Pastor's Corruption

The parsonage was quiet, too quiet. Pastor James Gabriel stood in the dimly lit study, the scent of old books and wood polish filling his nostrils. He had come here to pray, to meditate, to find some semblance of peace. But the silence was oppressive, like a weight pressing down on his chest. His fingers twitched at his sides, his palms slick with sweat. He had been fighting it for weeks, months, even. The gnawing desire that crept into his thoughts when he least expected it. The images that flashed behind his eyes when he closed them to pray. The lust.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. “No,” he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. “This is not me. This is not who I am.” But the words felt hollow, empty. He was a man of God, a shepherd to his flock. How could he be tormented by such sinful thoughts? How could he feel this way?

His eyes darted to the door, as if he expected someone to burst in and catch him in this moment of weakness. But he was alone. Completely, utterly alone. The realization sent a shiver down his spine, and he felt his pulse quicken. His hands trembled as he reached for the hem of his pants, his fingers fumbling with the button. “Stop,” he whispered to himself, but his body wasn’t listening. The need was too strong, too insistent.

With a shaky breath, he tugged his pants down, his boxers following. The cool air hit his skin, and he gasped. His cock was already half-hard, standing at attention despite his best efforts to will it away. It was small, embarrassingly so, and he hated it. Hated the way it made him feel less than, like he wasn’t a real man. But right now, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the ache, the **** need for release.

He wrapped his hand around himself, his touch tentative at first. The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through his body. He bit down on his lip to stifle a moan, his hips bucking instinctively. “Oh God,” he breathed, his eyes fluttering shut. His hand moved faster, his fingers tightening around his shaft. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite get there. The frustration was maddening, and he let out a low groan.

His free hand trailed down his stomach, his fingers brushing against his asshole. The touch was accidental at first, but the moment his fingertip grazed the sensitive skin, something inside him snapped. A wave of heat surged through him, and before he could think, he was pushing a finger inside himself. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt, intense, overwhelming, wrong. But he couldn’t stop.

He added a second finger, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. His cock twitched, precum leaking onto his stomach, but he barely noticed. All of his focus was on the feeling of his fingers moving inside him, stretching him, filling him in a way that made his entire body shudder with need.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned, his head falling back. His hips shifted, pushing his fingers deeper. The angle was awkward, but he didn’t care. He was too far gone to care. The pressure was building inside him, coiling tight in his gut, and he knew he was close. So close.

His fingers pressed against a spot inside him that made his vision blur, and he let out a strangled cry. His cock pulsed, untouched, as he came, his release spilling over his hand and onto the floor. The pleasure was all-consuming, dragging him under until he was gasping for air, his body trembling with the **** of it.