Seductive Gypsy

Warning: This writing contains blasphemy.

It’s no mystery that I find the taboo of Blasphemy to be erotic. Not for the fact that it’s taboo, but because it’s filthy. Part of me knows writing will send me to hell, but I don’t fear that anymore. Rumor has it; all the best people will be waiting for me. I guess I embrace my darkness more than I should. 

Sunday morning mass is where all good little Catholic girls should be. But there was something inside of me today that felt like an itch. Something I call a full-body itch. I knew it was coming at that very moment. 

Blasphemy was giving me chills!

The mirror holds all your truths and will not lie to you. When I stood in front of that full-length mirror in my room, I knew I wasn’t dressed like I should have been. I wore a short black skirt, silk red blouse, black stockings held up by hope and prayer, and 5-inch heels. I should have stuck with the 4 inches, but I was feeling frisky. My hair pulled back into a bun, and make-up was a little darker than usual. As I said, I have an itch.

The ride to the church didn’t take that long. I called a cab instead of driving myself today. When I’m agitated, I shouldn’t drive myself. Fifteen minutes after the ride began, I stood in front of St. John Catholic Church. I stared the building down as though it was the gates to hell. Shivering from the chill in the air, I entered holy ground like a serpent on a mission. 

Linger back till the last minute. I dipped my fingers in the holy water—my slender digits dripping with that sacred liquid.

“Father, son and holy spirit, Amen.”

Bringing my fingers to my lips, kissing the tips, I followed the last person into that old church. The place of worship was built at the turn of the century, the walls showed wear, but it was beautiful. Light poured in through the stained-glass windows illuminating the entire church. If you looked up, it was as though particles of souls lingered in the air. Of course, it was dust, but at times, I wondered whether the souls of the lost littered in the ceiling of these hallowed halls. Or was this an optical illusion to make those scared think twice about their actions? 

A seat at the end of the last aisle was the only available. Slipping in, my gaze still down, I placed the tatter bible the church had on hand in my lap. Running my fingers over the leather bindings, I wondered how many held this before me. How many women sat in the same spot as I did and felt the same itch that tormented me. A shiver of the souls before me ran down my spine. Many, I assumed, were tortured by the Devil. According to the bible, he was once an angel who fell from grace. There is good and evil in every person in this world, and the battle for power is our greatest war.

The hymns echoed from one wall to the next. The sounds of those words rocked me to the core. I was here for such deviant needs, and God was trying hard to wage war inside the demons that dwelled inside of my body. Clenching my thighs, the core of my lust seeped to my silky red panties. Did this music turn me on? For me, it was a symphony of porn sung by Whores, Degenerates, Sinners, and Saints. 

As we progressed through this service, the time came for communion. Lines of people stood in the aisles, all waiting to reach the front and accept the blessing. The Priest stood there in his robe. His words repeated over and over. He placed the small cracker particle on the tongues of his parishioners. As I stood at the end, I wondered what he thought of them. Did he laugh inside at a few? 

“Your fat.”

“God sees those marks on your arms and the bruises on your face.”

My attention span always did drift off when bored. My Mother claimed it to be ADHD, but the Doctors wouldn’t medicate me for it. They said I was an average child and would outgrow it all. I never did. I still have an overactive imagination. Hence, the reason for my visit to church today. 

Finally, my turn, I was the last one, and this not being my home church, I wanted to see what would happen if I pushed my limits. Holding the offering over me, he asked me the question. Though I should have said Amen, opened my mouth, and accepted, I couldn’t do it. A voice I didn’t know erupted from my lips, degrading this poor Man. 

“I want to suck your cock and have the juice of Jesus forced down my throat!”

His face fell to an ashen color, looking as though he was staring into the face of the Devil herself. Was I? I often thought of myself as Lilith. A succubus who lives to mate with men and kill them in return. Though I have no desire to kill, I did want to feel this Man inside of me. Not in a spiritual way, but the physical. 

Dismissing me after the offering was in my mouth, I didn’t stop to think until I sat in the last row again. Wondering what the Priest thought, I knew the moment he spoke. With a quivering tone, the Father excused himself, and the choir finished out the service. I was halfway out the door when a firm hand on my shoulder stopped me.

“The Father wants you in his office, NOW!”

A Nun stood there, her face the victim of years, she gave me the impression that if I didn’t do it, she would force me anyways. Being the good Catholic, I am, I followed her down that long dark wood halls. Have you ever noticed that churches have a particular smell to them? Incense filling my nostrils with a pungent odor of Frankincense. The last door would be my destination. 

“Father Damien, the woman, she’s here.”

Her voice was stern, but she left the moment I arrived. Motioning with one hand, the Man whom I insulted called me into his small office. It’s 14×14, but that was normal for most office spaces. He motioned for me to sit in the solid oak chair across from him with no words, I won’t lie. In was a little scared. I had stuck my foot in my mouth out there, and not he was going to scold me for it. I don’t know how long I sat in silence, but it felt as though an eternity had passed me by while I sat in that chair. 

“Do you still feel comfortable with those taboo words you spoke out there? Or now, do you feel as though the walls can’t protect you from blasphemy?”

Standing, he walked around and perched his ass on the edge of the desk. His robe was now open, and I could see his arousal. I am a fucking idiot, or am I the very one who would find out what his cock tasted like? A little of both if we’re honest here. Biting down on my bottom lip, I tugged the small pillow into my teeth. Chewing on it till the copper taste filled my mouth. I knew what I wanted. I had this horrible itch that demanded relief. 

“I’m not scared of you. I said it there, and I will say it now. I want to feel the juice of Jesus down my throat.”

As he shook his head, his hand went to the front of his slacks. The zipper inched down one tooth at a time. Not one to waste time, I slipped from the chair, my hands in my lap, and resting on my legs waiting. I was going to suck this Priests cock while the sound of church released was a faint reminder of where I was. 

“May I, Father?”

Asking, I was going to do it anyway, but his hand to the back of my head. Pushing that thick head across my tongue showed me he approved of my actions. He forced my mouth down to his groin, gagging halfway. Father Damien was a man, after all. He wouldn’t be able to resist the new Mary Magdalene, who tempted him. I wrapped my supple lips around the head. The tip of my tongue flicked back and forth over the thick mushroom head of his cock. He tasted good, but I felt as though someone was watching me. It could have been all those crosses hanging on the wall that drilled holes in my spine. 

A firm yank back on my head, and we remained connected through a thin line of saliva. He watched my face like I was shit on his shoes, but that didn’t stop him from forcing his cock right back down my throat. Greed, lust, and envy, I am sure he was breaking more sins, but those were the first I thought of when I looked up. My nostrils were flaring each time he pushed down harder on my head. I forced tears to run down my cheeks in the horror of choking. 

“Suck my fucking cock, you diabolical little whore. Fucking bitch coming into the lord’s house and begging for his seed. You will rot in the pits of hell.”

Harsh words coming from a Man of the cloth had me reaching for the floor. Digging my nails into the hardwood and moaning out in fear. What if the flooring opened, and minions of Satan pulled me down to the fire pit below me? I feared that. I knew it was in the hands of fate, but I feared that more than anything else in the world. 

Tangling his slender digits in my hair, ripping a few strands from the roots. I screamed out, but my cries muffled by his cock. Vibrations from my throat against the head. My moans sent this Man on a spiraling journey that ended with a shot of cum pouring into my stomach. It tasted so foul. So, repulsive. It even smelled unpleasant when he shot the heavy, sperm laden stream into my throat. Fire and brimstone was the first thing I thought of when the cream hit my tongue. Weird taboo things go through your mind when you know you’re playing advocate to the Devil. 

“Drink that shit. You’re a filthy slut. Drink it all.”

Though it made my stomach retch, I did as told. I drank down the Father’s cum, regretting this itch that brought be here. No sooner had he came, then he zipped and walked around to the other side of his desk to take a seat. Flipping through his datebook, he arranged for baptism for me. He said that he would contact all the local Priests and have them come to witness. Each would deliver their own word of the lord. He is Father Darkness, and I’m recruited as the Devils whore.

Evil eyes upon me. I shook my head, took a notecard with instructions on when to return. I ran from that church like a whore caught. I’m scared, but there is no way I can back down now. He already marked me with his brand. The cum that sickened my stomach, but forcing myself to vomit, did not rid me of the curse. I would carry his mark till done with me. I can only pray it will be soon.