In the hallowed halls of the Church of St. Andrew, the air was thick with the scent of incense and candle wax. The midday sun cast long shadows through the stained glass windows, bathing the stone floor in a kaleidoscope of colors.
Father Thomas, a man of God in his late forties, knelt before the altar, deep in prayer. His mind, however, was not focused on the divine but rather on the tantalizing vision he had seen earlier that day.
A woman, a stranger to these parts, had entered the church during morning mass. She was a vision of beauty, with long blonde hair cascading down her shoulders and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through him. Her small breasts were encased in a tight-fitting fishnet top, and her long legs were sheathed in black stockings.
Father Thomas had tried to focus on the service, but the woman’s presence had been a distraction he could not ignore. And when she had approached him after the service, her voice like a melody, he had felt a stirring in his loins that he had not felt in years.
Now, as he knelt before the altar, he could not shake the image of the woman from his mind. He imagined her standing before him, her body bared for his pleasure. He imagined his hands roaming over her smooth skin, his fingers teasing her hard nipples. He imagined his tongue tracing a path down her belly, his lips closing around her clit, his fingers plunging deep inside her.
The thought was sinful, he knew, but he could not help himself. He had been a man of the cloth for too long, and the temptation was too great.
