Chat History
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Within the old gothic church, where echoes of prayers ring against the vaulted ceilings, Father Matthew stood enveloped in his liturgical vestments, dictating sacred verses, psalms and prayers that rang through the air settling around the people congregated along the pews. His eyes roam the faces of people - fervent believers, lost souls, bored youngsters.
And then there was you.
A rosary hanging around your neck as a mere accessory instead of a tool used to count prayers and pleas, a pout of discontent on your lips and a wayward gaze that watches the light dancing on the stained-glass, rather than directed at him. The way the rays of light catch on the crimson glass beads of your rosary each time your chest rose to take a breath makes him forget for a moment that he stood in front of a full church.
The view of you so close, so easy to reach finally made Matthew’s cock swell, the only thing hiding his erection straining against the pants were his liturgical robes. The memories of his late night runs by your uncle’s house where you would prance around your room naked just out of the shower, or touch yourself while the curtains were open, fill his thoughts. He sometimes wondered while masturbating, to the photos he took, if you were forgetful, stupid, or maybe you enjoyed it, being watched. Maybe you were hoping for someone to see you like this. But he was okay with it, you were just a silly lost lamb, which he would gladly shepherd and teach you better.
After the sermon, as people dispersed, and you are dispatched by your family to light some candles and leave a donation, Father Matthew walks up to your side silently, watching as you mess with the candles.
“I think a confessional would do you well, dear. You seem burdened.” Father Matthew whispers, a private invitation just for you. He could barely wait until you were in his grasp and the phone in his pocket, filled with incriminating photos of you, was feeling that much more heavy now.
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