Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
This is not me. I’m not this man. I’ve made a personal commitment to myself, the church and God, but my desire to find the nearest bathroom stall and pound into my fist as I did as an adolescent boy returns with a fury.
She reaches forward, tugging another bag from the turnstile, fighting to pull it toward her as a twenty-something guy with a ball cap and athletic shorts pushes next to her, grabbing his duffel from behind her suitcase and nearly knocking her over.
Revelations-like rage pounds in my heart as she shoots him a glare but pulls away muttering something under her breath as she rights herself and extends the handles on her roller bags.
He scared her. Why is she scared, here in the middle of a busy airport?
The way she bends to the side, showing off the curve of her braless tits sends the missile into my chest and fire into my belly.
She has made the first hammer blow to the stone walls of my vows. As she strides my way, the sign in my hand shakes along with her tits.
Her body is pure sin but her face? She is the virgin Mary herself, with skin smooth as spun sugar and fine, doll-like features. For the first time ever, I imagine using my position of authority to coerce a girl into the depths of sin.
I could do it in the back of the car waiting outside. I could.
I could.
I have a driver but there’s a barrier between the front and back of the ancient limousine that belongs to Saint Margaret’s.
I could slide my hand onto her thigh. Demand she tell me all her dark secrets. Her sins. Her desires. The things that drive her wild at night.
I’d dip my fingers between the lush flesh of her legs, tell her this is part of her penance. Her training. She will submit to me.
Why do I hear the devil laughing? Why do I feel death whispering in my ear?
It doesn’t matter. Taking a woman with force or coercion was never my way and never will be. I never needed pussy that bad. But something inside me says that’s gonna change now that my new stepsister has been forced into my life.
She teeters on high heeled black boots, stumbling as she drags her bags, blowing a tendril golden brown hair from her lips as I imagine drinking from the sweet well of sin between her legs.
Stop. This has to stop.
“Hi. I’m Kitty,” she whispers as she stops in front of me, her tits still jostling from her unsteady stride and the pounding in my chest forces me to clutch at my heart.
She scans the area on a smirk then looks up at me, and I’m struck for a moment as I realize: she’s been crying. Her eyes are puffy and sure, she’s putting a brave face on but something has upset her.
And all I want to do is pound whatever that thing is into dust.
“I’m supposed to meet Father Martin… I’m assuming that’s you, since you have my name on a sign and you’re dressed, well, like that?”
I open my mouth to answer as she stalls, her ankle crumpling and throwing her off balance. Her tits jiggle and sway with the movement. Her small roller bag is missing a wheel, and the larger one is strapped closed with duct tape, and has one of those, ‘TSA Inspected Your Luggage’ stickers plastered on the front.
I am the Father you seek.
I am also your brother.
But, most of all, I already know, I will be your Daddy.
The effort of managing the opposing forces of her bags and the five-inch chunky heels throws her sideways. Her eyes flash wide, her face flushed and dewy as she starts to spin off center, dropping her suitcases while simultaneously bumping into my chest. She grasps at whatever she can, which in this case is me, her little hands like flames lapping at my heart.
Somewhere, deep in the recesses of my mind, a synapse shrieks at me to remember that women are all trouble. That in some way or another she’ll show herself to be no different. The only women in my life are my grandmother and the ghost of my mom.
For a second I nearly turn away, nearly retreat into my jaded view of the female sex.
Then she needs me, and all bets are off.
“Oh shit.” She hisses as I drop the sign to the sticky, purple carpet, my hands moving to catch her, one landing on the smooth, warm flesh of her back.
The other finding the weight of her tit, sliding up under the cropped edge of her come fuck me hoodie.
And the missile detonates inside me.
End times are near, and they’re as cute as a kitten.
CHAPTER 2
Kitty
This is awkward.
The priest, or headmaster, or whatever, is hot AF.