SINcerely, Megan Read online

  SINcerely, Megan

  By Anne O’Connell

  Midnight Fantasy Press

  Electronic Edition

  Copyright 2010 by Anne O’Connell

  SINcerely, Megan

  Chapter 1

  It was November, just after my mother died from cancer that I began attending the church again. That’s when my obsession started. Even though I knew it was wrong, I couldn’t help but have the fantasies about the young priest who presided over the church. I’d always liked Father Michaels. He was in his mid-thirties, about five-foot-eleven with dark hair and gray eyes. Even though I never caught a glimpse of him out of his priestly garb I always imagined that beneath the black robes and priestly vestments that he had strong arms and a rock hard chest. Yeah, I admit it, I have a great imagination. I even began helping out with some of the luncheons and church activities just so I could be closer to him. Sometimes I’d have to leave him notes saying we’d gotten the newsletter out, or that the church member database had been updated. I’d always sign them, Sincerely, Megan. Yeah, it was a bit formal, but it seemed appropriate since I’d only politely shared in small talk with Father Michaels and didn’t really know him. I’d smile at him; he’d smile at me, his gray eyes twinkling in a way that set me on fire. I felt like a shy schoolgirl.

  It had been a couple years since I’d been with a man. Two to be exact. Me and Paul’s relationship ended on a sour note. Namely he started dating some eighteen-year-old floozy named April. At thirty I’d already been replaced with a younger model. The bastard. So in a way I guess Father Michaels was a safe crush. There was no way I could ever have him and no way he could ever hurt me like other men could, or would. No one would know what went through my mind except me and God and surely God wouldn’t mind if I was only fantasizing, would He?

  As several months passed my crush got stronger. The fantasies were so intense some Sundays that I’d leave church with my panties soaking wet. I would hurry home, strip down and masturbate for hours thinking about Father Michaels. Yes, I felt terribly guilty. Then I’d remind myself I was only having a bit of harmless fun that no one would ever find out about.

  Five months into the fantasies I needed more. Closer contact at least. That’s when I decided to finally go to confession. I don’t know what got into me. It was one of those rash decisions made in the heat of passion. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t already incredibly horny when I stepped into the confessional. I hadn’t worn panties or a bra either and beneath my coat my hard nipples pressed against the sheer fabric of the dress I’d worn. Another one of those rational decisions made when I wasn’t thinking clearly

  I sat down on the bench, my memory of my last confession flooding back to me. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been almost twelve years since my last confession,” I said softly, feeling the wetness between my thighs.

  Father Michaels had a beautiful, sexy voice. “Did one particular thing bring you to confession today?”

  The question caught me by surprise. “N-no,” I stammered. Then, unbidden, the guilt overwhelmed me and it spilled out. “I’ve sinned so much I just don’t know where to start.” I paused, biting my lip. “I fornicated with a man, Father. I fornicated and I wanted it so badly. Now, I keep having unclean thoughts about another man. One who is already taken and off limits. But when I try to stop… I’m hopeless. I keep imagining having intercourse with him and touching him and him touching me, and, and I can’t stop.”

  I paused, realizing how freeing it had been to say that. The thought that I’d shared my darkest secrets with the man I had a crush on excited me. I inhaled deeply and felt tingling in all the right places. Then I did something I never imagined I’d be brave enough to do. I slipped my hand between my thighs, rubbing my fingers across my wet, swollen slit, the Father right next to me with only a faux wood barrier between us.

  I could hear Father Michaels’s breathing. It sounded a bit heavier than before. “Go on,” he encouraged.

  I wondered then if he was rubbing himself, too. The mere thought of the priest rubbing his cock while I stroked my pussy almost made me come. I moved my finger over my clit and began rubbing. The idea of telling him more made me shudder. “When I see him I imagine all these carnal things and then I go home fully aroused and touch myself for hours. I feel so dirty,” I whispered. “But it’s worse Father.”

  “How so?” came Father Michaels’ now raspy voice. Surly he was stroking his cock, thick and hard and purple, engorged with blood. I imagined myself licking the pre-come from its swollen head.

  I fought back a soft moan. I was so close to coming. “I’ve begun using sex toys and imagining they’re him.” I thought I heard Father Michaels gasp. Just then I came; the evidence of my sin dripping from my slick wanting hole.

  “What kinds of sexual toys?” Father Michaels asked.

  My eyes went wide. I hadn’t expected he’d want those kinds of details. My face flushed red, but this only excited me more. I was almost too shy to say. “Dildos and vibrating butt plugs,” I finally said in the most ashamed tone I’d ever heard come out of my own mouth

  Father Michaels sounded composed now. My guess is he’d already come at the mere mention of sex toys. “Sexual addiction is serious business. I would be happy to provide private counseling if you’d like.”

  A mixture of excitement and dread flooded through me. Father Michaels probably thought I was a slut. He’d probably make me read the bible or take a renewed vow of saving myself until marriage or some such thing. How embarrassing it would be when he realized it was me. I felt guilty enough at that moment that I wanted to be purged of my sexual thoughts. So against my better judgment I agreed. “Yes. I think that might be a good idea.”

  I left the confessional with a get-out-hell free card that only cost me twelve Hail Mary’s and six Our Fathers and an appointment the following day for my first counseling session with Father Michaels.

  Chapter 2

  I wore a deep scoop neck blouse that showed off my cleavage along with a long black skirt to the church the next day. Beneath my skirt I decided on a pair of sheer white thong panties with matching bra. For some reason dressing in sexy underwear under my clothes always made me feel better about myself. It made me feel more feminine and more desirable, which was something I hadn’t felt since I was dumped by my jerk of an ex. Much to my own chagrin, the panties were already moist with my arousal when I arrived. I’d thought about Father Michaels on the way to the church. I thought about his high cheekbones, his smile, his kind eyes and his deep voice. There was just something about him that sent me ablaze with passion.

  Father Michaels, dressed in plain black slacks and black shirt with white collar, was on the phone when I entered his office. I closed the door behind me and removed my coat, hanging it on the coat rack next to the door. Then I carefully sat across from him. I noticed him looking me up and down. I squeezed my legs together, fearful that the evidence of my arousal might be coating my inner thighs if I wasn’t careful. At that moment I silently chastised myself. A wave of guilt washed over me. After all, I was here to purge myself of these feelings, not relish in them.

  The Father finished his phone call and seemed to look me over for a moment before he started. “You’re right on time. Sexual thoughts and masturbation are quite normal, Megan. However, what you described to me seems perhaps an unhealthy interest in sex. Prurient in the most sinful of ways. This can lead to further fornication and promiscuity.” He paused, waiting for a response.

  I put my hands in my lap and lowered my eyes to the floor. “I know, Father. But it feels so good.”

  “Undoubtedly,” he said. “However, I have methods to help you purge self-pleasuring from your life. They are unconventional, but if you t
rust me we can get started. If at any time you want me to stop, just say red.”

  My eyes went wide. What kind of methods? What kind of purging? I was almost too afraid to ask. But then reason kicked in. He’s a priest, Megan, I told myself. It was probably something like reading the bible and saying the same prayer fifty times in a row. But what about the red thing? “Okay, umm,” I started uncomfortably, “What will I have to do?”

  “Well, first, you’ll need to get rid of the sex toys and any sexual pornography you might possess. They will only lead you to temptation. Tonight I want you to pack all of it up and bring it to me tomorrow.” He paused then as if weighing his next words carefully. “But right now I want you to strip.” He stood up, his expression serious.

  I gasped and my jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe my ears. Had he really asked me to strip? Clearly I’d misheard. Fear and excitement coursed through my body. My heart started pounding. “Father?”

  “You heard me. Do it.” He took a step around the desk and repeated, “If at any time you want me to stop, just say red. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Father,” I whispered. Truthfully, I could have stood and walked straight out of the office right then. There was nothing keeping me there. I had no doubt Father Michaels knew it, too. Somehow he knew I’d stay. Trembling and dazed and a bit excited and nervous, I stood and slowly began slipping off my blouse, dropping it on the floor beside me. My hands went to my skirt then and I unzipped it, slowly. I heard his breath catch as I pushed the skirt down over my hips and it fell to the floor. Then I pulled my hands tight over my belly and looked down, knowing full well my panties were soaked.

  Father Michaels regarded me for a moment, inspecting my body. Then he said in a deep baritone, “Everything.”

  My gaze met his. His gray eyes were like hard steel; almost expressionless and very serious. I immediately complied, filled with lust for him. I slipped my bra off, releasing my ample chest. My nipples immediately hardened. Then I moved my hands down to my panties and eased them down my hips and thighs, letting them fall to the floor. I was in the habit of shaving my pussy, so my swollen lips were slick with my own juices and the bud of my clit peaked out from my labia, glistening wet.

  The priest cleared his throat and then bit his lip. “Are you aroused right now?”

  “Yes, Father,” I whispered.

  “Lean over the desk,” he ordered quietly. He was clearly aroused as well.

  Trembling, I went to the desk and leaned over; making sure my ass was high in the air. I spread my legs a little so he could catch a glimpse of my sex.

  “Spread your legs more,” he commanded.

  I sucked in a deep breath, loving how good it felt to be nude and vulnerable for him. I could feel him close to me. The fine hairs on my neck and arms stood on end in anticipation of the unknown. He got down on his knees behind me and examined my ass and pussy closely without touching me.

  “Now come here and lay down on the floor with your legs spread and knees bent.” He watched my every move like a large cat stalking its prey.

  I hesitated for a moment. It was driving me crazy that he hadn’t touched me and I think he knew it. I’d dreamed about this day for so long, it was torture. At the same time I was so unsure. What we were doing was so wrong. But ultimately I did as he said and spread wide for him so he could see every swollen, needful bit of flesh between my thighs.

  “Masturbate yourself like you do at home.”

  His gray eyes followed my hand as I reached down and rubbed my wet slit then slid two fingers deep into my pussy. My other hand travelled up to my clit and I massaged it, slowly at first, then more vigorously, bucking my hips into my hand. I moaned softly under his watchful eye.

  The evidence of Father Michaels’s arousal tented his black slacks as he watched me pleasure myself. Just as I started coming close to orgasm he whispered hoarsely, “Now stop.”

  “Oh no,” I whispered painfully. “I want to come for you Father Michaels. I want you to watch me come for you.”

  Just then his hands took my wrists, pulling them away from my wet, swollen mound. “No. Stand back up and lean over the desk again with your legs spread.”

  I got up and hurried to the desk, leaning over it. And right as I settled into position I felt Father Michaels’ palm smack against my left butt cheek. Thwack! His palm made contact with my ass again. He alternated, smacking each cheek full force until my butt burned. Then I felt Father Michaels’ hand travel between my inner thighs every so cautiously, gently stroking the soft flesh there. I didn’t move a muscle. Once he was sure I would behave he gently dragged one cautious finger over my swollen clit and wet slit. I moaned and pushed my pussy toward him in offering.

  He reached over and took something off the edge of the desk, then brought a chair over. “Put your foot on this chair.”

  I put my right foot on the chair realizing it left me wide open for his exploration. Then I felt something thin and long being dragged between my swollen lips. I whimpered.

  “You like that?” He asked softly.

  “Yes Father,” I squeaked.

  “I think this candle will fit inside you nicely,” he whispered, moving it gently back and forth through my wetness.

  I stifled a moan when he said that, feeling more of my arousal gush from my pussy in anticipation. “Oh yes, Father. Please.”

  He gently placed the thick end of the candle into my opening, gently pushing inward. Slowly, ever so slowly he inserted the twelve inch taper until it met with my womb. Then he pulled it back out. “Shall I do that again?”

  “Yes, please Father,” I begged. I spread my legs even wider, pushing toward him, wanting him to fuck me with the candle.

  And he did. Slowly at first. All the way in and all the way out. Slowly he picked up speed thrusting the taper in and out of me. “Rub yourself until you climax on the candle,” he ordered.

  I reached down between my legs, finding my swollen clit and rubbing intently. I tried to hold off coming as long as I could, but after a few minutes I couldn’t stand it. It felt so good. I felt it from deep inside me. I knew I was going to squirt and come all over the candle and his hand. I didn’t hold back. I worked my clit and lost myself in the moment, crying out his name as my climax splashed out of my pussy in a fervent gush.

  I felt him shudder and tremble behind me, falling to his knees and bringing his tongue between my thighs. He tasted me, plunging his tongue deep into my warm, wet chasm. “Turn around,” he said.

  The second I turned his face was buried in my pussy and he was sucking my clit passionately. I leaned back with my hands tangled in his hair, letting him have his way with me until I came again. When I was finished he stood and composed himself looking a bit shocked and taken aback at his own lustful deed. He seemed to overcompensate then by acting as if nothing had happened at all.

  “Now get up and get dressed. Today’s session is over.”

  I started at him, confused at his reaction. “Should I come back tomorrow,” I ventured cautiously. I wanted to come back more than anything. I wanted to feel his hands on me. I wanted to feel his tongue entwined with mine. That’s when I realized my crush had the potential to be more. I was falling hard and fast for him and I couldn’t stop it.

  Father Michaels didn’t say anything for at least a minute. Then finally he said, “You’ll come back tomorrow. Same time, but I want you to attend confession first, and don’t forget to bring the sex toys.” With that, he wiped off the candle with a tissue and put it back in the holder, then sat in his desk chair, picked up the phone, and continued making phone calls.

  As I got dressed I replayed it in my mind. There was no way he could deny that he felt some sort of passion for me, even if it was just lust. I wanted to think he felt something more though. That he could fall for me like I was falling for him. I grinned slightly when I realized he’d probably come in his pants. There was no way he had that kind of self-control. Despite the fact that he’d brought me to climax several times a
nd despite the fact that I was returning tomorrow, I still wanted to go home and masturbate, imagining it was him. Once I was dressed I put my coat back on and hurried from his office, not looking back.

  Chapter 3

  I returned the following day with a small box of select items. Inside were a vibrating butt plug and two dildos. No, I didn’t pack my entire collection of toys. And believe you me, I had quite the collection. When you’re a single woman with sexual needs you have more than just one dildo. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of all of them. I guess the truth is I had no intentions of giving up masturbation. I had no intention of giving up sex and by Father Michaels’ indulgence in the pleasure of my flesh the day before, I don’t think he intended me to give up anything either. Or I hoped he didn’t.

  I stepped into the confessional a bit wary, not knowing what to expect. Once I sat down and situated myself I started, “Forgive me father for I have sinned. It’s been two days since my last confession.”

  “What are your sins,” came Father Michaels’ deep baritone voice from the other side of the booth.

  “I indulged in pleasures of the flesh with a man who has taken a vow of chastity,” I said carefully. The truth was I did feel horribly guilty about it. Catholic guilt, it’s a conundrum.

  “Did you enjoy it?” I thought I heard a hint of amusement in his voice.

  The question made me smile. I honestly don’t know what came over me. It was as if I couldn’t stop my inner vixen from taking over, unbidden. “I did. But he turned me on so much that I went home last night and masturbated until I came then forced myself to wear a vibrating anal plug and vibrating dildo for two hours as I went about my chores. And father?”

  “Yes,” he practically groaned.

  “I prayed with them inside me, too. It felt so good. I came so hard while imagining I was sucking him.” I closed my eyes as the familiar sensation of peak arousal enveloped me.