God's Hand

Father Mathew roused with a groan. His side hurt where he had been lying on the sharp edges of the steps in front of the altar. He must have fallen asleep during the prayer. A sort of memory of a strange woman who had come to see him lingered in the back of his mind. Had she really been here? He doubted it. For one thing, it would be more than unusual for such a sophisticated person to visit a village priest in his secluded church. For another, her appearance from the shadows without the slightest indication of how she had entered was out of the ordinary. The longer he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that it could only have been a weird dream.

He painfully heaved himself up and shuffled towards the vicarage where he lived on his own. A widow came by regularly to clean, and sometimes she brought him something to eat so that he didn't have to cook himself. But at this late hour, of course, she was already in her own home. After a quick wash, Mathew lay down in his soft bed.

But sleep would not find him. Troubled, he tossed and turned. The most disturbing thing for him was that the image of Erika appeared every time he closed his eyes. Her lovely face seemed to look down at him, as if she were stooping over him. Her long blonde strands hung down and he could almost feel the tips of her hair tickling his cheek. He could even smell her fresh, youthful scent when he inhaled deeply.

He didn't understand why the apparition was haunting him. Was there something between him and her that **** him to think about her?

And it got worse. The dream image began to unbutton the top of the flowered dress that the real Erika often wore to mass on Sundays in summer. Mathew swore that he had never seen the girl undressed. But the vision that haunted him was so clear and lifelike that he never doubted for a moment that her breasts were really as full and firm and snow-white as he imagined them to be. Soon the large, pink areolas were also stealing out of the ever-widening gap in her cleavage. The nipples emerged big and erect. Erika bit her lower lip as she grabbed them and squeezed them gently.

Mathew slipped his hand into the pyjama bottoms. What he touched there didn't surprise him. He had long since felt how his cock had inflated. This condition was not entirely unfamiliar to him. Even though he was celibate, he was a healthy man, so it happened occasionally. For him, an erection was neither shameful nor a cause for guilt.

Normally.

But today was different. The desire that filled him as he felt the tugging in his loins was not an accidental occurrence. It was a direct result of the fantasy he had of Erika. He now saw her standing naked in front of him. Every detail of her was clear and frighteningly lifelike, right down to her faint tummy, wide hips and the golden curls covering her pubis. Magically drawn to the sight, he was unable to avert his gaze despite mustering all his willpower.

Mathew let out a loud gasp as he grabbed his cock and felt the heat and the throbbing of the blood in his swollen veins. Hesitantly, he began to rub himself. He knew it was wrong. It was wrong to imagine one of his flock in this state. It was wrong to feel physical pleasure. And yet there was nothing he could do about it.

He kicked the blankets off and practically tore his pants down. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, he jerked himself off. Rough and panting, he struggled for breath. Tormented by self-reproach, he imagined that it was not his own manhandling that was inexorably driving him to the longed-for climax. No, he wished Erika would spoil him in this way. She watched in naïve amazement as his manhood grew bigger and harder. Innocence mingled with brazen shamelessness in her expression.

Then she bent down. Her sweet mouth opened. Her tongue licked over the strawberry-red lips. And ...

He exploded, roaring ecstatically, convulsing, twitching. Loads of cum shot up, slapping against his stomach, his thighs, the sheet.

He sank back, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. Fatigued, exhausted.

And happy.