Your erotic stories

In the year 1008 as reckoned in Rome on the Julian Calendar, Brother Cyryl Procopius was given a writ of Accession to take over the Parish of St. Adelbert in the Polish town of Virlun at the edge of the God-forsaken Wood of Mldawa. It was well known that the world ended at the Bug river, and that the Woods of Mldawa were the beginning of the Great Wilderness that surrounded the realm of Blessed Christendom, a place where Satan and his minions held sway out of the reach of God and his all his angels;

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Father Flanagan slowly woke up as the morning light crept through the bedroom window. His head hurt. He looked around. That's not my dresser, he thought. And this isn't my bed. Where am I? Turning, he saw a woman lying next to him, on her side, facing away from him. She was naked, and had long blonde hair. She looked a lot like his late wife. Then he remembered.

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Maria stood before her son's bedroom door. She held her fist up, ready to knock. She paused, a tiny twinge of guilt crossing her mind. For the last two months, she had spent every Sunday morning draining Matthew's balls, helping him to relieve his raging eighteen-year-old's erection so that he could go to Mass with her. At first, handjobs had been enough. But for the last month, it had taken blowjobs to get him to cum. She hoped they would still suffice.

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Maria knocked on her son's bedroom door. "Matthew! It's Sunday. Time to get ready for Mass." Without waiting for an answer, she swung the door open. Matthew was lying on his bed, naked, sporting an enormous erection. "I'm ready for you to help me get ready, Mom!" He leered at her with his evil, lascivious grin. Maria sat on the edge of the bed, and traced one finger up and down the underside of her son's cock. "How would you like it today, baby?"

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Susie could feel the Reverend's eyes burned a path up and down her slender form as he stood in the doorway, waiting to be invited in. They started at her auburn hair, tied back into a one-foot braided ponytail, flicked casually over one shoulder.

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He was almost completely untouchable. Even in his tribe he was an anomaly, the rest of the friendly people tactile by normal standards, but to him they kept a respected distance, granting him the space the shaman deserved by some silent demand to keep all hands off of his smooth dark skin.

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Maria knocked loudly on her son's bedroom door. "Matthew? Wake up! You have to get up and get ready for Mass." Matthew's muffled voice came through the door. "I'm not going to Mass, Mom." Maria's eyes shot up. We'll just see about that, she thought. She wrapped her fingers around the knob, twisted, and swung open the door.

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She came every week like clockwork. She always came in on the same day, same time and used the same confessional with the same priest to absolve her of her sins. It was like torture to him. He would pray every week after she left and learned that praying before he knew she would come, that it would give him strength and the power to resist the impure thoughts. To resist...her.

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