Hellfire: Part 1
The announcement that Father Pierce was going to be retiring and a replacement had already been found. Father Pierce was moving north to be with his wife and grandchildren, and his replacement was coming straight from New York City to take over the congregation’s responsibilities. It wasn’t long for rumours to start circulating and swirling.
The rumours started with Father Pierce’s replacement being young. The relief was a man from Brooklyn, who was leagues younger than Father Pierce and was not single but was actively looking for the woman that would lead him into family life to go hand in hand with being a protestant priest.
The rumour that he was single and looking for a wife had sent the mothers of unmarried daughters, both younger, legally so, and older, into a flurry of frantic appointments to hair salons and the boutiques in the nearest city to get the best clothes to impress the newest arrival to your small town.
He hadn’t even arrived in the town yet, and the city was a buzz. He was due to reach the last week of May, the long weekend would come and go, and he would be there on Monday, ready to settle into the house he had bought on private land in the country. It was a small town, and while he wanted privacy and requested living out of town on a piece of land to give him such, everyone in the city knew exactly where he would be living.
Your parents were equally excited; they were equally eager to see what direction the new Father would take the Protestant Church in your town, to see what new influence he would bring to the city.
Only time would tell, but where there was eagerness for the majority of those in your small town, there was annoyance and indifference in you.
You didn’t care; you didn’t begin to care. His arrival wouldn’t have changed or caused a ripple in your world.
The sun was bearing down on the earth with vicious intensity, heating the sand before the lake and the grass that extended into the tree line snd beyond. It was the first weekend of June, and he has been here for a week, just settling into the small town in the middle of nowhere, still untouched by the corporate rat race of the city or the bitterness that turned neighbour against neighbour.
This town was his calling, and so was the congregation he would be serving, the people he would be steering toward God.
Before he had taken over the church, before he had taken over for Pierce, he was given a few weeks to get to know the people he would be serving, the people who would be his flock. The town was celebrating his arrival with a trip to the surrounding lakes for a weekend, where there were cabins the church-owned and used for weekend getaways and teen camps in the summer.
That is where he would get a good look and feel at who he would be helping. He had been invited snd given the biggest cabin on the property, with the building intended for a large family. One day Steve would fill the cabin the in summers with his wife and his kids, his family would fill the cabin walls with love.
For now, it was himself. For now, it was himself being hounded and introduced to every available and single woman in the church who had attended the camp, by eager mothers wishing their daughter upon a man of God like himself.
The women were beautiful and the mothers were a little overbearing in their attempts to get Steve to connect with them, to find himself attracted to them, but there was nothing.
Until he caught sight of you.
You were gilded, appearing as a being cast in the sunshine. The light reflecting on your image spoke to him like a direct call from God. He had been here but a week, met countless women who were eligible and available to him to pursue a relationship with, and he had never felt like he got a clear message. Until he saw your image until he saw you approach one of the food tents with your hair pulled up off your neck and shoulders and a pair of aviator sunglasses on your head.
It was like a direct hit to everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever been promised.
He hadn’t met everyone in his congregation. He hadn’t met all the young women and men in the town, but when he had the chance to, you would be at the top of his list.
His eyes were gravitating toward you, his lips pursed. How could someone so innocent and lovely allow themselves to be looked up to by young men like they were a piece of meat?
“Do your parents know you’re out here?” One of the older residents asked the young woman, her judgemental eyes cast upon the short, tight jean shorts that have hugged your hips and cupped your asscheeks.
“My parents,” you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts up to the point that they were almost spilling out, “are busy with their ‘bible study.”
He was enraptured by this young woman, the beauty that defied all. The fire transported him in your spirit, and the curves that made all the sinful men and boys around you drool at your exposed skin.
‘A shame,’ he thought. ‘You need to be protected from the world by a firm hand, by a man of God.’
“Y/N dear, should you be wearing that?” The old lady scolded you.
‘Yes,’ Steve agrees, ‘you shouldn’t be wearing exposing clothing for anyone but your husband.’
“You really should save your innocence-“
“My innocence is still intact, Mrs. Humphrey.” You rolled your eyes again and lifted the drink to your lips, the bottle disguised as an innocent drink, but he knew better.
‘You need a firm hand,’ Steve thought to himself, picturing every way that a man like him could straighten out a woman like you, ‘and a firm spanking.’
“Be sure to tell your parents-“
“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes and turned your back, leaving the woman who was speaking to you, and the man you didn’t know was watching you.
“Someone needs to straighten that girl out, Father Rogers.” The woman addressed him, pointedly staring at you with narrowed eyes. “And a few prayers.”
He would be the one. He would be the one to settle you. He was going to the one to place his firm hand upon your body.
You were going to be his little wife. You were going to be his pretty little woman.
God told him. You belonged to him.
First, he had to meet your parents and work his magic on them.
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Hellfire: Part 5
A/N: Sprinkling of smut and dirty talk
The thunderstorm and torrential downpour of rain broke the thickness and relieved the hell-heat that plagued the whole county. The broke from the thick and dense humidity, and heat came three days after Peter told you he was leaving and two days after Father Rogers had spun a little white lie that you and he were going to be an item.
You had prepared yourself for a nattering of questions from your mother and father, a constant attack of probing that would leave you irritated and desperate for something illicit that your mother didn’t know you smoked two years ago.
However, there was no questioning. There was no mattering. Your mother had relatively remained silent on the whole matter, which given records, seemed incredibly suspicious.
Even the day after Father Rogers had rescued you, your mother was relatively quiet. She didn’t press you; she didn’t prod you for details.
But she did smile. She smiled so vast and so brightly, you were worried that she had lockjaw. She smiled, she beamed, and she stared at you.
You still hadn’t heard from Father Rogers, though he had mentioned talking later when he dropped you off; that conversation never happened.
Instead of conversing with you, he had received a call that he had to take, and you played on your phone pretending that you didn’t hear the conversation between a priest and an older woman complaining that her husband was gone too long and too late.
By the time you’d arrived back at your house, you were drained and exhausted, still weighed down by the cold that hit you suddenly. You bid Father Rogers a good night and then proceeded to depart his SUV and entered your house to find your mother waiting for you, yet she still hadn’t said a thing.
She just smiled.
Which was almost worse. You’d instead her talk for hours than be stuck in this never-ending cycle staring and smiling.
Still, Father Rogers said you would be having a conversation. And then it never happened.
At least, not in the first two days since he’d saved you.
On the third day, you woke up shortly after 10 to your phone vibrating against your nightstand. With sleep still in your eyes, you answered without looking at the number or the name, your tiredness still afflicting your voice.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” His deep baritone husky filtered through the phone and caused an immediate warmth to take root in your belly.
He was attractive, to say the very least, and his deep voice this early in the morning…
“How’d you get my number?” You groaned, rubbing the crust from the corner of your eyes.
“Your mother gave it to me,” he exhaled short, followed by a grunt, “what are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” That grunt, the sound of his deep voice grunting, paint a very explicit picture that had a very immediate reaction on the apex between your thighs.
“Not what you think, sweetheart. I’m a man of God.”
“Men of God don’t abstain from sexual acts.” You chewed the inside of your cheek and spread your legs under your blanket, your hand trickling down your stomach to your wet panties.
“They are until marriage.” Steve grunts again.
“You were someone before becoming a priest, weren’t you?” Your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your panties, stroking your wet pussy lips, a soft and airy gasp leaving your lips.
“Are you being a bad girl?” He questioned through the phone, his voice taking a certain husky that made your breath catch in your throat. “Naughty, naughty…”
“What do you want?” Your voice was more of a whine as you started circling your fingers against your dripping heat.
“I want to pick you up. We have a lot to talk about.” He hummed into the phone, another sound that was driving you toward a place of more profound lust.
“You should be condemning me.” You bit your bottom lip, your mind wandering to a filthy place with Father Rogers at the centre.
“Perhaps I’m listening to the sound of your sins.” He grunts through the phone, followed by a slow exhale.
“What are you doing?”
“Working out.” He answered short.
“You’re naughty, honey. You’re going to have to confess your sins.”
“I already am, Father Rogers.”
“Not properly, you’re not.”
You were close. You were far too close to your peak.
“Speak the confessional, Y/N.” He was listening intently; you knew he was.
“Forgive me, Father,” your orgasm was unstoppable, it was hitting you like a freight train, and you had come undone on the spot, your moans carrying through to Steve, “for I have sinned.”
“Good girl,” he praised you, the fire in your belly growing, “I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”
When he arrived, he complied with your father’s ‘respect’ rule, that anyone coming to pick you up had to knock on the door.
He drove his sleek black SUV and picked you up by coming to the door and knocking. He stood outside the door in an off-grey dress shirt tucked into black slacks, and that still hadn’t hidden his thick and powerful thighs or his long legs that drew attention to his hips and waist.
His shoulders were wide and broad, his chest as equally powerful and thick as the rest of him. He was a sight to behold, and even if you’d done something naughty a half hour before, you could’ve indeed done that same dirty deed now.
“Good morning, Father.” Your mother answered the door with that same annoying smile on her face, proud of your decision.
“Good morning Mrs, L/N,” Steve spoke to your mother but looked at you. He watched you walking down the stairs in a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a loose shirt tied in the front to the right.
“Wow,” you stepped off the bottom step and crossed your arms over your chest, “in this light, you almost look normal. You know opposed to when you look like a self-righteous-.”
“Y/N!” Your mother hissed.
“Careful what you say, Y/N,” Steve’s eyes flashed, and his lips twitched.
“Of course, Father Rogers. I would hate to have to confess my sins twice today.” You fired your look back and brushed past your mother to the front door. As you slipped out of the house, you locked eyes with him and teasingly bit your bottom lip.
“I’ll have your daughter back tonight.” He addressed your father, and again, his eyes were on you.
“There’s no rush.” Your mother laughed with glee. “Y/N, be on your best behaviour!”
“You lied to my parents,” he watched you dip your finger into the whipped cream at the top of your iced drink before you sucked it off, locking eyes with him the whole time, teasing him.
That’s what you were. You were a tease.
“I did it to protect you, honey.” He leaned in and clasped his hands together, resting his chin on top. “If you mother and father found out you were out with Peter that late-“
“My parents don’t give me freedom, Father Rogers.”
“Steve,” he corrected you, watching you repeat the same process with the whipped cream, his mouth-watering when your lips sucked at your finger, “you can call me, Steve.”
“Of course,” you bat your eyes at him, “since you told my parents, we were seeing each other.”
“It’ll be mutually beneficial, sweetheart.” He lowered his right to rest on top of your left hand, his thumb stroking your knuckles.
“How’s that?” You asked, tilting your head. “How’s it mutually beneficial?”
“Your parents don’t give you freedom? I can,” Steve squeezed your hand.
“By entering a fake relationship with the priest?” You scoffed.
“You wanna go to university? You can-“
“-because my ‘boyfriend’ would allow it.” You rolled your eyes.
“We act like a couple in public; you can have the freedom you’ve always wanted. Do you want to go to university? I’ll pay for it.”
“The whole thing?” You were incredulous. “You would pay for me to go to school?”
“You wanna spend the weekend in the city? You can. You wanna take a trip out of state?” He was promising freedom you never thought you’d have. And that was pathetic to think about considering that you were an adult, albeit you were young, over 21 but young.
“And we act like a couple? What do you get out of it?” You had a right to be skeptical.
And Steve wouldn’t tell you the whole truth. You wouldn’t believe him if he told you the truth. You belonged with him; he knew it deep in his soul. You were supposed to be his.
“I stop getting harassed by the single women in the town,” he squeezed your hand again, “you get your parents off your back.”
“University,” you hummed and leaned back against the booth you were in, “and you’ll pay?”
“You need to put in the effort, Y/N. We need to appear to be the perfect couple.” Steve watched the wheels in your head turn.
“I can be perfect.” You bat your eyes.
“If you’re a good girl, I’ll treat you.” There was thickening in the air around you, desire crackling like lightning before the thunder.
“And if I’m bad?” You bit your bottom lip, stoking the fire in your belly.
“Then I’ll punish you,” Steve answered so honestly and with such husk in his voice that you almost wished he would’ve punished you now.
“What kind of punishments are you talking about, Steve?” You pondered, wetness pooling between your legs when he stood and moved around the table, his eyes captivating yours.
He placed one hand on the table in front of you and the other right behind your back, trapping you between his arms and his solid body.
He leaned in and brushed his lips against the shell of your ear, effectively bringing a rise of goosebumps to your flesh. “You seem like the kind of woman who needs a good spanking to keep them in line.”
You gasped when his hand on the table reached down to squeeze your inner thigh. You gasped and spread your legs when you felt how hard he was trapped in his black slacks.
“And I have a feeling you would enjoy every minute.” He added his final tease by blowing lightly on your ear, and then he was gone, moved back across the table as if nothing happened.
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