Disclaimer: The following is fiction. The content of the story is not representative of the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote any unlawful activity such as is depicted in the story. By continuing to read this work you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character that they are depicting but they remain at all times adults.
Feature Writer: regolithdabomb1
Feature Title: CHURCH OF THE BLESSED SACRAMENT 1
Published: 06.12.2023
Story Codes: Female POV, Bisexual (male), Young (no sexual contact), Hierophilia
Synopsis: Hierophilia is the sexual attraction to religious figures, objects, or settings, and the typical hierophile is very devout in their faith. This is NOT your traditional blasphemy. If you hate God, this is not the story for you. In this story (and the universe of this story), Christians love God and each other primarily through sex and sexual acts. This is true love and there is no place in the Church of the Blessed Sacrament for those who hate God or Christians.
Church Of The Blessed Sacrament 1
Ordination Communion
The new priest stood naked on the first step, legs apart, brown skin glistening, exertion showing in the tension of recently used muscles; veins dilated, breathing open-mouthed. His left hand held his groin, fingers flat on his thigh and tight against his scrotum, pushing his balls forward. His right hand occasionally pumped his thick, shining member, a brown darker than the rest of his skin, pulling the delicious foreskin over and back the pink flesh of his glans.
The nude deaconess stood on his left, elevated by a small stool and facing the southern wall. She was leaning forward, legs straight and back arched. Her husband held her, left hand massaging the flesh of her buttock, ready to spread his bride’s cheeks, the other on her breast, coaxing and extending the pleasure she was due as a servant of the altar.
I approached the first step, bowed then knelt before the new priest. He pivoted left, grabbed the hip of the deaconess, and guided his cock into the waiting cunt, now spread by her dutiful deacon husband. Father thrust twice. The deaconess grunted, sighed, and let her face fall into her husband’s shoulder in satisfaction.
As he pulled his glistening penis out of the pussy, Father pushed his foreskin forward over the tip and I noticed a drop of fluid fall to the carpet. Thirstily, I stopped, sniffed the damp spot of the carpet, and inhaled the scents of incense, dust, old wax, and new sex. I put my tongue to it three times, dabbing up the juice, albeit quite ineffectively.
As I straightened, the priest moved his right hand out of the way, holding his hip. I shuffled closer step on my knees and parted my lips.
“Body and Blood of Christ,” he said with intense eye contact.
I moved my eyes from the brown flesh, now threatening to brim over with precum and pussy juice, into the eyes of our new pastor. My hands folded between my breasts, I inhaled his musk and said …
“Amen.”
After I acquiesced to his theological statement, I closed my mouth briefly, gathering some saliva and spreading it through my mouth. When I opened my mouth again to receive the Holy Sacrament, strands of spittle stretched from teeth and lips and fell to the floor from my quivering tongue which I presented to the cleric.
He leaned forward and I took him in one. The softness of the tip and the skin, the hardness in the shaft and virility of the young man, the roughness in the short hairs where rod and scrotum met, the pulse of life in the Body, the taste of sweat, incense, and the deaconess’s sex mixing with his precum formed an oily spot at the back of tongue and throat; it was almost overwhelming.
I cupped his crotch and balls with both hands, sucked hard, and bobbed twice, maintaining eye contact. I loved this moment, being able to physically hold the genitalia of Christ in the priest, waiting for the pouring forth of His Holy Blood from the Holy flesh.
With duty and love in his eyes, Father moved his hands to my hair and my cheeks. He squirted his Holy Jism once and pulled his penis out with a pop of suction, audible (I’m sure) even to the last row of pews. Quickly as I could, I swished the semen around my mouth and swallowed, reveling in the slickness and taste that could only be categorized as that which Came from Heaven: Holy.
I stood back up, head down and hands folded again. As I walked back to my pew, I opened my mouth and tried to smell my breath. The air was already suffused with incense and sex which greatly aided in the Holy aftertaste I so greedily desired to experience.
My pussy wet and yearning for release, I stood in prayer near my children (who had not yet received their First Holy Communion) and expressed my gratitude to God: for the Holy Sacrament, for the virile priest, for the Church, for the hold bishop who had ordained the young man, for the deaconess performing her duty admirably, for the whole community here, for partaking the Sacred Liturgy and in my looking forward to serving as a future deaconess of the Church.
At the sound of flesh against flesh and another sigh of the deaconess, I looked up to watch my husband receive communion. One squirt into the obedient mouth and he moved on. Richard’s excitement was showing more than mine could the bulge in his alb pronounced.
He joined us, his hands clasped and head bowed in thanksgiving.
The last of the community, an old widow, consumed the Blessed Sacrament. Two ready acolytes, strong teenage boys, moved the credence table in position to where the deacon was standing. The heavy metal legs slot into place and the deacon crawled underneath, his head below and between his wife’s legs.
He twisted around, using helpful handles such that he was kneeling, his body facing south like his wife’s but his head turned up into his bride’s sex, using the handles and his knees to support himself. The deaconess rested her thighs on the cushion-protected edge of the credenza and held onto the handles on top of the table. She looked back expectantly, somewhat tired but still eager.
The new priest mounted here again, giving the congregation a freer view of the Purification rite. He thrust his glistening thighs hard against the deaconess’s ass, his girthy cock pumping desperately into her. She was smiling now, eyes rolled back, barely able to keep herself upright for the priest.
Her husband licked and sucked on her clit and labia as was his duty, helping her come to orgasm. Father’s balls slapped against the deacon’s forehead. My son giggled, as he often did, at the sight of real “Teabagging” so I poked him in the shoulder and gave him a stern look.
The priest emptied the Holy Blood into the deaconess, grunting with every rope he shot. Even after fifteen congregants, he managed to shoot six or seven times into her. The bishop smiled at the sight, a testament to Father’s suitability to celebrate the Sacred Duties for our parish. By now, the deaconess had also orgasmed and was slumped over the credence table, looking finished, hair stuck to her sweaty face and legs quivering as she received the Holy Blood.
An acolyte passed a white purificator to the deacon who, in one smooth and practiced motion, flipped back around to kneel before the priest, transferred the priest’s cock into his mouth with one hand and, with the other, gently plugged his wife with the linen cloth, all without spilling a drop. In fifteen seconds, the deacon sucked and licked the spent penis clean, swallowing what he had collected.
Richard’s cock twitched as he watched. I lightly tapped the bulge in his alb to show I’d noticed, and he smiled and squeezed my hand. I, too, was excited for when we would be ordained and allowed to serve at the altar of the Lord in the same way.
Once the purification was completed, the priest blessed the ordained couple and was helped into his vestments by the acolytes. The deaconess turned around and held the cloth with her hand as her husband picked her up and walked into the sacristy. They looked like a pair of content newlyweds. I squeezed Richard’s hand at the romantic sight.
With hands clasped, the new priest bowed to the altar and then to the bishop. On cue, the older man intoned the post-communion prayers and completed the liturgy with his blessing from the congregation. We received it by bowing and making the sign of the Cross. The acolytes filed out, followed by the priest and bishop.
It had been an excellent ordination. The virility of the young priest, the enthusiasm of the servers and acolytes, and the reception of the congregation all pointed to a bright future for our small church. I desperately wanted to get back home and complete the Sunday ritual with a hard fuck and a quick nap before starting dinner for the family. I rested my head on Richard’s shoulder and closed my eyes, listening to the receding footfalls and to the shuffling of people who knelt in post-liturgical thanksgiving.
THE END OF CHAPTER ONE