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prismuffin · 2 years

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Poly!Alerudy treating male!reader like Morticia Addams

( gonna go from headcanons to a mini-oneshot cause thats just how I write these - All spanish used is translated for non-spanish speakers! )

/ dt: @adicthao /

warnings?: TOO MUCH LOVE AND AFFECTION RAHHHH- but can you ever get enough of Alerudy?

!-!more under the cut!-!

—It's more than likely that they were in a relationship before you came along. Even if it wasn't as serious or official, there were still some romantic elements to it- but seeing you was like love at first sight for the both of them.

—They just can't get you out of their head and they both know that the other is thinking the same thing. They end up having a heartfelt conversation about it which leads to them deciding to try and win you over and add you to their little relationship.

—Alejandro is more likely to try and win you over with gifts while Rudy tries more acts of service to catch your eye. Either way they're both not shy about trying to get your attention at all.

—Expect roses with little notes attached detailing your beauty signed by Alejandro proudly. He'd walk up to you later and would wrap his arms around your waist asking if you liked the flowers.

—Same thing with Rudy, he'll give you your favorite morning drink and would bring you breakfast if you'd like that. Been working too hard? He'll offer you a nice massage and you best believe he gives the best massages ever.

—You'd be spoiled rotten with love and affection from the two Latinos, it's practically inevitable that you fall for them both.

—Alejandro and Rudy plan a grand dinner to invite you to join their relationship. They're overjoyed when you say yes, both of them placing an identical kiss on your hands.

—Be prepared for the abundance of endearing Spanish nicknames. They'll call you practically everything in the book. Alejandro's favorite pet name for you would probably be "Mi Príncipe," (my prince) or "Cariño" (dear) while Rudy loves calling you "Mi Vida" (my world/life) and "Mi Corazón". (my heart) Of course "Mi amor" (my love) is used just as often.

—I love the headcanon that Rudy's not a morning person so Alejandro usually wakes up before the two of you and spends his time admiring you both before (sometimes) getting up to do menial tasks or getting/making the two of you breakfast. Rudy often wakes up before you but he doesn't get up right away, instead he'll usually just admire you.

—They both wake you up in the softest fucking ways. Usually little kisses being placed all over your face while they whisper sweet things to encourage you to wake up. They love how peaceful you look while you're sleeping and will often times be very gentle with you in the mornings.

—They're both smitten. They love you so much they just can't live without you, they'll do practically anything just to make you smile at them.

—Praises. Praises. Praises. They'll constantly give you praises and compliments on both your body and mind. Lots of admiring whenever any piece of base clothing is shed. If you're shirtless it's hard for them to keep their hands off you, they love your arms and your chest and you best believe they will tell you that often.

—Alejandro loves having his hands on your waist and they'll often be resting there whenever you're near each other. Rudy often loves to hug you from the front, admiring your features before placing his forehead on yours. It's in this position where he'll rant about his day or ask about yours.

—Just love the thought of Rudy or Ale saying "Ese es mi chico guapo" (that's my handsome boy) NDHODWIDJODWDKANDWDFLIN-

—It's midnight, I ran out of brain power uhhh ONESHOT TIME

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Feather light kisses tickled your face, drawing you from the depths of slumber. You instinctively leaned into the feeling, smiling at the soft awakening. "Déjame ver esos lindos ojos.." (let me see those beautiful eyes.) Another kiss was planted on the high of your cheekbone. Your eyes fluttered open, a smile gracing your lips as your sights were filled with the face of your boyfriend, Rodolfo. He laid beside you, now caressing your face with the back of his hand. "There they are," he smiled, leaning in to kiss you properly. “Buenos días mi Corazón.” (Good morning) You hummed, leaning into his words, they never failed to make your heart flutter. “Good morning Rodolfo.” You placed your hand on his cheek, staring into his eyes. “Where’s Alejandro?” You asked, noticing the absence of arms wrapped around your waist and the lack of praising whispers in your ear from behind, which could only mean he was gone. “In the kitchen,” he grabbed your hand which was previously rested on his cheek, pressing a loving kiss to it. “He's making breakfast for us." As if on cue Alejandro cracked the door open. Peaking inside, his smile widened when he realized you were now awake. He was quick to be by your form, taking his rightful spot behind you on the bed. "Buenos días Cariño," he whispered softly in your ear, your heart fluttering as he peppered the side of your face in sweet kisses like Rudy had done before. You giggled, turning your head and cupping his face in your hand. "Good morning Ale," He admired your face for a minute, his smile turning into a smirk before he leaned down to kiss your lips. "Come now, I made us food!" Alejandro grinned wide before he scooped you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style. A gasp flew from your throat, despite this happening often enough it still always caught you off guard when one of your boys carries you like this. Rudy let out a chuckle as Alejandro spun you around slightly, singing a quick verse from one of the millions of Spanish love songs. He carried you into the dining room where the table had already been set, three plates sat in their respective spots already made to both you and Rudy's breakfast preferences, quiet music playing in the background. Alejandro sat you down on the dining table bench closest to the wall before taking his seat to your left, Rudy, sitting on your right. Both you and Rudy thanked Alejandro before digging into the meal. It was good, as always, and you made sure to relay that to Alejandro. You ate, mostly in silence yourself as you listened to your boys talk about upcoming expeditions and such. At some point Rudy had ended up breaking off bite sized pieces of bread just to feed you even after you insisted that it was fine. He only smiled, replying with a "I want to do this for you Guapo," and with the way he stared at you, you couldn't refuse. You finished before the both of them which allowed them both to grab one of your hands each as they continued to eat and talk. Rudy cleared the table leaving you with Alejandro who'd somehow gotten you slow dancing with him, "Words can't describe how much I feel for you mi amor." He placed a kiss to your forehead and you sighed. "I love you Ale," You cradled his face in your hands, "and you too Rudy." You added, feeling his hands slide onto your waist, his chest pressed against your back. You and Alejandro's hands dropped as you switched positions so that you were being wrapped into a hug by both of them. You all swayed slowly just relishing in each others presence, smiling as you savor the treatment you receive from your loving boyfriends.

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(GRAHHHH I FUCKING LOVED WRITING THIS also its 1am LMFAO - Feedback is appreciated !! )

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eyesxxyou · 10 months

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❝ forgivness ❞ (priest!miguel x black!reader)

｡ﾟ･ ¡ content. catholic gulit. religious references. sexualizing of religion. usage of "father" in a non-familial way. oral (m receiving). handjob. riding, creampie. virgin!miguel. kinda predatory reader. miguel has only every known how to be good, he's never had anything he needed to feel guilty over. not until you came into his life.

wc: 6k

Miguel has never done anything he had to be truly ashamed of. He grew up a good child; quiet, agreeable, as obedient to his parents as he was to the Lord. He held his head lowly, with reverence for those above him and spoke quietly. There was never an ounce of rebellion, no smoking, no sex, nothing to reserve himself a place in guilt. His mother always pinched his cheeks and crooned, “Mi buen chico.” He was always the good boy.

Growing up in the Catholic Church, Miguel grew up knowing he’d become a priest, his mother always said so. It was his Godly purpose. He cleansed his soul and made a sacred vow to turn his back on worldly pleasures and remain celibate. After that, it was easy falling into line with priesthood. Temptations came and they went like a breeze, each one becoming easier to handle with time.

No, Miguel O’Hara has never done anything he had to be ashamed of, had to beg for forgiveness over.

Not until he met you.

You were not good for the mind, body and soul. Miguel knew it from the very moment he met you, with your sucker-stained lips that always curled into mischief-filled smiles as you watched him squirm under a gaze hotter than the sun and so sharp that it cut through him, tore him open, displayed his every emotion for your greedy eyes to intake. He knew it from that cheap perfume you dappled against your throat, the one that smelled like chocolate roses and raw sex. He knew it from the way you stirred unholy thoughts in his mind and made his cock twitch.

You were the kid of a dedicated member of the church, a 20-something who had fallen away from God and into “debauchery” as your mother put it. She wanted him to be your religious counselor, to put the fear of God back into you and set you straight. “The devil has come into my daughter and I want him out. I just want my little girl back.” She pleaded with him, her hands grasping his arms, eyes glazing over with tears. Miguel agreed only to avoid the mess of having to console a mother grieving the loss of their child to the world.

He didn't know exactly what kind of mess he was getting himself into until you knocked on the door to his office after service. You were standing there, all pretty like, in the shortest jean skirt he’d ever seen in his life, tight, torn up stockings, leopard-print camisole with black lace trim, an assortment of jewelry hanging from your wrists and neck that jangle every time you move, and a fur-lined jacket to top it all off. Your hair was messy, makeup even messier, but in an intentional sort of way that seemed cool with the kids nowadays.

“Father O’Hara.”

“Please, come in.” He stepped to the side to allow you access to his office. You looked up with him. Your smokey, hooded eyes maintained contact with his until you passed him completely. There was a sway in your hips as you walked. Maybe intentional, maybe not, either way, Miguel turned his gaze elsewhere simply out of duty and self-respect.

“You can sit if you’d like.” He motioned to the chair in front of the desk as he went to sit in his own swivel chair. Miguel leaned forward, lacing his fingers atop the sleek surface of his large, mahogany desk. He watched you slide your jacket from your pretty, bare shoulders and toss it down on the chair in front of him. “I’d rather stand.” You offered him a smile with those full, glossy lips of yours before turning away to look around and get a sense for your environment.

That skirt of yours left hardly anything to the imagination. He could see the round of your ass barely covered as they slope into your full thighs that breezed against each other with every step you made. You were a pretty girl, that's for sure. And at the end of the day, he was simply a man, watching, ogling, at your young, spry body.

‘Forgive me, Lord'. That would be the first of many unbeknownst to Miguel. He cleared out his throat and turned his gaze away as he wrung his hands, balling them into fists before relaxing in one full motion. “Do you know why you’re here?” His voice – though deep – was patient and warm, offering a kindness to you that your parents did not.

You scoff softly. Something of a distasteful scowl forming across your lips. “Yeah, ‘cause my mom said I have to go or she’ll kick me out of the house. I can't afford to leave yet, not in this economy.” You cross one leg over the other, your plush thighs pressing together. You look at a picture of him with the Cardinal framed and hung on the wall with your hands bound together against the round of your ass.

He should be ashamed of himself. He’s a little more than twice your age, just nearly old enough to be your father. He’s a priest for Christ’s sake and here he is, looking at your chaste thighs like a dog in rut, ready to hump anything in sight.

Miguel cleared his throat again as you readjusted your skirt and turned back to him. “Do you know why she wanted you to come meet with me?” He asked again. He slipped a finger between his throat and the collar that suddenly seemed to tighten around his neck and tugged to loosen it. That gaze of yours bore into him, dug and ripped and tore until he was nothing mor ethan a pile of guts on the floor. Could you see the way he struggled? The way that body of your that you so shamelessly flaunted elicited the most impure of thoughts?

“‘Cause she wants me to ‘love God again’.” Your voice became high-pitched and nagging, mocking as you quoted your mother. “I’m going to tell you right now, I won't. I don't plan to.“

You came over and dropped down in the chair in front of him. He the way your breasts moved with the action.“It’s really a shame too. You’re just my type. I’d love to spend more time with you.” You leaned against his desk with your back arched, pressing your breasts together in front of him in a subtle manner as you took one of the pens from his desktop and twirled it between your fingers. Your breasts sit pretty on your chest and Miguel can't help but to admire them. This was the beginning of your temptation, and God, you were so subtle with it. You were a master at your craft.

Miguel chose to ignore the comment to his own sake. “That’s fine. My goal is not to convince you to convert, I will never get you to change your mind that way. I’m just here to talk to you. I'm a counselor at the end of the day.” Which adds an extra layer as to why he shouldn't be looking at you the way he is. He’s supposed to guide you, not prey upon your pretty, little figure.

“If you think I’m gonna spill my sob story out to you–”

“We talk about whatever you want to talk about. You lead the discussion.”

You look at him, searching for an ounce of deceit in his gaze. Satisfied with his answer, you stand up once again and grab your coat. “Nice talking to you, Father O’Hara but I’ll be taking my leave now.” You make your exit swiftly before he has a chance to stop you.

Miguel sits still in his office for a while after you leave, unsure of what to do about the discomfort between his legs and the tent growing through his trousers. He made a cross over his chest and said a quiet prayer for forgiveness and for strength.

Miguel would not see you until the following week. Mass. It seemed your mother required you to attend these because you did not come to the regular services.

You sat close to the front, in a white slip dress that showed a bit of your black bra. Your fingers were adorned in rings, neck in necklaces of various length, wrists in bracelets. Your makeup was just as messy as it was intentional. Your mother beside you didn't seem very happy about your choice in clothing. Her lips were pressed into a firm frown, her hand strangling your wrist to keep you beside her.

Miguel looked everywhere that was not you during the reading of the word, knowing that he'd stumble about with his words like an idiot and have to start again. But he could feel your gaze on him out of all the others, burning, prying, tearing into him. If he looked at you, he would choke up, he would break, he would confess his sin right then and there to alleviate the guilt of knowing that he found you far more attractive than he should.

But he managed to get through the reading without so much as a hitch and thus began the Eucharist. The congregation ordered themselves in a tidy line down the center of the aisle. You sway slightly while waiting, he can see, you’re impatient but you’re not far from the front, it won't be long. Your mother keeps trying to stop you but you shrug her off your shoulder every time and continue to sway, catching glimpses of Miguel every time you do. You smile at him and Miguel turns away from you because your smile is too pretty for his face not to grow a little flustered.

But the line passed through far too swiftly for Miguel’s comfort before you were before him. You were so small, so pretty, so soft-looking. You dropped down on the cushion, kneeling before him as you looked up at him with those smokey eyes and the smallest pinch of a smile across your glossed lips. Your laced fingers sit in a ball against your chest as if you were praying before him.

Miguel let out a shaky breath as you opened your mouth and offered him your tongue. He picked up one of the little white wafers and swallowed, “Body of Christ.” He placed it up on your tongue with his thumb and let it pause there for a moment. The wafer melted quickly and soon, the pad of his thumb weighed heavy on your hot, wet tongue.

He could just imagine having you like this in his office, your hands eagerly working at the buckle of his belt before waiting there, placidly for him to slide his cock into the pretty, messy mouth of yours. How much could you take before you gagged? Looking at you, he bet you didn’t have a gag reflex at all.

You were pretty in a messy way, beautiful in a way that liked to stir shit up and cause trouble. The kind of beauty that made men do very dumb shit. There was a begging in your eyes to be used in the filthiest ways imaginable. You brought out a version of Miguel he had never known before, a version of him that clawed at the walls of his skull and simply begged to take you on every surface he could imagine. Just once would be enough, just once to get it out of his system.

He stopped himself before he could get carried away and retracted his hand to grab a little cup containing wine. His hand was trembling as he took the cup to hand it to you, your fingers brushing against his as you took it from him. You could see the way he shook for you, the way he could hardly contain himself and felt yourself satisfied with your work.

“Amen. Thank you, Father.” You whisper slowly as you stand from your knees and walk away back to your pew, your hips in that little dress swaying. Oh, those dark chocolate thighs of yours brushing against each other while you walk. His hands would look so nice on them.

Miguel asked the deacon if he could take over the Eucharist while he went to the bathroom. He retreated quickly to his office with a breath he had been holding in since you had first walked up to him. Your eyes, your lips, your tongue, your thighs. You were temptation on legs, sacrilege walking. The greatest test God has sent his way and Miguel wasn't sure if he was strong enough to pass it.

MIguel knows he shouldn’t have avoided you. He did not tell your mother that he could no longer help you. It would break her little heart and he couldn’t imagine the consequences it would spell out for you at home. He didn’t want to cause any trouble. He simply needed to overcome his weakness before he attempted to help you find your own way back to the Lord.

Confessions happened before every service. Anyone could come to the booth and ask for forgiveness for whatever sin they had committed, no judgment. Miguel has heard it all, from lying to cheating and back again. These people, though sinners, were trying to be good, trying not to fall for temptation and begging for forgiveness when they did.

Miguel had done nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to beg for forgiveness for. Not yet.

Miguel lowered his head as the next person came into the booth. They took a long moment to sit and adjust themselves before sighing woefully. “How does it go?” Your voice was soft, teasing, plaguing him like the impure dreams he’s started to have of you. They've left him waking up with the head of his erect cock sticking out from his pajama pants and a thin, sticky layer of cum coaking his chest.

Miguel’s heart jumped nearly out of his chest. He swallowed thickly, grasping the white fabric of his robes to calm himself. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” he lead you, murmuring lowly as if he were the one begging for forgiveness. Oh, how he’s begged in the silence of his office for these thoughts of you to be wiped from his mind. These thoughts of your body, of your mouth, of your eyes looking up at him while he used your body and mouth.

He needed you gone for he feared that with a little more time, he might succumb to his thoughts.

“Yes, that.” You adjusted yourself against the bench and looked at him through the grate that separated the two of you. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” You said it in a perfunctory manner and sighed. “I’ve been bad.”

“Tell me what ails you.”

“I’ve been having bad thoughts about a priest in the clergy, Father. Impure thoughts.” You nip at your bottom lip, hiding something of a smile as you speak. He can hear it, the honesty in your mischief, the plans you have to cause nothing but trouble. “He’s just so…pretty, and large, and pathetic like a wet dog but in a good way. I think of him while I touch myself at night.

“I think of him while I slip my hand into my panties.” Your voice lowers into a whisper as you speak through him through the grate. Miguel can feel his tunic tighten around his neck. “My cunt is already wet because I was thinking about him all day long. When I finger myself, I imagine it's his fingers stuffing my pussy full.”

He should stop you. This is going too far but his dick is stirring and he can't help but imagine it as you practically whisper it in his ear all the dirty things you do to yourself.

‘Lord, forgive me please’, he pleaded.

“My fingers aren’t as big as his though, so I imagine his head between my legs and his tongue licking my pussy. And when I cum, I say his name. ‘Father O’Hara!’” You mimic yourself, moaning softly into his ear. “ Everytime, I’m near him, I want to fuck him hard and fast. I need him…biblically. Does that make me bad, Father? Does that make me a sinner?”

He can't let out anything beyond a choking whimper, rendered speechless. He’s hard and desperate to keep that blasphemous mouth of yours quiet one way or another. “Y/n–”

“I’ll see you after service, Father. I won't keep you waiting.” You always make your exits swiftly, leaving him breathless and speechless all in one motion. His cock was twitching with arousal and the bulge against his crotch was leaving him far more uncomfortable than it was all worth. But never more than you were worth.

You kept your promise and came to visit him in his office after service, knocking at his door in a little tune while you shifted your weight between your toes and your heels. “Father O’Hara, it’s me. I’m here for counseling. Are you okay?” You play nice, play innocent behind the door but he knows better. You know better. You know what you do to him, you’ve known it from the very first day you’ve met him.

You don't wait for him to tell you to come in and instead make yourself comfortable and come in on your own. Your dress flows so delicately as you shut the door behind you.

Miguel isn't sure if he should tell you to leave, that you weren't welcome here after that stunt of yours in the confessional booth. It’s his job to help no matter who walked through his door. He can't let a little hardship stop him from doing what he had dedicated his life to. He remained firmly behind his desk as you wandered about his office, examining his wall-length bookcase.

“Have you always wanted to be a priest, Father?” You ask, tracing your fingers of the old, weathered spines of the books. You bend over to get a view of a book on one of the lower shelves. Miguel nearly choked, catching a glimpse of your clothed pussy peeking out between your plush thighs. The outline of your lips were visible through the pretty, white fabric of your underwear.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling dizzy. His cock pressed harder than before against his trousers and his mouth ran dry. His hand writhed, desperate to know what you felt like under his palms. You were probably soft, almost pillow-like. Miguel reached into his pocket and clutched his rosary for strength.

“I uh- no I didn't. But I had a change of heart after God spoke to me in a dream and told me my life’s work was with the church.”

You stood up and turned around to look up at him. You would say nothing of disrespect. You didn't believe in God but you weren't going to be an asshole about it, no reason to bash on anyone else over it. “That's a nice thought, someone just tells you what to do and you trust them wholeheartedly in that.” You hold your hands behind your back and sway softly. For a moment you look innocent in that white dress of yours.

“Is it about trust for you, then? Do you not trust God?” He needs to shift his mind. There should not be an ache between his legs in the house of the Lord.

“I don't trust him ‘cause he’s not real, of course.” You state it like it's a fact, like it’s obvious. “He can't be with all the bad shit that goes on in the world. And if he does exist, he’s either not all powerful or not all loving. I just don't wanna follow someone who lets a bunch of old perverts run his church.” You shrug with a pout of your lips.

“It’s an unfortunate side effect of people having power but not all religious leaders are ‘perverts’ as you put it.”

“No, of course not. Not you, Father O’Hara, you’re not a pervert.” You slowly make your way over to his desk with a sway. “You don't look at girls like me per se and think about how much you wish you never took that vow of celibacy.” You stand before him, hands on the sleek mahogany and you lean in close to him. “You don’t look at me and wish you could fuck me, do you?”

Miguel shook his head. “Those are not that same, y/n. You’re an adult.” He suddenly felt a sweat starting to form in his bow and around his collar. You looked at him and found swiftly that you liked watching him squirm. “So you admit, you’re attracted to me?” You smiled coyly.

You watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down behind the thin skin of his warm brown throat. Slowly, you stood and began to walk around the side of his desk to stand on the same side as him.

“That would be wildly inappropriate for me to say, y/n. I’m a priest, I’m your counselor–”

“Please, like you haven't been ogling at me from the moment you first saw me.” You scoff and grab the arm of the chair to turn him about and show his shame. He was incredibly hard, so hard you could see the outline of his thick cock against his leg. He had his rosary in hand, dripping so tight you thought he might snap it. “You can't help it, Father. You’re just a man after all.”

You lowered yourself into your knees before him, your hands on the solid build of his thighs. You could feel the muscles of them under your palms as you slid your hands up his thighs. You palmed at his cock through the fabric of his pants and watched him shudder. “I wonder… how long has it been since you’ve felt the touch of a woman?”

Miguel tried to find the strength to refuse you, your temptation, but as you began to undo the buckle to his belt, he melted into his chair. “N-never.” He never wanted to, not until marriage, and once he decided he’d join the church and took a vow to dedicate his life to God, he’d never have the chance. Not until now.

You paused, gazing at him with something of a coy smile across your glossy lips. “Oh, Father. Don't worry, I’ll treat you real good.” You worked to release him from the confines of his pants with your soft hands.

He’s so thick and long, with veins running along the length of it, one on the underside ran from his pretty, brown tip to his heavy balls. You wrapped a hand around the base of it and stroked the length of it with a gentle flick of your wrist. You adored the way Miguel writhed beneath you, his hands balled into fists as he pressed his lips tight.

“Relax.” You ran a hand up and down his thigh while your thumb brushed a few beads of precum pearling at his slit. Miguel watched you with heavy eyes as you leaned in and pressed a sticky kiss to his head, smearing his precum like lipgloss across your lips. God, you were filthy.

Relaxing seemed like a pipedream in a situation like this. He was destroying the sanctity of his priesthood, all he had worked so hard to uphold the values to, and here he was succumbing to a girl, a seductress. And it felt so good. His whole life he was so good, why can’t he do wrong just once? All he ever felt was guilt, why not have a valid reason for it?

You took his tip into your mouth and suckled softly, that tongue of yours rolled over his slit while your hand firmly stroked his cock from head to base. “You’re so fuckin’ big, Father. So heavy.” You slid your lips further down the length of his fat cock, your mouth hardly able to open wide enough to take the thick of him.

The way you took him had to be considered blasphemous because that mouth of yours felt better than any god. So soft and wet. Miguel shuddered, his hips bucking into your mouth uncontrollably, thighs flexing. He did not ask for forgiveness, he wanted nothing but your hot mouth and soft throat that was slowly taking him further and further as you pushed down his hips and kept him still. You looked up at him with glazed eyes, breathing softly through your nose. You’re good at this, an expert.

Miguel lost it as you began to play with his balls, all heavy and full from never knowing the touch of sin. He placed his hand upon your head and grabbed a firstful of hair at your scalp. Would you let him take control, let him take what he needed from that pretty mouth of yours, your sharp tongue turning so, so soft?

You let your jaw go slack, let him drag your head up and down the length of his cock. Your tongue lapped at his slit every time he dragged you up and licked the underside of his cock with each thrust down your throat. Miguel clenched his jaw as you took control once again, bobbing your head, taking his cock like a champ.

“God- ngh~ fuck.” Miguel relaxed like puddy in your hands, watching the way you took him all the way down your throat and swallowed before hollowing your cheeks as you released him with a pop from your sweet mouth. You worked him with your hand with firm tugs at his cock. He reached out for you, his hand cupping your full cheek as he ran his thumb across your full, bottom lip.

Oh you were so good, too good, pumping his cock better than he ever imagined that he could. It’s been so long. An orgasm was quickly approaching on the horizon, building within the pit of his stomach. His breath trembled with pleasure and his abdomen flexed with the telltale signs of climax.

“Gonna cum already, Father?” You tease, jerking his cock with creamy, wet strokes, your path slicked by saliva and precum. “That’s cute. Go ahead then, cum for me. Give it to me.”

It was torture. The kind you beg for all your life, the good kind. The kind Miguel never knew he needed so badly in his life. He rutted his hip up into your hand, cock aching with the beginning of a feeling the burned throughout him and ravished his body completely.

It came out of him in a thick spurt of white that shot out and landed on his chest. The rest oozed from his tip and over your knuckles as you milked him of ribbon after ribbon of cum all built up over the years. There was so much of it, pooling at his base and over your pretty, dainty fingers. His thighs rock open and closed with the weight of his orgasm.

Miguel was seeing stars, his eyes rolling back as he shuddered and gripped his rosary until the beads left imprints in his flesh. His face glowed red from his collar to the tips of his ears, flushed. He let out something of a satisfied groan, more akin to something feral than human. A need, a pleasure that transcends all.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” You ask as the last few pathetic dribbles of cum roll over your knuckles. You reached out over his desk and grasped a few tissues to clean off your hand. “Must’ve, you came so fast, Father.”

Shame and embarrassment washed over Miguel. You could see the post-nut clarity all over his face and knew for certain that this wouldn’t end well. It’s always the religious boys that hold the most repressed shame in them.

“We shouldn’t have done that.” Miguel grabbed his own tissue to clean himself up, patting out the cum from the fabric of his shirt and hoping it wouldn’t stain. “That was wrong, y/n. This can never happen again.” He shook his head firmly, muttering under his breath, “never again”.

You scoffed, standing from your kneeling position. “Are you sure?” You reach up and take the straps of your dress, pulling them down. The dress fell away easily after that. Miguel didn't have the heart to tell you to stop as you reached around your back and undid the clasp of your bra until it fell loose on your chest. You let that drop along with your panties and let it pool at your ankles.

You looked so soft, so pretty, so vulnerable. Miguel didn't stop you as you stepped out of the puddle your clothing made around your ankles and approached him once more. You straddled his lap, pussy rubbing his half-hard cock back to life while you cupped his pretty face in your hands. You eyed his rosary. “That's pretty.” Your hand reached out and slowly, tenderly, unraveled it from his break-neck grip of it.

You took it from him and examined it carefully, your fingers brushing over the intricate design of Jesus on the cross. Suddenly, before he could stop you, you put it on, the cool metal of the cross resting against your naval.

Miguel didn't want Him watching his shame, his sin, but he couldn't stop you, not as you held his cock between the lips of your pussy, all wet and sticky, and rutted your hips to coat him in yoru slick before letting him sink into the soft love of your cunt inch by inch. He shuddered and tossed his head back against his chair. “Good God!”

God, this must be the closest thing to heaven on Earth. The soft, wet, gummy walls of your pussy enclosed around him, hugged him, gripped him like a vice. You sank all the way down in his lap, coating your pussy and thighs in the remaining cum he had yet to clean. It was all so filthy, so disgusting, so beautiful. It was certain, he was going to Hell.

Miguel was seeing stars, his hands came to find purchase on your hips and thighs, gripping at any piece of pretty, soft flesh his large hands could reach. He eyed your tits, bouncing with temptation before him, your pretty nipples pebbled with arousal.

“Go ahead, Father. Take what you need.” You offered yourself to him like a buffet and indeed, Miguel took. His lips latched to one of your breasts and suckled with desperation at your bud, tongue swirling and lapping while you held him and caressed his head, running your fingers through his thick head of hair and tugging when he nipped a little too harshly. “Gentle, Father.”

He couldn't be gentle. He needed you, his hips rutted into your pussy every time you rode him. It only took four pumps for his cock to twitch deep inside your pretty, little pussy. You felt too good, too tight, he had never known such pleasure.

This could be religion, this could be worship. What a beautiful, blasphemous thought.

You rode him through orgasm after orgasm until he started going numb, each one following another shortly after the other. Your pussy dribbled with cum, running down the length of his thick cock each time your creamy cunt milked him.

Miguel guided your hips though he had no control over the way you bounced on his cock. His rosary slapped your navel with each stroke of your pussy against his cock, swinging just against his act of sin where he came inside your young, begging pussy until he couldn't anymore.

You moaned in his ear with every stroke of his fat cock inside your tiny cunt. His tip kissed your cervix and dragged along your gummy walls, molding them into just the right shape to take him. You shivered each time your clit stroked against his pelvis, cum-coated and aching.

This was sin, this was temptation, this was sacrilege, and he loved every second of it. Every quiver of your pussy around him, every shiver you made when he came inside you and left you more spoiled than before, every time his rosary slapped your soft belly and got a little cum on it.

You were his rebellion, his bad behavior, and what a time to have it.

Miguel slid his hand beneath your thighs and lifted you up. A gasp escaped you as he placed you down on the surface of his desk, your legs hooked around his hips to keep him close.

He stuffed your messy hole full of cock, his hands on your hips to keep you still. Each thrust eliciting a creamy stir of your used up pussy. His length met that soft ridge inside of you and you weren't sure you could take what you had given out.

“F-Father, wait!” You attempted to close your legs but he splayed them open, kept you nice and exposed for him. What a messy little cunt.

He fucked you so hard that the desk was beginning to slide with each stroke of his dick. Your legs were beginning to tremble at his abuse to your poor, swollen pussy. You could deal it but you couldn't take it, the moment he reciprocated your energy, you were a weeping mess beneath him, gasping for air and begging for mercy from a god you didn't believe in.

Was this how he could convert you? Fuck you into believing? It didn't seem like a half bad idea.

And oh– when you came, your pussy clamped down around him and triggered another one of his own. Your hips both shudder at the sensation and your groans intermingle like one holds hands. You can hardly handle it. Tears prick your eyes as you hold onto Miguel’s rosary for stability and rock out an orgasm so intense you fear you may never have one like it again. It rocks your entire body and leaves you shaking.

You don't know how many times Miguel came in you but you knew the feeling of it all coming out of you in thick globs when he pulled out. It was all backed up in there, you couldn't blame him. He made an attempt at cleaning you up as best as he could with the tissues he had on his desk.

You chuckled softly, crooning out, “I didn't think you had that in you.” You sat up and leaned in with a smile, easing your lips against his to which he immediately pulled away from you, shaking his pretty head.

“Don't think anything is going to come from this, y/n. This can't happen again for the sake of my job. This was wrong.” He had to set you straight now before this got even further out of hand than it already had.

You knew better. You made the motion of zipping your lips and tossing away the key.

You got up and made your way over to your clothing on the floor to dress yourself. “I won't tell a soul but Father, this wasn't wrong.” You pulled on your bra and clasped it together behind your back, then your dress. “This was always going to happen, it was just a matter of time. Plus–” you lean in close as he flinches away from you for fear that you might kiss him again because he knows if you did, he wouldn't be able to resist you.

You got up on your toes and whispered sweetly into his ear, “I’ve already had you. I was your first. That means you’re mine.” You slipped your bunched up panties into his hand. “Beg for forgiveness all you want, Father, but until you accept that, you’ll always feel guilty about everything you do.” You pulled away and looked up at him with an earnesty he’s never seen in your gaze before.

Neither of you said anything more. You gave him back his rosary and left the room swiftly before your mother somehow found you in here all breathless and fucked out. She’d never suspect that the holy Father O’Hara would ever do something as scandalous as to fuck her daughter. If only she knew the way you defiled him, tore him to pieces, left him weeping in his office with the guilt of what he’s done.

“Father, please forgive me.”

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