Father Khatri is a man of God, truly and wholly, he's given his life to loving God and spreading his word until Matthew McPherson walks through the crumbling doors of his old church. Beautiful and achingly pure, Matthew is a temptation Khatri can't banish, no matter how many prayers he chokes out, or how tightly he grips his crucifix. When the boy's family summons him for an exorcism, Khatri goes, armed with holy water and a weak resolve, only to find such temptation even the strongest of minds couldn't resist. What starts as an exorcism unravels into a collision of guilt and lust, as the priest vows crumble in the face of a sin too delicious to resist. In a town that fears the devil, the true possession is the one tying their souls together....and it's a bond no rite can break.
View MoreThree days have passed since the ‘exorcism’ and Matthew McPherson is finally free from that dank basement, back in the creaky little house on Hapeville’s edge. His mother is now convinced that he’s been ‘healed,’ and so she let him come back up.right now, the sun is dipping low, casting a faint glow through the dusty windows as he sweeps the floor alongside his older sister, Rebecca. She’s twenty years old, but looks so gaunt and hollowed-out from hunger she could have passed for a weird, wiry teenager. Her bony hands grip the broom like it’s all that’s holding her together and Matthew’s chest tightens with a familiar pang. Just two years back, their dad had smashed himself to pieces in a road accident, and their family lost everything from the fallout, including their Mother’s smile. She couldn’t pull two coins together after that, so they dragged what was left to this sleepy nowhere, chasing whispers of cheap land and quieter days.Matthew’s broom slows, dust swirling around his ba
Seeing that tight untouched dusky pink hole sends a zap of lust through Khatri and he can’t stop himself even if there’s a gun held to his head. He swipes his tongue over the sensitive patch of skin, once, twice, and fuck, the taste, it’s like a revelation. warm, musky, a sharp tang of sweat and skin that’s all Matthew, dark and forbidden, like licking the edge of damnation itself. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that…” Matthew gasps, rocking back into Khatri’s tongue as it plunges into his hole, fucking him with a slow, greedy thrust. That’s the sign Khatri needs to stop eating his boy’s ass because he needs to be buried deep inside him before either of them cums.Reluctantly, Khatri pulls away, giving it a few more licks before reaching blindly into his briefcase where he grabs the bottle of anointing oil. The irony isn’t lost on him as he pours it over his fingers, slicking them over Matthew’s ass before working a finger into him. The boy mewls, clenching around his fing
Shocked beyond words, Khatri staggers back, the crucifix slipping in his sweaty grip. “You what?” his voice cracks, faith now teetering on a precipice. Matthew's sobs grow even louder, tears streaking those flushed cheeks, trailing over that plump lower lip–the same lip Khatri had fantasized about for months. his hips kept bucking, grinding in the air against nothing. The boy is a vision and Khatri’s cock pulses, a traitor begging to be freed. but he shakes his head, trying to fucking fight it.“Please, Father…I can’t stop thinking about you—your hands, your mouth—every night, I touch myself while imagining it's you. And don’t think I don’t see you when you creep around our house every night too. You stand in that same spot but in my room, watching me while you think I’m asleep, jerking your cock over your cassock. Every night I hoped you’d peel back the covers I threw over myself and see for yourself that I’m awake and I need you just as badly as you need me. but you never do. So I
Khatri arrives at the Mchpherson house two hours after he left the church. The sun is already making a descent, painting the skies in beautiful hues of orange and pink. He could have arrived earlier if he had hitched a ride from any of the Bible-thumping followers of Christ who confess at the church every day and dive right into their sinuous ways, convinced God will always take them back with open arms.But he needs the walk and fresh air to keep his fraying self-control in some semblance of order. As he steps on the porch, a creak bounces off the peeling walls, loud enough to make him cringe as he’d wanted a few more minutes to mask his expressions and emotions. Yes, Khatri has to maintain his air of intrigue and detachment so nobody knows he’s been here, on this same spot too many times to count. Nights spent skulking in the shadows, mapping every creak of the floorboards, every turn of the hall that leads to him. His Matthew. That sharp guilt twists a hot knife deep into his che
Father forgive me for I have sinned. Absolve me of my sins and grant me the strength for today’s work. Thank you, Father. Amen.Tuning out the small voice of doubt, he touches the cool metal crucifix to his heart and then to his lips, making the cross sign. Then he latches his eyes open. His palms are sweaty, he notes as his heart drums a harsh staccato in the confinement of his ribcage. Sweatier than they usually are whenever he goes for an exorcism, and in this cursed little town of Hapeville, they never run out of citizens who are possessed by lackluster demons. So why is he on edge this particular Monday morning? Why can’t he be the usually calm and collected priest who brought peace to the corrupted souls of his church members? Why is he so nervous that he has to pinch the bridge of his nose to hold back his nausea? Right. It isn’t just anybody who got possessed. It’s … God. He whispers, swiping his tongue over his top teeth. Only Father Khatri can make the embodiment of every
Father forgive me for I have sinned. Absolve me of my sins and grant me the strength for today’s work. Thank you, Father. Amen.Tuning out the small voice of doubt, he touches the cool metal crucifix to his heart and then to his lips, making the cross sign. Then he latches his eyes open. His palms are sweaty, he notes as his heart drums a harsh staccato in the confinement of his ribcage. Sweatier than they usually are whenever he goes for an exorcism, and in this cursed little town of Hapeville, they never run out of citizens who are possessed by lackluster demons. So why is he on edge this particular Monday morning? Why can’t he be the usually calm and collected priest who brought peace to the corrupted souls of his church members? Why is he so nervous that he has to pinch the bridge of his nose to hold back his nausea? Right. It isn’t just anybody who got possessed. It’s … God. He whispers, swiping his tongue over his top teeth. Only Father Khatri can make the embodiment of every...
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