Her Priest (Divine Domination Book 1) Read online

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You may proceed.” He widened his stance, his cock eye level with her. He’d been ready for this blow job hours ago; his balls ached for release.

  Chapter 4

  Chelsea cupped his balls with one hand, slowly kissing her way up his hot length. Once at the head, she laved her tongue around the top, licking him completely. She slid him incrementally along her tongue until he nudged the back of her throat. Curling her tongue, she cocooned him in the warm moistness.

  Her clit had been throbbing since they left the café, but when she turned and saw him wearing only his priestly collar, she swore she’d orgasm on the spot, her juices pooling along the seam of her pussy. The musky male scent and his hot cock throbbing along her tongue had her teetering on the edge of her own orgasm.

  She leaned backwards, rubbing her thighs quickly, her labia brushing along her erect clit. So close…so close.

  “If you dare to come right now, I swear I’ll give you an enema and then fuck your little asshole for punishment. Do you hear me?”

  She peeped up at him. His face dark, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips thinned.

  Well, fuck! That’ll kill an orgasm.

  “Yes, Father.”

  She pulled his cock back into her mouth, keeping her lips tight around the girth, sucking him deeply, the length of him bumping the back of her throat. She ran her fingernail along his perineum, gently stroking along the sensitive patch of skin.

  Looking up, she reveled in his ecstasy. His head was thrown back, the veins in his neck pulsing, sucking in air through his teeth.

  She loved the power, loved knowing that she could do this to him with her mouth, watching his stoicism crumble with a few strokes of her tongue. She fluttered her tongue along his silky hardness, his cock jerking within her mouth.

  Releasing him slowly, she blew on the wetness, skating her tongue along the bulging vein on the underside of him until she carefully sucked both balls in, lolling them along her tongue while circling and pressing a finger into his anus.

  “Christ!” His body trembled on the gritted words.

  Slipping his balls out one at a time, she cupped them in the palm of her left hand while her right hand gripped his penis firmly. She slipped his cock into her mouth, her lips tight, her fingers matching the rhythm of her mouth pulling him in and out, increasing her pace.

  His legs began to tremble and he thrust deeper down the back of her throat. She gagged, breathing deeply through her nose. He was close…very close.

  She tightened her lips, her cheeks hollowing with her sucking, her fingers matching the movement of her mouth; she slid her finger up to his pucker, pressing against the opening, slipping the tip of her finger in while sucking him tightly, her other hand pulling on the muscled buttocks. She shoved him deeper down her throat.

  “Oh God!” He stiffened, the muscles in his ass tight as a rock, his cock shooting semen down her throat spurt-after-spurt, his balls firm and tight to his body, the wiry hair on his groin tickling her nose.

  Releasing his semi-erect cock from her mouth, she licked it dry and then focused on his balls. She finished by leaving gentle kisses along the length of him before resting back on her haunches. Her lips felt swollen and numb.

  “Christ, every time I think it can’t get better than this and then you surpass the last time yet again.” He sat on the bed, his cock still twitching and pulsing in aftershock.

  “Sir?” She knelt between his legs, looking up at him.

  “Yes.”

  “Can I…I really need to come.”

  He slowly opened his eyes. “Oh no. You know the rules. Only good girls get fucked. You’ve been a very bad girl. After your spanking or after your nap—I’m not sure which yet—then you can be fucked.”

  Her heart dropped. She wasn’t sure she could hold her orgasm back she was so aroused. She pursed her lips, pouting at him.

  “Are you pouting? Do I need you to fetch your hairbrush?”

  “N-no, Sir.”

  He regarded her quietly, making her nervous. Would he actually spank her for pouting?

  He wagged his finger at her. “I’ll let it slide this time.” He nodded his head toward the dresser. “Go get my belt.”

  Chelsea walked to the dresser and picked up the folded, thin black belt. At least it wasn’t the wide brown belt he’d worn to the café. But this one had more of a sting. The leather felt cool in her sweaty palm, the clinking of the tooth on the silver buckle made butterflies in her belly. She walked on wobbly knees toward him, thrusting the evil implement at him.

  He grinned at her, placing the looped leather next to him on the bed. “You’re adorable.”

  “I don’t like the belt.” She shifted on her feet, staring at it. But that wasn’t entirely true. Part of her loved it, loved the thought of the belt. Loved watching him take it off. Loved the clink of the buckle, even if it made her clit and belly jump. She loved the fear, the anticipation…loved the anxiety in some respects.

  But she had so many bad memories of the belt. And when the belt struck her flesh, her body would tremble in reaction to the biting sting of the leather. He knew this. He knew her fear. Maybe she could talk him out of it. Maybe he’d relent.

  But do I want him to relent?

  Squeezing her hand, he shook it a bit, pulling her out of her reverie. “Where’d you go? Talk to me.”

  “I like the thought of the belt. I like to fantasize about it. But I’m afraid of it. I don’t like it.” Her eyes welled with unbidden tears. She shook her head, trying to make them go away.

  “It’s okay. You can cry.” He swiped at a tear with the pad of his thumb. “I know you’re conflicted about this. I love the belt—as you know.” He winked at her.

  “I know.”

  “And I know you do too, but the fear is there. We can’t ignore it—you can’t ignore it—any longer. But, we can’t let your fear win either. I’ll take you through this step-by-step, you’ll be able to overcome. I’m not going to hurt you. You were a little girl when that happened. It was too harsh for you, and it was wrong. They were wrong to do it to you. Such a sensitive girl.” He braced her head with both hands, pulling her head down to kiss her forehead. “My poor girl.”

  “Do we have to do that today?” She looked at the belt, then back at him.

  “Yes. We do. A belt is used on naughty bottoms, and yours was very naughty and needs to be punished. Right?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’m not going to take you too far; just a few. You can trust me. But you must know that when you deserve the belt, you’ll get it—whether you’re afraid of it or not. I’m not going to coddle you or treat you like a victim. Getting over this means victory over the terror and memories. The triumph will mean you fought against the demons and fears from your abuse. I will never hurt you—ever. You need to separate this in your mind, and the only way to do that, my dear, is to face it head on.”

  She swallowed loudly past the lump in her throat, swiping at the tears still falling. She looked at his deep green eyes, the crow’s feet in the corners evidence of how much he smiled at people—his kindness and humor. Knowing down deep he was right, she knew she’d agree to the belt, but she couldn’t help but hesitate. Her clit throbbed incessantly, her belly flipping.

  It felt like she’d loved this man her whole life, and when she thought about it, it’d been over half of her life—whether he was committed to her or to God—her love had endured for the duration. She trusted him implicitly. He’d given her no reason to doubt or fear him.

  Reaching out, she clasped one of his hands in hers, watching his eyebrows furrow in confusion. She loved his hands—soft skin with manicured nails. The hands of a priest. No calluses were present, each nail was neatly trimmed and filed. His nail beds were wide and flat, his fingers long and narrow. Pressing her palm into his, her hand looked dwarfed by the width and length of his. There was no doubt as to why his hand felt like a paddle when she studied it like she was now. But
she knew that a weapon of any kind was only as dangerous as the person wielding it. Even though his hand could do—and had done—some damage to her tender behind, his character and caring kept it from becoming something to fear. This didn’t mean she wasn’t apprehensive—like today—and it didn’t mean she wasn’t left with a dull ache in her buttocks the next day either, but he loved her completely. Her feelings and welfare were of utmost concern to him. He adored her. He had told her of his devotion many, many times.

  These hands caressed her when she was afraid, these hands had brought her to screaming heights of passion, and these fingers he’d swirled within her pussy to make her scream. She could trust these hands. She ran her finger along the lifeline around his thumb—he had a long life laid out on his palm. Going to the other side of his hand—two lines for two loves. She knew she was the second line. The first was the Church. The Church she’d lost him to. But God had given him back to her. She was the second and the last and only line. Two vertical lines from his pinkie for two children. She smiled to herself. She’d love to have his children. Someday.

  She knew this hand well, had felt its love many days—had felt it punish her on many days too. This hand had held a wooden spoon, paddle…and yes, today it would hold the dreaded belt. But she’d begged and pleaded for him to not use it in punishment on her—he’d relented and they only used it for play. He wanted her to get used to it while they were laughing, wanted her to feel the sting and burn of the leather while blindfolded and tied to the bed, wanted her to feel the lash while his fingers brought her off screaming in ecstasy.

  Am I ready? Can I finally submit to a belt punishment?

  She turned his hand over, running her hands along the smooth back, the pad of her forefinger swirling over the smooth nail of his own forefinger. While petting his hand, her eyes skittered over to the belt. Her womb clenched, her hips thrusting.

  Emerson growled deep in his throat Chelsea’s body shivered in response, the hair on her arms prickling and goose flesh rising.

  “Lie over a pillow face down, bad girl. It’s time you learn from my belt.” He used the voice that bridged no disobedience, the voice that made her feet move whether she wanted to or not.

  She clambered up onto the bed, on her hands and knees, pulling her pillow down close to her knees before flopping her hips on the center of it. Her knees trembled and she held on to the rungs on his headboard with both hands, willing herself to be brave, clenching her eyes shut.

  “My God, Chels, you look like you’re preparing for the cat-o-nine tails on the deck of a pirate ship. It’s me, sweets. It will hurt, and you’ll more than likely cry, but I promise you this, you will not be damaged in the least by this.”

  I can trust him.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “From this day forward, you will answer my phone calls, even if you’ve been a bad girl and you’re afraid. You will not ignore me or my calls and texts again. Clear?”

  “Yes. Bless me, Father.” She peeped over her shoulder knowing what his reaction would be before she saw it. His cock bobbed in rhythm with his heartbeat. He loved when she called him that during a punishment.

  But when his arm rose with the thin strap, she buried her face in the bedspread, clenching the headboard with white knuckled fingers. The loud crack of leather meeting her flesh had her shouting more in surprise than actual pain, but the resultant burn grew as the seconds passed and before she could take another breath, he lashed her bottom twice more in the same area.

  “Oh God! That hurt!” She rolled up on her hip, glaring at him angrily, tears welling in her eyes.

  “Why are you on your hip? We’re nowhere near done. Back on your belly. Now.” His lips were thinned and the tic in his jaw was present.

  She quickly lay back down. Not sure she if she could handle this, she pounded her foot on the bed in a bit of retaliation for his short and curt order.

  “It wouldn’t be prudent to throw a temper tantrum, girl. Trust me on this, you won’t like the consequences, but the choice is yours.” He paused, letting his warning sink in.

  She didn’t really want to push him, especially since he had a belt in his hand, so she exhaled, slowly regaining composure.

  “That’s what I thought.” He cleared his throat. “When you’re given an order to come home at a certain time, you’ll obey. If circumstances prevent your compliance, you’ll call or text me immediately. Clear?”

  “Yes, Sir. Bless me, Father.” She held her breath, clenching in anticipation.

  “Nuh-uh. You know better than that. Raise your hips.” He tapped her bottom lightly, admonishing her to comply. “Take a deep breath, girl.”

  It took more concentration than she expected. She hated this and felt angry that he was pushing her to submit to this punishment. He knew she’d be nervous, knew she’d have a difficult time, and he was being…so stern… almost uncaring. The emotions roiled within her and she warred with not being irate.

  Pulling in a shaky breath, she exhaled loudly. It was then that he snapped the leather on her ass several times in quick succession.

  Shouting in pain, she rolled up on her hip again, and this time, reached out to snatch the belt from his hand, her eyebrows furrowed and her emotions out of control. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry, submit, or fight.

  “Bad girl!” He pulled the belt out of reach just in time. “You could have gotten a broken finger! And since when have you decided that you’re in charge of a punishment? You’re never allowed to grab an implement. Ever.”

  “I…it hurt so much…and…I’m sorry. But—”

  “No!” Emerson leaned forward, getting nose-to-nose with her, his eyes a deep, dark blue, his teeth gritted. “You don’t respond this way. You could’ve been hurt. Obviously I’ve been too lenient.” He pulled roughly on her hip, rolling her back over with those same large hands, the ones she loved so much, the ones she had just stroked and kissed. He grabbed both her hands in his one large one, and leaning over her, he whipped her ass in a fast, staccato rhythm.

  “This is part of the problem.” He gave a blow to her backside with each word spoken. “You can’t decide which orders you want to follow. I give the orders. You submit. Period. Am I getting through to you?” He breathed heavily, and it gave her a modicum of satisfaction to know he was at least feeling tired from the exertion of beating her ass.

  She sobbed pitifully into the bedspread, the material wet under her face. Through her cries, she said, “Yes, S-sir!”

  The jingle of the buckle and the swoosh of the strap slicing the air were her only warnings before he began thrashing her again. “You will never reach out to grab an implement again. I decide when a punishment begins and when it ends. Understand?”

  When she didn’t answer through her hiccupping and sobs, he shouted, “Answer me!”

  “Y-yes, Sir.”

  Emerson then dragged the blistering lashes to her thighs, giving her easily half a dozen, she wasn’t exactly sure; she couldn’t count, and didn’t want to count. Her only thought and focus were the excruciating burn in her bottom, her sobs and cries rubbing her throat raw, pleading for his mercy.

  If he hadn’t held her down so tightly on the bed, she’d have crawled off the bed, she had no doubt. As soon as he let go of her body, she grabbed her bottom with both hands, flipping onto her back sobbing.

  “Oh no. You’re not having a pity party.” He grabbed her elbow, pulling her to stand next to the bed before dragging her unceremoniously to the corner. “You asked for every bit of that with your disobedience and foolishness thinking you could stop a spanking.” He pressed her nose into the corner, pulling her hands off her bottom, placing them on the top of her head.

  He whispered in her ear, “You keep those hands there. If I catch you rubbing, you’ll be strapped right where you stand. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The burning pain rolled over her in waves. She visualized the shore—crash, crash, crash. She shifted on her feet, hoping she could
alleviate the pain with movement.”

  “Do I need to remind you how to stand still?”

  Her heart leapt in her throat. “N-no, Sir.”

  “See to it I don’t.” The belt jingled, his feet padded quietly on the wooden floor. She held her breath and swore her bladder spasmed in fear. The buckle clunked on the wooden dresser and she let out her breath in relief.

  The mattress whispered with his weight and she felt his eyes staring at her. Clenching her buttocks momentarily, she forced herself to soften them, willing herself to stand still and calm. Her hiccups jerked her body in a steady, measured rhythm.

  “Do you feel like yourself again?” His soft voice broke into her quiet thoughts.

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Come here, little one.”

  She turned, reveling in the breathtaking view. His black and white collarette was prominently displayed on his golden chest while his cock proudly jutted straight up from his lap. He looked like a god sitting there with his chiseled abdominals, his sculpted arms and legs. She’d never tire of the view—ever.

  He pulled her between his knees, his hands coming around to cup and squeeze her still sore bottom.

  She hissed through her teeth, stiffening, reaching around to pull his hands away, but stopping herself when he quirked an eyebrow at her in warning. Instead, she brought her hands to lightly caress his cock, the silky heat in contrast to her hands that had grown cold in the cool room.

  He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply through his nose. “You need to stop, girl. I won’t last if you’re touching me like this.”

  She giggled quietly. “Is that a problem?”

  He opened his eyes, narrowing them at her, but the sternness not making it to the half smile still present on his lips. “Bad girl.” He took her hands off his penis, holding them at her hips. “We aren’t done here.”

  “Wait. What?” She thought she must have not heard him correctly. How could that be?