between my legs, finger-fucking my horny cunt into another frenzy, but soothing it at the same time for not having another pussy to rub against.'
'If somebody doesn't help me soon, I'm afraid I'd end up with short hair and a tattoo, with a leather jacket, and wearing bus-driver's pants and driving a taxi. And now, if all this isn't enough, effeminate men are starting to be attracted to me. A man wearing a dress leaped out at me from the corridor yesterday and said he'd been watching me in my apartment at night from across the way with high-power binoculars. He begged me to go out with him. He says he knows what I want. How could he? I'm not even sure myself. What should I do about this man? He's waiting for an answer. T.P. California.'
'Do not fear,' I had answered. 'Christ is looking over your shoulder. If you continue to look back at your past sins, you will finally see Him, waiting for you to accept Him. Then your sins will be washed away and you can start afresh.'
'Look upon the invitation from the man in the dress as an opportunity. Get him to acknowledge that neither of you are perfect, and then persuade him that you can both do something better by attending the church of your choice. Get to know the Lord together, feeling His grace wash the sins from your bodies. Then, after you're saved, it may very well turn out that this man is essentially decent, and might make a good provider for you and any family you might care to raise together.'
'God bless you, child.'
'Yours in Christ, Madame Fellatio.'
There was no doubt about it, I was on the right track, but I was also like the girl who had written the letter. I wanted to do the right thing, but I was still too shaky to be on my own. I needed guidance. Divine guidance.
Without stopping to get my coat, I dashed from my office, stumbling down the stairs because I was too impatient to wait for an elevator. In the street I called for a taxi and directed the driver to take me across town to the neighborhood where I was raised, and the Catholic church I used to go to.
'Can I help you, ma'am?' a priest with a beard obscuring his face asked me when I burst into the rectory, panting in anticipation.
'Is Father Coughlin here?' I said, asking for the priest to whom I had given a thousand and maybe more confessions during my youth.
The expression on the priest's face seemed to change, although I couldn't really be sure because of his beard. He remained silent.
'Is Father Coughlin… is he still here?' I asked shrilly, sensing something was wrong.
'I'm sorry,' the bearded priest said, looking sadly downward. 'He passed away a year ago. We all loved him so.'
'Oh,' I said sadly, sounding like a balloon someone had let the air out of in my disappointment.
'But life must go on,' the bearded priest said.
'I'm surprised to hear you say that, Father,' I remarked. 'That sounds more like something a Protestant would say.'
'Well, I mean it goes on before we reach the Kingdom of Heaven, and we must do our best during our short stay on earth in order to prove our worthiness to enter the Lord's Kingdom.'
'Oh, right, check,' I said, relieved that he wasn't one of those young, modern priests, despite his shaggy beard, who wants to turn the Church into a haven for homosexuals and the like.
'Have a seat,' he offered. 'I certainly can't bring the experience to your problem that Father Coughlin could have, but I'll do my best. And, besides, we have the same boss, if you, heh, heh, know what I mean.'
Hmmm, he laughed just like Shark, but I put it out of my mind.
'My name is Father Marmelstein, and before you raise your eyebrows too high, I had a Jewish father but a Cuban mother, who returned to her faith and became a devout Catholic after my father died when I was very young,' he explained rapidly. 'Now what is the problem you wish to share with me?'
Suddenly it occurred to me that I had never actually told Father Marmelstein that I had a problem. For all he knew, I was looking for the bathroom when I came into the rectory. It must have been something about my pinched face and my searchingly desperate eyes that tipped him off. But, anyway, he hit it right on the head, and I abruptly became putty in his hands.
All my resistance to confiding in a stranger vanishing in the face of his masculine authority, I blurted, 'It's like this, Father Marmelstein…' and proceeded to rapidly tell him the story of my predicament, trying to go easy on the details of the magazine I worked for.
However, Father Marmelstein, who insisted I call him Rick, seemed to sense that Honey Pot was all about, and teasingly insisted, 'Tell me more about this magazine you work for. These letters you mentioned wouldn't be about sex, would they?'
'Yes,' I admitted, my head downcast, afraid that he would take offense and refuse to advise me.
'Really?' he said with obvious interest. 'Tell me. In these letters do they use the vernacular?'
'What do you mean?' I asked.
'You know, those words for the private parts of the body. Four-letter words they call them. Cunt for the place between the woman's legs, and cock for what a man has. You know.'
I nodded my head. 'I know, and I must confess, Father, that the letters contain such words.'
'And your answers,' he said. 'Do you use these words in your answers? Prick, pussy, tits, ass, and the like. Fuck, blow.'
Silently, I nodded my head in abject confession, as he continued to recite a litany of filthy terms, all of which I had shamefacedly used at one time or another.
'Screw, twat, box, snatch, dick,' he droned, filling the air with one filthy term after another until the room echoed with them and sounded like a children's chorus singing some obscene round.
Finally he ran out of words and started to repeat himself, coming back over and over again to cock, cunt and fuck, eventually slipping into a canticle of those words only, endlessly chanting them as though he were reciting some obscene mass. Something told me to leave the rectory, but when I tried to move, I found myself nailed to my chair, my pelvis involuntarily thrusting towards the seat, my cunt directing my body to stay put. I pressed my thighs together and felt them squish as I realized for the first time that my pussy was absolutely frothing with a thick lather of cunt-juice. I instinctively put my hand on my lap to feel the radiating warmth of my steaming cunt, and closed my eyes and took a deep breath to be able to endure the torment between my legs.
I noticed Father Marmelstein's eyes dart to where my hand rested over my crotch, and wondered if he knew what I was going through. When he finally stopped looking at my cuntmound, he rose from his chair and walked towards me, still droning his arousing chant, 'Cock, cunt, fuck, cock, cunt, fuck…'
The closer he got to me the more I noticed the shocking bulge distending his cheap, shiny, black priest's trousers. I was alarmed, sure that I was seeing things, for I knew it was against the laws of man and God for a priest to have a hard-on. But then my overwhelming curiosity got the best of me, and I could not resist reaching out and touching to see if the bulge was real or just some cruel figment of my imagination.
My God, it was real! A thick, swollen cock pulsing throbbingly just under the threadbare fabric of his pants. I winced in shame as I uncontrollably conjured a mental image of his glisteningly erect prick thrusting pinkly out of his trousers, contrasting shockingly with his shiny black priest's clothing.
'Cock, cunt, fuck, cock, cunt, fuck,' he continued to say, changing the drone into a seductive croon as he seemed to be telling me something, almost as though God were speaking through his lips. At least that's what I told myself I wanted it to be as I obeyed the implicit command that seemed to be filling the room and undid Father Marmelstein's zipper.
His cock burst free instantly, making me wonder if a priest's vow of poverty meant he couldn't afford underwear. It was a magnificent dick, long and swooping, with an exceptionally purple, heart-shaped head and a throbbing cum-tube that ran down the underside of the shaft like a pipeline. Immediately I thought of the old joke, 'As worthless as tits on a nun,' and wondered about this ten-inch priest-cock.
There was only one way to find out. I threw my mouth around his twitching prick, slurping my lips hungrily over it as I pushed its knotty cock-head all the way into my constricting throat while I tasted its salty shaft with my lapping tongue. The instant I swallowed his prick, Father Marmelstein began bucking his hips, rhythmically undulating his pelvis towards my face as he expertly fucked my mouth, showing that he knew exactly what to do with his heavy-duty dick.
Down below I could feel my cunt foaming with hot desire, pleading to be stimulated and not be neglected for
