Sunday Smut Catholic edition

So this edition of Sunday Smut has some rather religious core. So those who think they might be offended then by all means utilize the red x at the top right of your screen. All others, ejoy.




To Cardinal Archibald Masterson.

Your Eminence,

My name is Father Benedict. I am the priest of Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow in the 2nd district of my diocese. It is after much prayer and with a heavy heart that I write this letter. I fear I may no longer be able to fulfill my responsibilities to my congregation. I find myself compromised by one of my congregants.

Her name is Mary.

Mary comes to my rectory every Monday at 2 pm for counseling. And every Monday at 1:30 I pray to the Lord to give me strength. Mary is unlike any of my other congregants. I believe evil exists within her. The evil that has threatened mankind since Eden. Temptation. It is my duty to help her purge this evil from her soul yet I fear I am may not triumph for the Lord. Each Monday I feel some inner wall within me crumble a little more. Her words eroding my safeguards. 17 times she has come now. 17 Mondays I have sat and listened to her tell me about the deviant thoughts that torment her. 17 times I have endured her graphic confession of the desires that plague her dreams. By confessing she cleanses her soul. By confessing she makes herself stronger. By confessing she does not give in to her perverted needs. But by confessing she taints me. I feel it within my soul. These disgusting words have nestled in my brain. I hear her when she isn’t there. God help me that the images her words conjure do not disgust me. These wicked acts she describes do not repulse me as they should. I do not feel condemnation as I should. How then am I to lead her upon the path of righteousness?

Last Monday she came to me and I nearly yielded. She was seated across my desk as ever. She began her confession in the usual way I did not hear a word she said. I could do nothing but stare at the hem of her skirt. It was pressed tightly against her leg, just above the knee. I hardly could breathe looking at the spot where the black of her tight skirt met the creamy paleness of her thigh. I began salivating and was seized by a strong impulse to run my hand across that spot. The impulse was so real I could feel myself leaning forward when reason returned to me and I was able to wrench my mind away from that sordid fantasy.

I focused instead upon her words but they brought me no comfort. No distance from the vision I had just had. Her demon had brought forth in her a whole new torment for me. She told me about a new desire that had awoken within her. I know I am sinning as we speak my confessing this to you but I feel it is too much for my weak soul. I ask you Cardinal for help on how to guide this poor child of God.

She finds herself tormented by desire to have horrible things done to her. Things no decent woman would want. She tells me about these, things, and god help me she uses me as the example of her abuser. She always begins with “In my dream there was this man. Do you mind if I refer to him as you. I don’t mean it’s you in my dreams, but it will just be less confusing for me. Do you mind?” and then she cocks her head to the side and waits for my reply while her hair spills over her shoulder. The look is so innocent and non assuming that every time my voice catches in my throat and I feel a stir in my pants. I choke out “of course my child. If it is easier for you.” And then she launches into a tirade which though I know she is not speaking of me, I find that I can not separate myself from her fantasy. I see it from the perspective of the man she describes. I see myself doing these horrible things to her and god help me, I like it. I like thinking it is me tying her down. It is me telling her how wanton she is. Me beating her. I look at her creamy skin and I listen to her words and I can feel the smoothness of her rear as she bends over my lap. I can feel the sharp slap of her flesh as I bring my hand down. I can hear the crack of skin on skin. I bring my hand down again and again making her skin burn red. I feel the heat of the enflamed skin beneath my fingers. I pinch her rear and she squirms beneath me and the movement sends blood rushing to my pants. I pinch her again and she lets out a little squeal. I move my fingers between her legs and my fingers come away wet. She tells me sheis a salacious woman and needs to be punished for it.

I push her from my lap and she falls to the floor. She cries out but I do not bend down to help her up. Instead I order her to shut up and stand. She does so immediately. I ask her if she enjoyed herself. She looks at the floor and says No. Immediately I smack her across the face. The sting of my palm striking her cheek is so satisfying I feel it reverberating up my arm. She cries out. I grab her by the neck and turn her around, thrusting her at the wall. She hits it hard and begins crying. Her tears do not move me and truth be told they excite me all the more. I grab her again by her neck and press her against the wall, my legs forcing hers apart. I grab a vestment from my desk and tie it quickly around her wrists. I then loop the vestment over an iron cross affixed securely on the wall. She is held in place and can not move. She whimpers and whines and every sound brings forth new levels of excitement within me.

Oh God in Heaven! What is wrong with me? Cardinal I beg your forgiveness! I should smite the words I have written. Tear them and burn them but I think rather I will leave them as they are. Now you see how the evil that taints her has tainted my soul as well! I am lost! Please, your grace, please, I beg of you, instruct your lowly son. Show me the path for I am truly lost! Show me the way back to the Lord! Help me before it is too late!

Yours in the service of the Lord,
Father Benedict