Copyright 2021. All characters and religious institutions are fictional. All characters are over 18. Any resemblance to persons living or dead are coincidental. Do not use this as a guide to Providence Rhode Island; I have taken liberties with the geography for the sake of the story. This is a sequel, and while I tried to make it stand on its own as much as possible, it really needs to be read after "Confession, the First" and "Confessional, the Second".
Eugenie was still euphoric from her evening in Father Al's capable, talented hands, and on his altar at the Church of the Morning Star, and tied up under him, but she had school work to do for her courses at the Design Institute and she wanted to explore Providence, Rhode Island more.
As the evening approached, she finished her homework assignments and summarized her lecture notes. She went for a walk along the banks of the Providence River, towards a bunch of little restaurants she hadn't tried yet, and some streets mentioned in H.P Lovecraft's stories. When she got to Wickenden Street, she turned east. Passing some tattoo shops, she thought about getting some piercings that she just couldn't get back home in Ohio. That is to say, she could, but everyone gossiped so much that she would have ruined her "good, church-going girl" reputation, and unlike her gift for giving fellatio, she couldn't intimidate anyone into keeping it to themselves. Here though, no one really cared and it wasn't worth talking about.
Eventually, she found a sandwich place that looked interesting, and ate a bit. While she was eating, a few of her classmates sat with her and they gossiped a bit about other students and faculty at the Design Institute. Eugenie got that fluttery feeling deep between her labia spreading up through her core, knowing that she had done things the night before that they wouldn't believe.
As they ate and talked, an older man came in. Tall, lean, wearing old fashioned clothes, but clean and well mended, with long-ish grey hair, and a full grey beard. Some of her classmates waved, and the old man nodded back. For just a moment, they locked eyes, and she felt herself melt between her thighs.
"Who's that?" Eugenie asked.
"He says to call him Tom, and he lives in sort of a run down place by the river, but he was a sailor and tells the coolest stories! He's got some awesome old stone figures in his yard too. And he's been to all these other countries and islands; Africa, South America, the Pacific Islands. He is a little strange though. Someone said he has all these little bottles with a weight or something on a string in them, and he talks to them."
Eugenie looked at Tom. It was hard to tell how old he was. His face was deeply lined, leathery, but he moved like an athlete, and his posture was impeccable. She found herself idly wondering what sex with him would be like. He had a calm and strong face. Despite his age, he moved like he could pick her up and manhandle her in the best possible way. She could definitely look up at that face when she was moaning and cumming. At the same time, she knew she couldn't say anything to her friends, they wouldn't get her thing for older, powerful men.
Glancing at a clock, Eugenie realized she needed to get home and call it a night. She made her excuses to the others, then she headed back to her apartment on Williams Street, about four blocks north, and a ways west. It was so cool that she lived on a street mentioned in Lovecraft's "Call of Cthulhu".
As she was walking, she got the feeling she was being watched or followed. She couldn't see anyone, but something was making the hair on the back of her neck go up. It was weird, because ever since she discovered the Church of the Morning Star, she had felt watched on and off, but that was always benign, like someone was watching her suck off Father Al out of curiosity or engaged in a bit of voyeurism while she was tied to his altar and he fucked her. This was more like someone was stalking her. She wrote it off to nerves, but couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right, and that someone was following her.
When Eugenie got home, it was after dark, but still early in the evening. All the walking and tasty dinner took their toll. She was caught up on her school work now, so she decided to call it an early night. She put on an oversized tee-shirt, and made herself comfortable under the covers. She opened one of her Lovecraft paperbacks, and started reading "The Strange High House in the Mists". Lovecraft's archaic prose helped her unwind, and her mind drifted to mental images of characters from the story touching her and unseen and unnameable things exploring her helpless body. As she read, the feelings between her thighs and her imagination became more interesting than the book.
She held the book with one hand, slipped her other hand under the covers, and began massaging her mound as she read. Her fingers pressed against her pearl through the thin fabric of her thong as she imagined nameless horrors touching her breasts and ass. Setting her book down for a moment she wiggled her underwear off, then found her place again. Her pussy began to warm up and she slid a finger tip down the split. Her hand came away wet, so she brought some of her honey up to her clit, and began to stroke her sensitive little bead.
