Hot Under His Collar: Serving Father Flanagan Part 1
When I got sentenced to one hundred hours of community service for driving my car into the side of a church, I was not looking forward to spending hours on end pulling weeds, clipping hedges, and working to repair the damage my car did (Let this be a warning: Don’t text and drive!). I’m an indoor kind of girl, and not cut out for that sort of thing... More
When I got sentenced to one hundred hours of community service for driving my car into the side of a church, I was not looking forward to spending hours on end pulling weeds, clipping hedges, and working to repair the damage my car did (Let this be a warning: Don’t text and drive!). I’m an indoor kind of girl, and not cut out for that sort of thing. Lucky for me, the handsome Father Flanagan realizes that there might be a way I can work off my debt to him, in a way that is much more fun than cleaning out gutters...
This 5,300-word story contains graphic descriptions of sexual relations between a girl who drives irresponsibly and a priest who REALLY should know better.
“Well?” I asked, rubbing the sweat off of my face with the back of one arm. “How did I do?”
My assignment had been simple. Trim back a section of hedges that ran along one side of the property. Father Flanagan acted like he was expecting me to get done with the whole thing in the span of an hour, but it had taken me the entire time I was there to only get halfway. I braced myself, since even in the darkness I could see little gaps where I had trimmed too much, and other patches where I hadn’t trimmed enough.
“You’re slow, inefficient, and don’t have a clue what you’re doing,” he said shortly. “I don’t know if this is going to work. I have a lot of projects that I need your help with, and I’m not going to let you work your community service off by fetching ice water and holding my tools.”
I cracked a smile at the last, and that just made him angrier. “In fact, I’m tempted to go back to the judge and tell him you were lazy, uncooperative, and rebellious. He’d throw you right back in jail, and there wouldn’t be anything that your lawyer would be able to do to change his mind.”
That much I knew was true, and it wiped the smile off of my face.
“I’m sorry,” I said, looking down at the floor. “I told you I’m not really an outdoors person.” He snorted, then was silent.
“There is something you might be able to do, however,” he said. His anger had subsided at my apology, and now there was a twinkle in his eyes and a sly smugness to his grin. “If you want to make sure I don’t have to go talk to the judge.”
He turned and closed the barn door behind him, locking it with a heavy clunk. As he moved, I noticed the bulge in the front of his pants, and thought about what was beneath. Father Flanagan turned back to me, placed his hands at his belt, and slowly began unzipping his fly.
“I think you’ll find this a lot easier to handle than the hedge clippers,” he said as he pulled out his cock. It was half-erect, and in the dim light of the lanterns I could see the purple head of it already slick with precum. He gestured to me, and I stepped forward, my eyes flickering between his face and his cock. “Go on,” he said, and I reached out to put my hand on the solid warmth. It was solid and thick, and quivered slightly in my grip.
“I think you know what to do,” he said.
I’d been with guys before, but not a man of the cloth; and certainly not someone as big as he was. His cock grew to full size in my hand, and lengthening and thickening, warm and solid. I wrapped my fingers around his shaft and began to stroke him gently, up and down.
“Like this?” I asked, coyly and he nodded, smiling.
“That’s right, my child,” he said. Although I was exhausted from the yardwork, I realized that I was energized at the prospect of fucking Father Flanagan. I got to my knees and began to slowly work him with my mouth, alternating between sucking on the purple head and licking and gently nibbling on the shaft…