PowerGames
02-12-2006, 10:17 PM
Father McKenna read the newspaper story of Rev. Spillwell with deep interest and reflection. The local minister was arrested in Madam Pearl’s brothel. He was discovered naked with three ‘professional women’, all of whom were equipped with riding boots, crops and bridles. The story hinted at Spillwell’s regular attendance at such sessions and described various equipment and tactics advertised on the door of the brothel’s “Jockey” room. Father McKenna experienced a stirring in his trousers as he read on and envisioned the possibilities. Soon his right hand slipped under the table and through the black material he pinched and manipulated the foreskin of his uncircumcised cock, allowing the engorged head to slip back and forth between his exploring fingers.
He knew and had often lunched with the Rev. Spillwell. This helped the good father to create images more graphic than usual. And as he devoured the article he increased the tempo applied to his stiff cock. Towards the end of the article a tearful Spillwell proclaimed to the reporter. “It is so difficult to be an arbiter of public morality. One is forced to condemn the lewd and lustful behavior of others: to set oneself up as exemplary, a paragons of virtue. Meanwhile, the temptation grows in proportion to the condemnation and one finds oneself thinking of little else. That is my only defense. I am so sorry.”
Father McKenna nodded as he read the apology. “So true,” he whispered, “So very, very true.” He closed his eyes and remembered thundering sermons delivered on the disgusting prevalence of pornography on Charles St. All the while, however, he ogled the women’s legs as they sat in wrapped attention. He railed on yet imagined, blowjobs, anal intercourse, congregational orgies, with himself as the sexual director: demanding filthier, more unnatural acts - an insatiable sexual demon. Father McKenna then shot jets of semen into his underwear, thrashing about on his kitchen chair. He next went upstairs into the bathroom and washed out his underwear. He could not have Mrs. Thompson launder them and find the unmistakable stains.
The sexual release did little to quiet Father’s mind. He felt somehow elated that another member of the clergy experienced the same urges as he. For two days he allowed his imaginings to stream freely through his mind. He pictured the women he counseled as naked, performing disgusting acts for him. As he watched their delicate cool hands flit about, he pictured them locked on his virgin cock, fisting him to a climax. As he watched their rouged lips mouthing words, he envisioned them sucking wantonly on his rampant, spewing dick.
On the third day he found himself rummaging for four VHS tapes he had acquired on his last trip to New York. He had placed disguising labeling on their spines and hidden them deep in the back of his closet. He remembered his shame as he purchased them in a seedy shop from an even seedier proprietor. He felt sure the man knew somehow that he was a priest. He had quickly snatched the four videos off the shelves. In his worst bouts of temptation he would dredge them up and watch them, sitting completely naked before his television. He would wank for hours cumming again and again immersed in their degrading action. From these fims, he learned just how filthy the human animal could become. Whenever he weakened so much as to spend one of these “lost nights” captured in their spell, their lurid images fed his darkest desires for days.
Some dam had burst in Father McKenna’s soul. He was obsessed with filth and was allowing this obsession to have its reign.
It was now Thursday afternoon and in keeping with his routine he trundled off to St. Josaphat’s convent in order to hear confessions. The ranks of the sisterhood had thinned tremendously within the last decade. Instead of a huge motherhouse, the five of them gathered in a suburban home. There was no need for parish funds for these nuns. They all taught at the local school and the five salaries supported them very nicely, even handsomely.
There was no elaborate confessional. Father McKenna merely set up in a spare room upstairs and heard the confessions there. Today sister Dolorosa came into the room and knelt on the rug beside Father’s thigh. She was the youngest of the sisters with hypnotic blue eyes, a heaving bosom and a bottom that; although it was modestly clad, had often caused twinges in Father’s trousers.
In his present state of mind Father half-listened to her list of minor sins but in his imagination she was on her knees performing another function. He imagined sister Dolorosa’s head on the body of Trixie a wife from his lewd videos who sucked hungrily on a “glory hole” cock. But then, through his puerile haze, he heard something that brought him back to the moment.
“Father, I’m afraid I have had some impure thoughts. I have prayed to remove them but they recur at night.” She whispered these words in a barely audible voice. Father McKenna wrestled internally but then surrendered to himself and asked.
“Impure thoughts are one category of sin my child. Do you ever touch yourself as you have these thoughts?”
“Oh Father, I am so ashamed, but my hand did wander down there….. Last night.”
“Down where my child?”
“Do I have to say, Father?”
“Well, in order to absolve you my child, I have to know what you have done.” His cock expanded and throbbed as sister Dolorosa fought for the words.
“Between my legs, Father.” She turned bright red and covered her mouth with her hands.
......CONTINUED.....
He knew and had often lunched with the Rev. Spillwell. This helped the good father to create images more graphic than usual. And as he devoured the article he increased the tempo applied to his stiff cock. Towards the end of the article a tearful Spillwell proclaimed to the reporter. “It is so difficult to be an arbiter of public morality. One is forced to condemn the lewd and lustful behavior of others: to set oneself up as exemplary, a paragons of virtue. Meanwhile, the temptation grows in proportion to the condemnation and one finds oneself thinking of little else. That is my only defense. I am so sorry.”
Father McKenna nodded as he read the apology. “So true,” he whispered, “So very, very true.” He closed his eyes and remembered thundering sermons delivered on the disgusting prevalence of pornography on Charles St. All the while, however, he ogled the women’s legs as they sat in wrapped attention. He railed on yet imagined, blowjobs, anal intercourse, congregational orgies, with himself as the sexual director: demanding filthier, more unnatural acts - an insatiable sexual demon. Father McKenna then shot jets of semen into his underwear, thrashing about on his kitchen chair. He next went upstairs into the bathroom and washed out his underwear. He could not have Mrs. Thompson launder them and find the unmistakable stains.
The sexual release did little to quiet Father’s mind. He felt somehow elated that another member of the clergy experienced the same urges as he. For two days he allowed his imaginings to stream freely through his mind. He pictured the women he counseled as naked, performing disgusting acts for him. As he watched their delicate cool hands flit about, he pictured them locked on his virgin cock, fisting him to a climax. As he watched their rouged lips mouthing words, he envisioned them sucking wantonly on his rampant, spewing dick.
On the third day he found himself rummaging for four VHS tapes he had acquired on his last trip to New York. He had placed disguising labeling on their spines and hidden them deep in the back of his closet. He remembered his shame as he purchased them in a seedy shop from an even seedier proprietor. He felt sure the man knew somehow that he was a priest. He had quickly snatched the four videos off the shelves. In his worst bouts of temptation he would dredge them up and watch them, sitting completely naked before his television. He would wank for hours cumming again and again immersed in their degrading action. From these fims, he learned just how filthy the human animal could become. Whenever he weakened so much as to spend one of these “lost nights” captured in their spell, their lurid images fed his darkest desires for days.
Some dam had burst in Father McKenna’s soul. He was obsessed with filth and was allowing this obsession to have its reign.
It was now Thursday afternoon and in keeping with his routine he trundled off to St. Josaphat’s convent in order to hear confessions. The ranks of the sisterhood had thinned tremendously within the last decade. Instead of a huge motherhouse, the five of them gathered in a suburban home. There was no need for parish funds for these nuns. They all taught at the local school and the five salaries supported them very nicely, even handsomely.
There was no elaborate confessional. Father McKenna merely set up in a spare room upstairs and heard the confessions there. Today sister Dolorosa came into the room and knelt on the rug beside Father’s thigh. She was the youngest of the sisters with hypnotic blue eyes, a heaving bosom and a bottom that; although it was modestly clad, had often caused twinges in Father’s trousers.
In his present state of mind Father half-listened to her list of minor sins but in his imagination she was on her knees performing another function. He imagined sister Dolorosa’s head on the body of Trixie a wife from his lewd videos who sucked hungrily on a “glory hole” cock. But then, through his puerile haze, he heard something that brought him back to the moment.
“Father, I’m afraid I have had some impure thoughts. I have prayed to remove them but they recur at night.” She whispered these words in a barely audible voice. Father McKenna wrestled internally but then surrendered to himself and asked.
“Impure thoughts are one category of sin my child. Do you ever touch yourself as you have these thoughts?”
“Oh Father, I am so ashamed, but my hand did wander down there….. Last night.”
“Down where my child?”
“Do I have to say, Father?”
“Well, in order to absolve you my child, I have to know what you have done.” His cock expanded and throbbed as sister Dolorosa fought for the words.
“Between my legs, Father.” She turned bright red and covered her mouth with her hands.
......CONTINUED.....