“Sometimes it’s physical. And sometimes, it’s more emotional. Comfort, you know? But the thing I desire more than anything else is… your blood.”
I shot you a warning look, and you pretended not to notice.
“My blood?” the priest asked. His mouth was open, practically panting with arousal.
“I want to taste you,” you said with unfiltered need in your voice. You licked your lips and lifted your chin a little. The priest followed your every movement. “It burns, Father. All over. Day and night. Have you ever had a hunger like that?”
The priest nodded, jaw going slack.
“It makes me so ashamed,” you said, which I suspected was the truth. “I want to be stronger. To resist, but I can’t. I’m only human, you know. Well… half.”
I didn’t worry anymore about any secrets you might reveal. The man likely wouldn’t remember the details of this conversation when it was over.
“Tell me more about this… hunger,” the priest said in a low, throaty voice.
You inched closer and reached for his arm, then laid it gently on the back of the pew as if handling a sacred text.
“It starts like an itch I can’t scratch,” you said as you slowly drew up the sleeve of the man’s cassock. “I feel it in my mouth, a tingling in my gums. My mouth starts to water. My teeth feel sharp as blades. I want to bite down so bad. Bury them into something soft and fleshy and full of blood.” You breathed deeply, inhaling the man’s scent. I marveled at your ability to speak exactly to his desires—incidentally, to my own as well.
“I bet you taste good, Father.” Your eyes flared with the anticipation of a bloodmeal. You bit down on your plump lower lip to draw blood, then sucked it back into your mouth. I found myself biting the inside of my cheek just to release some of my own… spiritual angst.
The man jutted out his chin and hooked a finger over the top of his stiff clerical collar in an attempt to loosen it while you gripped his bicep and gently kneaded. His flesh folded between your fingers as you increased his circulation to get the blood flowing. Thin blue veins branched like tributaries beneath his pale, doughy skin.
“Do you believe in redemption through the blood, Father?”
It was the prayer I said before I fed, a relic from my time on the battlefield where I put the mortally wounded out of their misery and first got my reputation as a reaper, long before it was my god-given duty.
“He died for our sins,” the priest said automatically.
“And through his blood we are forgiven?”
The priest nodded, his lips quivering and his throat taut from straining toward you.
“Father, may I taste you?”
The man didn’t stand a chance. He nodded slowly as you dropped your head and buried your teeth into the meat of his bicep. It didn’t matter that you no longer held his gaze; he fell back against the pew and gasped in rhapsody. I approached swiftly and turned my full attention to you.
“Slowly, Vincent,” I reminded, petting your head. I wished that I could sustain you on my blood alone. I didn’t like seeing your mouth on another man, even for feeding. “Remember to breathe.”
You closed your eyes and groaned with satisfaction as the priest’s pupils dilated. The two of you moved in a syncopated rhythm, your mouth making such obscene noises that my thoughts drifted to other wanton pursuits. Before the man lost color, I tightened my hold on your hair and gently pulled you off, tilting back your head like peeling the lid off a can. Your half-mast eyes found mine, still trapped in a fog of bloodlust. Your mouth, smeared with blood, tempted me, and I wanted nothing more than to tenderly lick you clean. Instead, I tidied your face with a handkerchief while you gazed blissfully up at me, a small smile of satisfaction curving your pretty lips.
The priest’s chest heaved. Droplets of perspiration had collected at his temple. He glanced between the two of us with an expression of utter contentment while I checked his pulse—still racing. You then recited a prayer of contrition in Latin and concluded it with a heartfelt, “Amen.”
“I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Go in peace,” the priest said, still breathless.
You glanced toward the heavens and turned your palms upward in a beatific gesture. “Thanks be to God.”
Outside the church in the dry desert air, which was thankfully several degrees cooler than daytime temperatures, I waited to see if remorse might set in. It didn’t take very long at all.
“If Papa ever found out I seduced a priest…”
“We don’t have to tell him. In fact, I’d prefer if you didn’t.” I really didn’t want to imagine that confrontation.
I held the car door open and ushered you inside. Once seated behind the wheel, I glanced over at you. The light from the church sign bathed your flushed face in a soft, bluish glow.
“That was impressive,” I said in awe of your seduction. My cock was still hard underneath my trousers.
You smiled ruefully. “I felt a little bad at first, but the priest was banging a hooker, so…” You shook your head. “It’s crazy because Val and I used to talk all the time about seducing a priest. There was one at St. Kevin’s who was young and pretty hot… Isn’t it strange when your fantasies become reality?”
