Her Priest (Divine Domination Book 1) Read online

  With a small, timid voice, she said, “I didn’t, Emerson. I’m sorry.”

  He still wasn’t sure about her motives, but with the punishment she’d received earlier, he didn’t really have the heart to give her any more today. Deciding to relent on that punishment seemed to be in their best interests.

  “I’ll believe you this time, but I’d be careful about testing me any time in the future.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Her throat visibly worked with her swallow.

  He grabbed his crop, rising from the chair, walking toward the end of the bed. “Let’s spank this hot little cunt now.” The small square of black leather tapped on her widely spread pussy. He slapped it harder on her mound and lips, taking care to lightly smack the sensitive inner furls and clit. He lifted the rod, slapping the inside of her thighs much harder, leaving a red splotch in its wake.

  “Ow!” Her knees moved trying to close in protection, the bar keeping her open to his ministrations. He loved the sound of the crop on her soft skin, continuing to slap her thighs until the inside of each was flushed pink.

  “Is it burning a little, bad girl?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Moving the leather down, he slapped at her smooth, clean shaven mound, the meaty flesh there turning a rosy color as well. He lightly flicked her clit, keeping a steady rhythm, keeping it tilted to flick just a bit of the hood, letting the vibration of the leather kiss the bundle of nerves, spurring her arousal.

  And it worked…

  Her back started squirming, her eyes rolling, and she growled and keened with her frustration. He continued the pace, watching her juices spill in a steady, sticky stream from her opening to the sheets below, his own cock dripping with need.

  He tossed the crop onto the floor, situating himself between her knees, watching the wild look in her eyes, her teeth gritted. She was more than ready.

  He slid his cock through her slit, dipping only the head into her sheath, the heat of her flesh, making him suck air through his teeth. Christ!

  Pulling his penis out, he stroked it, pre-come beading at the head. Swiping his finger through it, he brought the drop to her lips.

  She greedily wrapped her lips around it, swirling her tongue on the tip, just as she did his cock, and then, hollowing her lips, she sucked tightly. He swore he was going to blow his load onto her.

  Wrenching his finger from her mouth, he squeezed himself tightly—painfully so—tamping down his release, wanting to play a bit longer than his penis did. He hovered over her body, running himself through her slit, bumping with her clit, teasing her, nipping on her lips, suckling on a breast while his cock dipped in and out of her channel, but not filling her in the least.

  “Oh God! I’m sorry, Emerson. Please! I…I just can’t…” And her eyes filled with tears. He’d taken her beyond her frustration and sweet, sweet submission and remorse had taken its place. She was ready.

  He quickly undid the cuffs and spreader bar, freeing her completely. “Are you ready, girl?”

  “Yes. Bless me, Father.”

  Forgive me…I love when she says that.

  His balls tingled; they were beyond ready to release his semen. He lay over her, pushing her legs up so they were over his shoulders, and he pounded into her, filling her with hard push.

  She exhaled loudly, gasping. Her hands reached around to grab his back, digging her nails into him.

  The pinprick of pain incited him to pound her faster and harder. His buttocks tightened, and he growled with each harsh thrust through gritted teeth. He’d be coming faster than even he had anticipated.

  She clamped onto his cock, the walls battering him, milking him. Her thighs tightened around his neck and she screeched her hips, rising while her pussy held him in a vice-like grip.

  With a loud groan and growl, he pistoned into her, shooting spurt after spurt of his come into her until he was fully spent and sated. He collapsed on top of her, his nose in her sweaty neck, the veil and smell of her hair cocooning him.

  Her hips thrust and jerked spasmodically with each aftershock, her pussy clamping him painfully until his semi-erect cock slipped out of her. She gasped at the loss.

  They lay in each other’s arms breathing heavily, lost in their own dreamy, sex-hazed state.

  “My legs.”

  It was a plea for him to get off of her. He slowly rolled off, flopping onto his back, unsure he could even move again. “You okay, Chels?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  He pulled her to cuddle with him, tucking her into his chest, lightly stroking her shoulders and back, silently reveling in the peace.

  “I’m sorry about what I did. I won’t do it again, Emerson.” She picked her head up to make eye contact with him.

  “I hope not.” He kissed her nose. “In case you haven’t noticed, the punishments get worse every time. I’m planning the next discipline session right now.” He peeped an eye open to look at her. “You won’t like it—trust me.”

  “I won’t do it again. I didn’t like this one.”

  “That was the goal.” He smiled at her, tucking her back into his chest.

  When his woman orgasmed like that—damn straight he was selfish. He wouldn’t share them with anyone—or anything—else. He wanted to watch every single one and be the one who made them happen. Fuck, she’d learn one way or another to obey this rule.

  “When is your lease up for your apartment?” He hoped his voice stayed casual.

  She jerked her head up, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. “It expires in a couple months. Why?”

  He lazily ran his fingertips over her shoulder, brushing her hair back absent-mindedly. “I was thinking that…maybe we should live together, one step closer to making us legitimate, you know…official.”

  She blinked several times. “Are you ready for that?”

  “Aren’t you?” He quickly shot back with just as much surprise in his voice as she’d used with him.

  She sighed, nodding her head with a faint smile threatening the corners of her mouth. “I think I’ve always been ready for that with you.”

  His heart leapt in his chest, not quite understanding why he thought there’d be a possibility of her rejecting the proposition, but still relieved and elated at her acceptance.

  “Then it’s sealed. We’ll start packing up boxes and moving you into our apartment.” He couldn’t hold back the giddy feeling that she’d be at his place all the time now. One step at a time.

  Chapter 8

  Chelsea had left for work agreeing to come back to his place when she finished at her reporting job at the local newspaper. They’d start their daily routines, going back to her apartment this week to inform the rental office that she wouldn’t be renewing her lease, and dragging several boxes of her things, as they’d do for the next couple months until they completed the task.

  Having cleaned the counters and thrown some dinner into the Crockpot, he finished perusing the job sites, looking for any teaching job out there. Although he’d been a priest, his formal education before the seminary had been education; having his degree in that had made running the Catholic school easier, and now, becoming a layperson again, the degree would once again become a blessing. In Amsterdam, they were always looking for English speaking Americans who would be willing to teach English to their country’s students.

  His parents had graciously given him a bit of a nest egg to help with his transition from the priesthood to laity, and to living in Europe and finding a job. And, as he pointed out to his parents, according to Canon Law, he is still a priest. Although he’d been given permission to leave and become a layman, his ordination as priest still stood—he’d be able to give communion and hear confessions in the event that someone was dying, but unable to actually do so in a confessional or perform a mass.

  However, the one thing—the only thing he really wanted at this point—the Catholic Church forbade. He couldn’t marry. The order of celibacy is one that cannot be revoked. If he wanted to marry, he’d need to be given permission by the Pope himself, or walk away from the Church.

  Once again, he’d been given the option of choosing. Although the possibility of the Pope giving him permission to marry was slim, he would be sending a letter to him this week. If the Pope were to answer no, Emerson had decided that he’d find a justice of the peace and they’d marry outside of the Church.

  It’d been a difficult decision to come to, and not one he relished, but he knew that God had brought them back together and he’d serve his Lord for the rest of his life, doing the work he’d called him to. But he’d do it with a loving, submissive wife by his side—with or without the Catholic Church’s blessing.

  He sighed aloud, walking to get himself a cup of coffee from his brewing machine. Chelsea had married outside of Catholicism and knew she didn’t have a preference. But Emerson’s parents would care, so for them, it was worth sticking his neck out and requesting permission. At least being able to say he tried.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone to check the time. It would be seven-thirty in the morning in Philly. Father McKenna would be back from mass at six in the morning for the dwindling, faithful elderly in their neighborhood. Emerson smiled to himself, staring down at the always pleasant and cheerful Father McKenna’s profile picture displayed on his screen. There were many aspects of the priesthood that he missed…and Bill McKenna was one of them.

  “Saint Theodore’s, Father McKenna speaking. How may I help you?” His deep, quiet voice, as always, comforted the listener.

  “Hey, Bill, it’s Emerson. Eating breakfast I assume?”

  “Em, how are you? I miss you, son. Yes, you know my schedule well. I’m eating eggs Benedict by our faithful Nancy. Hold on.”

  Bill shouted away from the phone. “Na
ncy! You’ll never guess who’s having breakfast with us! It’s Father Em. Yes, I will.”

  There was some fumbling with the phone and then his laughing voice filled the air space. “Nancy says hello. We miss you here; it’s so quiet these days.”

  The sadness that crept into the conversation was palpable. Emerson cleared his throat, swallowing past a lump. “Aren’t they filling my position? I mean, shit, you need help; that parish is just too big for one person.” He kept out the part that Bill was just too old for that much responsibility; it would have been too stressful for someone his age.

  “Well, you know how politics go. Kearney says they will, keeps hinting that he wants favors before he can even look for someone, and then dawdles, not answering my emails or phone calls until I drop a hint of a photo opportunity. It galls me to cave to his tactics, but it looks like I’ll have no choice.”

  Emerson gritted his teeth, his anger rising. Damn Bishop Kearney! A growl emanated from his throat unbidden. “That damn man. Yes, that’s just what you do, Bill. The May crowning should be coming soon, right?”

  “Why, yes! It’s in a week.” The surprise was obvious with his words.

  Emerson plotted with his old friend. “Then this is what you’ll do. Call his press agent—pisses me off every time I say it—anyway—call his press agent and say that you’d love for Bishop Kearney to be present for the May crowning. Give him a date, call the local news telling them that Bishop Kearney will be present and that you’d like press coverage. You know our local station loves that.”

  Bill chuckled, deep and low. “You got that right, boy. I’ll do that.”

  “And when Kearney agrees, which you know he will, you say you aren’t sure—that maybe you’ll call the press to cancel because you just don’t have time for such affairs without two priests in your rectory again.”

  “See, this is why I need you here; you’re so good at this, Emerson.”

  “You can do this, Bill. You know how. You’ve dealt with him for years. Just push that you may cancel when he calls back agreeing. He’ll throw a priest at you quickly.” Emerson swore if Kearney didn’t, he’d take the next flight to Philadelphia and go to that office personally.

  “I hope so. I’m not as young as when you started. My age is catching up with me. I just find myself tiring more easily and I’m just not able to do what I used to.” Bill cleared his throat. “Speaking of which, how is that sweet woman of yours? Are you two happy? Having fun I hope?” He outright laughed after asking the last question.

  The infectiousness of his mirth made Emerson smile as he replied, “Yes, Bill, we’re having fun…and we’re happy. I’m going to write my letter to the Pope today asking for permission to marry her.”

  “Oh, my boy.” Father McKenna sighed loudly. “You know that will be an exercise in futility, right? No Pope has ever given permission for a priest to marry.”

  “I know. But there have been married priests that they’ve taken into the priesthood and Episcopalians at that, so I’m going to push that argument.”

  “You can try.”

  “And I’m going to point to the statistic that shows that over twenty-five thousand priests have left the priesthood and married outside the Catholic Church, and as of today, there are only forty thousand priests in total in America. The figures are glaring and in their face, Bill. If they’re losing this many priests and then turning around and taking in married priests from other denominations, they need to change their thinking. It’s beyond time, and in a dwindling arena, it’s downright foolish.”

  “I agree with you, Em. I just don’t want to see you disappointed if it doesn’t go in your favor.”

  He loved that about Father McKenna. His compassion ran deep and he did his best to help his sheep avoid pain. “I won’t. I’ve decided that the answer will be no, hoping I’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  “That’s a boy.”

  Emerson needed to change the topic, asking another hard question. “Before we end this conversation, how is it going with the school and Bishop Kearney?”

  “He’s still looking for us to line his pockets with the cemetery fund. I just…I can’t do it, Emerson. I know we need the school, and I know the families need their children to be educated outside of the public education system, but I’m not going to succumb to his bribes.” His friend sounded defeated. Fighting these battles alone couldn’t be easy, and it added to the guilt Emerson felt when he lay in bed at night.

  “I know. When the press comes around, make sure you loudly state to the cameras that you’re so excited that the Bishop has agreed to think about the renovations for the poor Catholics of our city and that his heart for the poverty stricken will be a legacy for the Bishop.”

  “Emerson! Wouldn’t that be lying?”

  He laughed at the shock in McKenna’s voice. “No, my friend. It’s announcing to the city of Philadelphia and the press that you’re hopeful about the renovations. It’s proclaiming before all who are listening of the goodness of the Bishop and his willingness to help the poor with a new school they’ve been clamoring about. He’ll take to the accolades. Trust me on this one.”

  “I guess you’re right. He does love when the press and the city fall in love with him.”

  “I know I’m right. You aren’t lying; you’re commending him, and twisting his arm—just a bit.” Emerson laughed. God, it made him want to fly out for the May crowning. “You know, Bill, make sure you ask the new station to post the video to YouTube and ask for it in front of the Bishop too. Besides, I want to see it. I wish I could be there to see his face myself, but this will be a close second. Now, don’t forget.”

  “Oh, I won’t. Well, I’d better get on with my breakfast and my busy day. Again, thank you, Emerson. The things you’ve said will help immensely. Until we talk again, take care. And say hello to Chelsea for me. I miss you more than you know.”

  “I miss you too, my friend, and I’ll tell Chelsea you said hello. Don’t forget about YouTube. I can hardly wait to see this. Call me with any questions, and definitely call me after the May crowning. Bye, Bill.”

  “I won’t forget.” He laughed jovially. “I’ll talk to you in a couple weeks. Bye, Em.”

  Emerson tapped the red phone icon, ending his call, slipping it back into the pocket of his sweatpants. That damned Bishop was one of the many things he did not miss in the Church. So many were into politics and money that it made functioning impossible. But then there were people like Father McKenna and other great priests and nuns working hard and doing what was right, fighting against the corruption.

  Leaning forward, Emerson pulled up a blank document, deciding that he’d write his letter to the Pope now while it was fresh on his mind and he was riled up enough to remember his arguments clearly.

  His phone vibrated playing “Versace” by Bruno Mars, meaning it was Chelsea.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I wanted to call because a few of the girls at work want to catch a bite to eat after work and I’d like to go with them. Is that okay?”

  He smiled to himself, she was asking his permission. He loved her submission. His cock stirred in his pants, lengthening. “Sure, you can go. I made some dinner, but it’ll keep until tomorrow. You have fun, and behave.”

  “I will, Sir.” She made a sound in her throat; one of her friends must have been listening.

  Good girl.

  “I want you home before nine, girl. It’ll give us some time to talk, and I may have a few tasks for you to complete before bedtime.” He shifted in his chair, running his hand along the length of his now full erection.

  “Oh, you do, do you?” The teasing lilt to her voice made his chest swell. He loved this woman.

  “Don’t be late. You won’t like the consequences. Call me before you leave so I know you’re on your way. Be a good girl.”

  “I will, I promise. Bye.”

  “Bye, sweets.”

  He hung up. She’d have fun with her friends and it would give him time to focus on his letter for the rest of the afternoon, tweaking it while he watched the football game this evening without any interruptions from his girl. Life was good.