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Liberator Lusty Lit Erotic Fiction Contest awards the winner with a $250 gift card to Vote for your favorite story by clicking the heart at the end of the post.


“…Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil…”

His prayer was barely audible over the din of the storm. Darkness was overtaking the sanctuary as the candles faltered and died.  Ever patient, ever obedient, the young priest kept vigil.  The prayer had been hollow to him for many months now and the rage of the storm did little to ease his troubled mind. Little by little doubts had crept in and seeded resentment. He had always been the good boy; the obedient one and seminary had seemed the obvious choice. Faith had become his cloak, his identity but he had never known the touch of a woman and in the darkness, he doubted that he even knew himself.


The word died on his lips as a chill washed over him. The young priest raised his bowed head to open doors of the sanctuary.  A woman in a dark gown posed there, her body lithe with feline elegance.

“Sorry” she smiled coolly as she struggled to shut out the night’s chill.  

“It’s okay child, our doors are open to all,” the line felt false, rehearsed far too many times.

The priest rose to help her with the heavy doors.  He was far too close, he realized, for he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. She looked up at him with eyes too green to be natural. In them, he could read lust. The young priest backed away and he could feel the warmth of embarrassment on his face.  

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Don’t be.”

The priest began scooting back to the safety of the altar. The woman pursued him with predatory grace. The sway of her hips as she stalked him tempted all sorts of wicked thoughts. Suddenly, his lower back pressed against the mantle of the altar and his breath started racing in ragged spurts. He was trapped.  

The woman fixed her new plaything with a bemused look. Her long fingernails trailed over his chest, tracing a path ever lower, over his stomach now, now lower still. The priest shivered, struggling to maintain control over his body.  Her fingers were almost upon the part that was heeding him least. Her hand hovered for a moment and it took all of his will not to press himself against it.

She pulled away and returned to tracing the slow path from chest ever lower. With each pass of her fingers, his resolve weakened, his briefs were growing uncomfortably tight. Her fingers were so close now, far too close. He was slipping. Every nerve was primed. Every muscle was tight. Every breath was a gasp. Just barely she brushed the cloth of his frock. He was lost and he pressed the hardness of his cock into her palm. A deliciously evil grin spread across her face.

She laid her other hand upon his shoulder. He expected her to shove him back onto the altar, but she didn’t. Down she forced him, down onto his knees. From beneath her gown, he caught the scent of something primal. Whatever semblance of humanity was lost as he tore at the fabric. His grasp would leave bruises on her pale thighs. He nuzzled his head against her, stealing kiss along the ticklish parts of her thighs. When he reached the apple of her womanhood, he paused. There would be no going back. The priest glanced up at the cross, and then he gave into temptation.

The taste was sweeter than he expected and it awoke a hunger in him that stretched back to the dawn of time. Again and again he tongue raced over her folds and flicked her clitoris. The woman egged him on with little whimpers. By her guidance, he focused his attention on the tiny nub. The flicking alternated with sucking and when he attempted a little nibble of his teeth, her whole body began to tremble. Encouraged he slipped a finger inside her and slowly stroked until she screamed.

“Good boy,” she panted “your turn.“

Her eyes brightened when she noticed the wedge-shaped pillow old Father Donhill used when he knelt in prayed.  From the name “Liberator” and by how red-faced the parishioner who brought it to the charity auction had been, the young priest had suspected it to be more than orthotic.

She laid the pillow on the altar and stripped him of his robes. Lying back on the wedge, it appeared that his penis had sprouted to an impressive length.  The women nestled her slim thighs about him and brushed her pussy against his shaft. The head of his cock leapt at the teasing and his balls ached with need. The time for patience was over. He gripped her hips and thrust his cock deep into her.  

Her body bowed back at the penetration, her neck long, her nipples pointing skyward.  His hand left her hips to pinch one of the erect buds and she mewled in pleasure. Her body was already primed from the earlier climax and writhed under his touch. When he bit her other breast. She slammed him down on the altar.  There was no concern for the other anymore, just the animalistic pursuit of one’s own pleasure. It was like being touched by fire, every nerve ending alive and screaming.  His cock was plunging into her deeper and deeper into her. Every thought had been banished to a vat of pure need. He could feel her tighten, his cock held fast. She gave a little yip as the orgasm struck and wave after wave of pulses rolled down his shaft. He rode her orgasm to the precipice of his own. For a moment everything in the world disappeared except the sharp-edge pleasure in his loins. Spent, the woman pulled away.

As she rose and turned, he finally noticed the snake inked over her back. She glanced back over her shoulder at him and her eyes flashed their unnatural green.

“Welcome out of Eden, Adam.”