body is left unexplored by my hands. My mouth and tongue continue their onslaught on the most sensitive zones of her neck, her groans evolving into mews.

My aim? Make her slick with want. She is desired, beyond just physically, and deserves to feel this in her soul.

I trap the edge of her hem between my fingertips and slip it delicately up and over her head, taking care not to disturb the careful pins and tucks of her victory rolls. She, herself, reaches up to remove her small hat and carefully places it on the desk. She raises her arms above her head, looking for all the world like Aphrodite herself, with the curves of her slender waist, taught stomach and full bosom on display to the room at large.

I cannot resist pushing my rock hard cock against her tight behind and nestling it as far between her cheeks as the skirt will allow. It has to go. A gentle wriggle from her as my fingertips come to rest again on her hips implies eagerness.

"Patience." One of my own greatest virtues. My warm breath upon her ear has raised the hairs on her arm. Oh, she is so easily pleasured: her second best feature, next to the insatiable hunger of her tight purse.

I step from behind her and gently spin her back round to face the desk and, with a firm hand in the delicate small of her back, I lean her over it. At this angle, everything I want is presented to me perfectly. From behind her, I can see her russet nipples brushing against the cool leather, peaking further. Delightful. Her back becomes the playground for my fingertips. I find spots that make her squirm and gasp, swirling around the nerves and various spaces I find. Eventually, I make my way to the zip at the top of her skirt and lower it, tantalisingly slow. Each pair of teeth metallically pop apart one by one; the only sound aside from her steadily deepening breaths.

When finished, I use my full hands to drop this final bastion from her hips before exposing the matching blush silk of her French knickers and divine cream suspenders and stockings. It's my turn for my breath to catch. I mutter a small indecipherable prayer of thanks for the bountiful sexual harvest before me.

Her legs are a compass, split invitingly, set trembling with a gentle brush on the soft naked skin at the inner thigh. At this delectable sight, I know will not be able to hold back much longer. But is she ready for me? I must find out.

I lower my hand and firmly cup between her legs, through the warm fabric: ah, moist. She gasps in response and squirms against me again, desperate for friction and touch. How could anything so natural and instinctual ever be considered a sin? I pull my hand away and she cries out at the loss. Her back jolts up as if she wishes to reconnect.

"No, Mrs McManus. Back you go." My hand insists on her back again to mirror my command. She acquiesces and my fingers slip silently and swiftly to undo the buttons down the front of my robe. I am left stood in my boxers and under vest and, with a firm grip, I pull my manhood free from his cotton prison.

The spread of silk in front of me invites me - I take my swollen tip and brush like a painter against the canvas of her cheeks. The soft sheen of fabric slips softly beneath it, a sublime contrast to the raging desire it intensifies in me. Savouring the feel of it, I snatch up the discarded silk shift, wrap it around my shaft and pump leisurely. Still I tease her, sliding the tip down to push against her slickness from behind.

"Oh, please. Please," she begs me as I hit exactly where I know she craves me to be. My eyes dart to the mantle clock; not long until my next appointment, so yes, it is time.

I drop my pants - I want no impediments - and step behind her prostrate body. In response, her hips tip up so I quickly remove her knickers, leaving the suspender belt and stockings: an enhancement to the heavenly sight now manifested. Out of her neatly trimmed mound, glistening pink lips protrude invitingly and evoke an involuntary deep sigh of approval from my chest. She truly is a gift. And she is ready to receive hers.

Without a word, I take two fingers and slide them deep into her. Muscles clench around them as they glide against her pleasure point, and I use my thumb to rub against her unveiled rosebud: I am nothing if not skilled. She is wound so tightly I can already feel her starting to unravel so I intensify my onslaught. Occasionally, I withdraw to circle her swollen clit and before long she is close, writhing beneath my hands.

Gripping her cool cheeks with my warm hands, I replace my digits with my dick. There is little resistance as I push just the tip in first, allowing her to relax around it. Although of average length, the girth of my member can be a strain for some. It is always courteous to allow them to accommodate me before I unbridle myself. Slowly, I plunge my full rod in her to the hilt, holding myself there and relishing the warmth and pleasure her velvet glove precipitates.

"Oh god, yes!" she moans. It always amuses me that I can generate worship for our lord in so many ways. Her assent meets with my approval - I begin to thrust.

Slowly at first, gently, making sure she feels every inch. I rock my hips in a circular motion, not only ensuring I fill her entirely but setting my heavy balls swinging beneath her. Her vocal responses spur me on and I increase my pace.

Soon, the sound of flesh slapping hard on flesh fills the room, rebounding from the wood surrounding us and entangling with our groans. I watch my cock shine with her juices as I pull in and out, her magnificent ass still under my firm grip. My stamina is always excellent, built on years of practicing a restraint that only intensifies release. Her escalating moans tell me that my skill is having its usual effect.

The sight before me is one that I know I will enjoy over and again when pleasuring myself alone: her milk white back arching from the wood; crimson tipped hands frantically trying to gain purchase as they splay with the force of my driving thrusts; long trembling legs framing either side of our lovemaking; and my balls swinging and slapping against her sex. A view anyone would pay good money for.

We are building to our inevitable conclusion but, ever the gentleman, I must hold off as ladies come first. She is close, I can feel it. I slow and slip my hand across her hip, seeking out her sensitive bud. Grinding against her, I dip into her wetness and rub against her clit with my fingertips. It takes three, maybe four more thrusts until she exclaims loudly, "fuck, I'm coming!"

Hips buck against me and her muscles start to contract around me. Permission is now granted to fully realise my own release and extend hers. Lost in delirium, I now pound her hard against the desk, balls tightening, pressure building and my own grunts filling the room. Lights gather across my closed lids and electricity shoots from my centre. I pull out quickly and explode: rope after rope of cum spills forth, coating her back and quickly pooling in the dips and curves of bottom. My body half collapses over hers, careful not to fall into the mess I have made, and I wring out the last few drips onto her with a few quick pumps. What a majestic sight she makes.

She lays panting, chest heaving against the warm leather, breasts spilling from beneath her and a beatific smile caressing her face. An angel in her element.

I tenderly brush the curls back from her neck and lean to gently kiss beneath her ear, breathing in deeply: the scent of her just here is an addictive elixir.

"One moment, my dear. No need to rush. Let me help you."

Standing up, I quickly redress myself and fetch a handkerchief from my desk drawer. She remains still, knowing movement would send a cascade of cum across her body. Her aura is one of relaxed contentment.

"Allow me." I mop between her legs first, evidence of her hard orgasm presenting itself to me in her own pool of liquid soaking into the small square of cotton. "Clearly a satisfying experience for us both," I remark as I turn my attention to my own mess.

She has no words but releases a deep sigh tinged with joy that comes from the very depths of her: I take great pride in the comfort that I have clearly brought such a deserving woman.

Swiftly, I help to redress her, even fastening the buttons of her jacket for her whilst she adjusts her hat back atop her head. Once done, my hands clasped either side of her head, I kiss her, just once, profoundly, tongues joining together in a glorious meeting of lust and release.

Then she departs, unlocking the door and rejoining the world beyond our own, turning at the door to leave me with a small wave and a warm smile.

Once I am sure she has gone, I break from my trance and move to retrieve the handkerchief from where it was discarded on the desk. I turn to face the vestments closet.

"I trust you have your monies worth and achieved your own satisfaction. I will leave now to enable you to clean yourself up. The memento, as requested, I shall leave on the desk but ensure you leave the extra funds as agreed. I shall remind you, any whispers of this or any slander that reaches my ears of either myself or the beautiful woman you had the privilege to observe, I will destroy you. Believe me when I say, I have the power of God on my side and your depravity will go firmly against you. Keep silent and we may continue the arrangement. Do you understand me?"

A muffled male voice responds from deep in the wardrobe, drifting from the empty keyhole in the door, "yes, Father."

"Good. Now, I have a home visit I must attend to. Let yourself out."

I grab my outdoor coat and matching fedora from the stand and make my way to the door, checking that nothing is out of place. Beyond the white scrap of cloth, no sign of what has occurred here remains and it shall stay that way. I turn with a satisfied sigh: another successful administering of solace to my worthy congregation and another member awaits.

With pleasure, I shall continue to perform my duties as long as they are required, at great benefit to myself. And, of course, to the glory of God. Amen.