Bad Habits: A Dark Anthology - Yolanda Olson Page 0,44
toward the mirror, running my hands down from my slim neck, over my collar bones and down to my full, taut breasts. My skin is white, so translucent I can see my veins. I palm my breasts and pinch my hardened nipples the way Father Thomas likes me to, and I immediately feel heat spread across my cheeks, gathering between my legs. I should take no pleasure in this body, it belongs to God. I should be ashamed of desiring a man of God, for tempting him. But I don’t.
My dark and devious nature brought a good man to his knees. And so, I am on a journey of repentance. I must love God and do what is required of me, use my body honor His glory, the way it was intended.
I dress then lay on my bed, waiting. In a few hours I will be called on to do the Lord’s work. It is what I was chosen for. I place my bible on my chest, close my eyes, and I recite the repentance prayer over and over again until my mouth dries,
“Precious Father in Heaven, please help me to crucify the flesh with its passions and desires and live my life no longer for my lusts but for Your will.”
I rise at five minutes to midnight, opening my door slowly. The hallway is dark, but I know the route by memory. Each step fills me with anticipation as I make my way to the main church hall.
Moonlight streams in through the stained glass windows of the church. It provides a sufficient amount of light for me to make out the long pews that dominate most of the hall. A long aisle runs down the middle of the pews and ends at the stone altar at the front of the church. My skin breaks out in goosebumps from the chill in the air. I inhale the scent of incense.
“Celeste.” His voice sends tremors through my body.
“Father.” I say breathlessly.
I can’t see him, but I know he sees me. Sister Mary Concessa doesn’t know about this. It’s another secret I’ve kept from her. She will not understand. I doubt anyone would. Father Thomas steps out of the shadows, and walks toward the altar below the statue of the divine Holy Mother. His steps are slow and calculated.
The man tied to the altar is lean, his pale skin glistening under the skylight above the altar. My feet ache from the cold, but it won’t be for long. His lips quiver from the cold. He’s naked, and I clench my thighs at the sight of him. He paid Father Thomas a lot of money for this privilege.
“Come,” Father Thomas commands, his voice is husky. I remove my headpiece and strip out of my habit. My long raven hair falls free and kisses my ass. My rosary rests between my breasts. My eyes meet the priest's across the altar. He’s watching, his own atonement for touching me was to vow never to again. He hasn’t, and I’ve suffered in silence at his rejection.
I walk over to the man. I recognize him, his name is Phillip. He’s in his thirties, married with kids. He’s a teacher in a local school. I trace my hands over his skin while Father Thomas says a prayer then pours holy oil on his body. The man gasps when the chilly liquid touches his skin. I climb onto the altar and straddle his thighs.
Phillip's eyes are wide with lust and anticipation. Pretty blue eyes that look ghostly in the moonlight shining down on us. I run my hands down my body, pausing over my breasts, kneading them slowly, throwing my head back as I rock against him. He squirms under me. It’s sinful how alluring the forbidden is. Here, men come to confess their sins, act out their filthiest fantasies, or seek redemption in other ways. There is only one true penance for sin, though, and this man realizes that. I run a hand down his chest and abs, licking my lips when I reach the base of his cock. I wrap my fingers around it and start my slow torture. He closes his eyes, a moan falling from his lips, and when my movements pick up pace, he cries out, straining against his restraints.
“Shh.” I tell him.
“You’re a bad man, aren’t you, Phillip?” I ask. “You’re here to repent. Are you ready for me to help you?” His head bobs up and down.