Warning: This story uses a religious setting and rituals some may find offensive.
Angela sighed as she slipped a bookmark between pages then placed the trashy paperback onto her nightstand. While she wasn't one for flights of fancy and nonstop sex, there was something appealing about the story she was reading involving a girl being seduced by an incubus. One of her friends had given it to her as a gag gift for her eighteenth birthday and she had initially opened it to get a sense of just how bad it was. But after only a few pages, she was engrossed in the story because the author seemed to have been writing about her.
Like the heroine, Angela was an eighteen year-old who was proud of still being a virgin. Five feet six inches tall, she was a petite waif of a girl that all the guys at school had their eyes on. While she had dated a number of them, she had never and would never put out for any of them because it was obvious sex was all they wanted. Despite holding onto her virginity, she wasn't opposed to premarital sex or even casual sex. She just wanted her first time to be with a guy who actually cared about her and not just what he could do to her.
After making a final trip to the bathroom and kissing her parents goodnight, Angela returned to her room and locked her door. Laying on top of the covers, she closed her eyes and brought to mind her incubus. While the description of the one in the book was attractive enough, he didn't do it for her.
Her demon lover was tall, six feet four inches to be exact. His shoulder length black hair was casually tucked behind his ears and always looked sexily disheveled. Beneath it, he had an angular face that contained bright blue eyes, a narrow nose and not too thin lips. Unlike the man he was modeled after, here was short stubble along his sharp jaw line and square chin that helped make him look laid back and relaxed. Under the cassock she usually saw him in, she imagined a tanned torso which was broad and tapered to a narrow waist where a well-defined Apollo's belt and a muscular ass held up the skimpy fashion briefs she was sure he didn't wear but wouldn't mind seeing him in.
With one hand moving back and forth between her breasts under her shirt and the other inside her shorts teasing her slit and clit, Angela imagined the face of her priest, Father Borromeo, making love to her as the incubus in the book had done to its victim. He would tease her, drawing out her pleasure and feeding on her growing sexual energy. A nip of sharp teeth would bring just enough pain to dampen her arousal only to be followed by a lick that would cause her toes to curl. The real priest might have been celibate, but she was sure if he ever had the opportunity to be with a woman, he would be as fantastic and attentive of a lover as her incubus.
As she found the right rhythm and pressure on her firm clit, she could almost feel his strong, broad hands with their long nails kneading her breasts and the brush of his soft hair and horns against her legs as his mouth brought pleasure to her nether regions. Suppressing a squeal, she allowed her arousal to peak and rode the wave, allowing it to carry her to sleep.
--
Angela watched Father Borromeo step onto the altar and take his place at the pulpit. Even from the pew halfway back in the large church, she could see his blue eyes twinkle in the sunlight that filtered through the stained glass windows. His deep voice sounded less foreign as it began to recite the Latin text of the mass, yet it still filled her with the warmth of arousal because the religious words couldn't hide the sultry nature of his Italian tongue. And as that tongue peeked out occasionally to moisten his thin, red lips, she wondered what it would feel like on her, if it would feel as she had imagined so many times.
Even as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat as her arousal grew stronger, she knew that she should not be having such thoughts about the man. Not only was he easily in his early thirties making him much too old for her inexperienced eighteen years, he was a priest, a man who would counsel her rather than fulfill the desire she felt. And seated in church next to family and friends as he performed mass was definitely not the time to entertain such fantasies.
When communion began, she chastised herself for the impure, inappropriate thoughts she'd had. As she did, his eyes seemed to fix on her as she rose to join the procession. Their eyes met and it seemed to her that she could see in his gaze that he knew her thoughts. Under his scrutiny, she had no choice but to look away and blush with her shame. As she drew closer, each time she looked up, he was watching her intently and she feared he would call her out for needing confession before receiving the sacrament. When it was her turn, she became worried as he withheld the wafer and stared at her.
Time seemed to stop before he spoke.
"Kneel."
Though she was confused, Angela obeyed the order and dropped to her knees.
"Close your eyes and open your mouth."
Angela stared in confusion at the priest for a moment before complying. Almost immediately after opening her mouth, she felt something firm but spongy press against her teeth and force her mouth wider. As it moved deeper into her mouth, she soon learned it was only the leading edge of something much harder. Out of curiosity, she ran her tongue over the object, learning that it had a mostly cylindrical shape. The more pliable forward section was slightly larger in circumference than the firmer portion and seemed to be cleaved in two by a deep slit in the pointed yet blunt tip. As soon as the leading edge pressed against the back of her mouth, it reversed motion, pulling back slightly before pushing forward again.
Upon hearing a soft sigh come from the man above, she opened her eyes hoping to not disrupt whatever ritual he was engaged in. She choked on a gasp as she saw Father Borromeo standing in front of her naked and thrusting his very large, very hard penis into her mouth. She tried to pull back but he placed one of his broad hands on her head to hold her in place.
"I was willing to ignore you, to let someone else have you first," Father Borromeo said effortlessly as he ignored her increased struggles. "But your calls became so desperate and needy that I could longer do that."
She blinked hearing that his voice was no longer the melodic, baritone that she knew. Instead, it was a gnashing, rending cacophony of sound full of harsh noises that resembled no human or earthly animal language of which she was aware. Despite that, she understood every word of what he said without knowing how. Needing to escape whatever was happening, she redoubled her futile struggling against him.