by Freya Kane
Mr. Collins leered at me as he reached between us and squeezed one of my tits. “Such beautiful breasts my girl has. So gorgeous and large. I want to bury myself in them.” His thin fingers were rough against the delicate skin of my breasts. He pinched my hard nipples, squeezing almost to the point of pain, and I could feel the orgasm building in me. I had never been fucked this well before, and no cock had ever filled me up the way Mr. Collins’ had.
“Fill me up with your come, Professor!” I cried as my orgasm tore through me. Lying on my back on shag carpeting that was probably older than I was, Mr. Collins pounded into me before tensing above me. I felt the first jets of his hot come spurt inside me, crying out in bliss as we both tumbled over the edge.
What was the chance that Mr. Collins’ could get me pregnant?
***
I had every intention of making my visits to Mr. Collins a regular thing. We saw each other at the mailbox, and he continued his usual snappish behavior towards me. The only difference was the “delinquent friends” he always complained about became the “nasty friends.”
Before I realized it, almost a month had passed since that day, and I woke up feeling sick for the third morning in a row. You can only blame sketchy takeout for so long, so I gathered up my courage and went to the drug store. An hour later I was sitting in my bathroom, staring at the two blue lines on the test.
Mr. Collins had given me the best fuck of my life on his living room floor, and he had given me more than that. His age-defying cock had gotten me pregnant.
Once again, I cut across that perfectly manicured lawn, only this time I was a lot less timid at the door. I opened the door and walked in without any hesitation, wondering why a man who seemed to dislike and distrust the whole world always left his door unlocked.
"The nasty girl is back." I jumped at his voice and saw him sitting on a recliner in the living room, some documentary on PBS droning in the background. He had just arrived home from classes and was still wearing his usual tweed jacket. This one had elbow patches. Staring at that distinguished face instantly reminded me of the thick meat he was packing inside those wool pants. “Did you want another go around, my lush beauty?”
The pregnancy hormones flooding my body had me even hornier than usual, and all I could think of was riding that cock until come was dripping down my thighs.
“I would love another go around, sir," I said, peeling the clingy slipdress I wore over my head, and dropping it on the brown carpet. I had worn it just for him. The dress was a bit too small so the fabric clung to every curve of my body and emphasized my chest. “I know I should have learned to behave last time. You’re my teacher and it’s wrong.” I unsnapped my bra and threw it on the floor. “But I just can’t get enough of you, sir.” I pushed down my red lace panties and stepped out of them, standing before him totally naked.
“Nasty girls fuck their professors and get knocked up. Nasty girls come back and ask to get fucked again.”
Mr. Collins looked surprised at my admission and more than a little amused. “Knocked up, hmm? Didn’t know the old swimmers were still that strong. I’ve gotten a few girls in the family way over the years. I know what comes over you.” He pulled me down onto his lap and slid his hands between my legs, easily finding my slick opening with his fingers. “Hornier than you’ve ever been in your life, aren’t you?” I answered him with a moan, spreading my legs wide for those fingers.
Two fingers pushed into my slippery pussy, and he quickly added a third after that, pumping them in and out as his thumb rubbed my clit. “Professor Collins knows how to take care of his naughty little girl,” he said, tweaking my nipple with his free hand. That extra stimulation on my overly sensitive breasts was just enough to push me over the edge and I came, my inner muscles squeezing his fingers.
I was half aware of Mr. Collins reaching between my splayed legs to unzip his pants. That wide cock sprung out of his pants, and he guided it into my quivering pussy. I keened loudly as I felt myself split open on his wide cock. He started bouncing his leg, encouraging me to move with him. Taking his direction, I started rising and falling on his cock, driving him deeper and deeper into my pussy with each bounce.
“That’s right, Mary,” he whispered into my ear, “You ride me. Let me see those magnificent breasts bouncing!”
“YES!” I moaned, gripping his muscular thighs as his hips bucked me upwards, my ample breasts bouncing with every thrust.
“You want me to fill that tight little cunt up with my come until it just pours out of you, don’t you?” he demanded, both hands going up to cup my breasts and twist my sensitive nipples.
“YES SIR!” I cried, moaning as I felt his hot come spill inside me.
“That’s a good girl,” he said, patting me on the ass as I stood up. “Come back here.”
I sat on his lap, and rested my head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his scratchy wool jacket. "Those things I say, you know it's just in the heat of the moment?" he asked, and, for the first time, Mr. Collins actually looked shy and somewhat penitent for his dirty outbursts.
“Of course!” I answered, feeling more than a little pleased that he seemed to care that much. “I like it when you say dirty things like that.”
Mr. Collins’ mouth curled into that familiar smirk. “Anytime your fingers aren’t enough, come back then!”
I’d like to say that I was strong and I ran out of there any never came back, that I found myself a man my own age and had a normal relationship that involved something other than quick fucks on a couch. I'd be lying, though.
The hormones were intense and they only got stronger as my pregnancy progressed. My breasts began to swell and my belly grew, and every few days, when the craving got too much, I was back at that smooth red door.
Before I knew it I was eight months gone and big as a house which only seemed to turn Mr. Collins on more. For an older man, he had more stamina than most guys my own age. I let myself in without bothering to knock. At this point, I knew better than to wear anything more than the bare minimum of clothing over there. I had lost far too many pairs of panties already.
I wanted more, and soon I was back at that peeling red door.
Mr. Collins always seemed to know when I was coming over. His dick was a large bulge in the front of another pair of his wool trousers that matched the color of his hair. “I was hoping you’d come over today,” he said, his eyes raking hungrily over my form.
I stripped off the maternity dress I was wearing and laid back on the couch, baring my body to his leering gaze. Mr. Collins seemed to be in a surprisingly good mood today because he slowly knelt down on his knees between my open legs and buried his face in my soaking pussy.
He licked my slit and greedily circled my lips with his tongue. The circles grew tighter and tighter until he slipped his tongue inside me. My hips reared up off the couch, trying desperately to get closer to him and intensify these incredible sensations I was feeling.
The next spot his tongue visited was my clit. I had my hands tangled in his soft hair, yanking him closer to my body as he pressed the flat of his tongue against my clit insistently. The pressure was too much for my overly aroused body to handle for very long and I cried out, “Mr. Collins!” as I climaxed, shaking and nearly crying from the pleasure as I coated his face with my juices.
His hands stroked my belly and the swelling there before moving upwards to my breasts. He lowered his head to suckle one in his mouth. He sucked on my nipple harshly, squeezing my breast until I felt the unfamiliar sensation of milk oozing out of my nipples. I shivered, his attentions to my breasts making my pussy stir, even though I had just had an orgasm.
Mr. Collins laid down on the couch and pulled me on top of him, guiding his cock into my wet and welcoming hole. I was too big to bounce on his cock the way I wanted to, so I began slowly rocking on him instead, the motion giving a delicious pressure on my clit.
My giant pregnant belly was between us, and my milk engorged breasts bounce
d with every rocking thrust. I had been fucked and bred by this man, and now he was suckling the milk from me like I was his own private cow. It was the most erotic thing I had ever experienced, no matter what anyone else might think.
Mr. Collins didn’t last long this time, but the sight of that well-muscled chest covered in hair and the feeling of his come splashing inside me had me shaking in orgasm and screaming out “Professor!” as I rode him.
The world might think I’m crazy for what I let my neighbor do to me, but I’m not crazy. I’m just a little bit nasty.
Taken by the Priest
by
Freya Kane
Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.
I was a good girl.
I had always been a good girl.
Until one day, I wasn’t.
***
The church was empty and the air inside was cool. The dark wood door of the confessional stood just a few feet away, inviting me in. Inside that tiny wooden room, the air was warm and still. I could see the form of Father Collins through the divider and my breath caught at the sight of the handsome young priest.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession."
“Tell me your sins, child.”
I was just eighteen, but I bristled briefly at being called child before beginning. “I lied to my parents about where I was going last night. I told them I was going to the movies with friends, but I went to my boyfriend’s house instead. His parents are out of town, so we had a chance to be alone. I’ve always been dedicated to saving myself for marriage, but I love Eric so much, and he wanted to touch me so badly.
“I told him that I came into his house a virgin, and I would leave the same way, but what we did doesn’t really count as sex, right?” I sounded unconvinced even to my own ears.
“I can’t judge the level of your sin without more details. Continue.”
Obediently, I did. “At first it was just kissing, but he kept putting his hands under my skirt. At first I kept my legs closed but he just kept kissing me and I started to relax,” I shifted in my seat, the memories flooding back and bringing the feelings of shame and arousal with them.
"He put his hand inside my panties and then he kissed my neck and said, ‘I can feel how much you want this.' He started touching me, and it just felt so good that I let him. He pressed two of his fingers inside of me and started pumping them in and out. I could feel this pressure building up inside my body like a volcano and he just kept rubbing me until I started shaking. ‘I'm going to make you come,' he said. He pushed his fingers deep inside of me, and I came on the couch in his living room, my skirt around my waist and my legs spread open for anyone to see.
"He took his fingers out of me and I heard the zipper of his pants go down. I'd never seen a man naked before, but there he was. It was hard and red, and he took my hand and said, ‘Stroke it. I made you feel good.' So I did. I slid my hand up and down, and when he tangled his fingers in my hair and pushed my head down, I opened my mouth and let him put it inside. I bobbed my head up and down and in a few seconds, I tasted salt as he finished in my mouth.
“I can still taste it,” I finished. My face was bright with embarrassment as I realized just how explicit I had gotten in front of a priest. “I want to be good. I want to be pure. I made a mistake. I just want to be forgiven so I can start anew,” I whispered, keeping my eyes focused on my folded hands.
“How can someone who lets herself be used like a whore ever be pure?” The words were soft, but I heard the venom in every syllable.
I look up to stare into his dark eyes, piercing me through the screen. “I want to be forgiven,” I repeat.
“Don’t we all. You’ll need quite the act of contrition to earn forgiveness for this. Are you prepared to submit to the will of God?” His voice was cold as iron. Saying no was unthinkable.
“Yes.”
He pushed aside the flimsy barrier that hung between us and pulled me down onto his lap. I could feel the evidence of his lust pressing between my thighs. I had come right from Eric’s house to the church, so the crotch of my panties was still damp from earlier. Retelling the story had awakened my senses again, and the priest’s rough handling had me dripping with want.
The thin white cotton ripped easily and he tossed it aside. “Golden hair above and below,” he said, tracing his finger down the length of my slit. “You really are a filthy slut aren’t you? Lusting after a man of the cloth, after all.”
Without giving any warning he shoved three fingers inside of me. I groaned, the feeling of fullness almost too much to bear. He drove his fingers in and out of me pushing me closer and closer to orgasm, but pulling back each time before the waves of release could crash over me.
“I want to hear you beg,” he ordered. “Beg me to fuck your virgin pussy.”
“Please,” I stammered, “Fuck my virgin p-pussy.”
“Please, Father Collins.”
“Please, Father Collins,” I begged, my thighs clenching around his hand, every muscle in my body straining towards that moment of pleasure that was worth the sin.
Being a good Catholic girl, I wasn’t using any kind of birth control, and the thought that he might get me pregnant terrified and aroused me, making me feel even more debauched.
My body protested when he pulled his fingers from me to unzip his black pants. His cock jutted out of the opening of his pants, longer and thicker than Eric’s and I wondered how it would fit inside me. Father Collins pulled me down onto his lap and I felt the head press into my pussy.
“This will hurt,” he said, “But we all must suffer for our sins.” He sheathed himself fully inside me and I cried out at the sharp spike of pain the first thrust brought. Father Collins held still, but I knew better than to mistake it for compassion. His perfect white teeth were clenched with the effort to allow me that moment to adjust. Just a moment and then his hands went to my hips, lifting me up and pressing me against the wall of the confessional.
His hips rammed forward and with each thrust, the pain lessened. The inferno was building in me again, and each thrust of his hips rubbed his shaft against my clit. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, feeling hard muscles under the thick black fabric.
“Don’t come.” The words were whispered in my ear and I almost sobbed, but I obeyed, clenching my thighs against the tremors that were so close to the surface. A few more thrusts and he plunged deep into me. I felt the pulse of his cock as he emptied himself into me. He leaned against me for a moment, gasping for breath, before pulling out.
Father Collins tucked his cock back into his pants and looked at me. My blonde hair was wild and sweaty. My face was flushed and my skirt may have slipped back down but we both knew that my thighs were stained with semen and my own juices.
“Make yourself presentable, and bring yourself into my office.”
Without looking back he strode away through the empty church, leaving me standing in the darkened confessional, breathing the mingled scents of incense and sex.
***
The door to his office was dark wood, ornately carved with vines that looked more like snakes in the dim light. I knocked tentatively.
“Enter.”
I expected the room to look like a dungeon but instead, it was more dark oak. Endless amounts of books lined the shelves against the walls. An earth-brown leather chair beside the unlit fireplace was the only piece of furniture in the room apart from a heavy wood desk and the matching chair he sat on.
His gaze bored through me, digging down into my soul and showing him every filthy thought that had crossed my mind. He was a priest and he had fucked me in every sense of the word, so I knew he was no innocent, but his presence made me want only to kneel at his feet and do whatever he asked to atone.
“I think,” he began without preamble, “an Our Father would be a good place to start.” Father Collins rose from the chair in one fluid motion and took my hand. He lead me to the desk and placed both my han
ds flat on the cool wood surface. The unspoken order of Keep them there did not escape me.
His hands caressed my ass and pushed up my skirt, bunching it around my waist. “Begin. And Bridget? I want it in Latin.”
Slowly I began the prayer, thankful this was one I could recite in my sleep. “Pater noster qui es in-” my voice cut off with a yelp as a sharp line of pain cut across the top of my thighs. I looked over my shoulder and saw the sturdy wooden ruler in his hand.
“Continue,” his tone left no more room for further hesitation.
“-in coelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum-”
