Date: Tue, 3 Sep 2013 21:57:42 -0400
From: oberon ofavalon <oberon_52@hotmail.com>
Subject: Mr. Wallace and Me (Part 13) (TG)

By Robin O.

Part 13:


Father Kincaid calmly locked the front door and walked slowly around me,
making little clucking noises as if appraising me as I stood there feeling
more and more vulnerable, goosebumps appearing on my bare back, neck and
shoulders. His deep, gravelly voice, the same one that was so intimidating
when I was an altar boy, seemed to go right through me. I may have looked
sophisticated and beautiful in my sexy gown, but I felt like a frightened
child as the huge, old priest moved his craggy face close to me, put his
right hand roughly behind my neck and bellowed.

"Do you know you could have done me permanent harm when you kicked me at
the church, Billy?"

My gloved arms helplessly handcuffed behind me, forcing my small breasts to
jut out, my lower lip began to quiver. I thought he was going to punch me.

"Please, Father Kincaid," I said, my voice cracking nervously."I'm
sorry. Please don't hurt me."

"Hurt you?" he said, almost kindly, his face so close to mine that I could
smell his old-man breath, "I'm a priest, Billy. I have decided to turn the
other cheek ... or more accurately ... the other testicle. Besides, before
long, you'll be kissing it and making it better."

I was astounded when he said that. Tears welled up in my eyes. My voice was
cracking.

"There's no way," I said, shaking my head, my earrings jingling. "There's
no way I would ever do that. I hate you, you old pervert.You should be
ashamed to call yourself a priest."

Father Kincaid's misshapen, arthritic hands moved to the soft, bare skin of
my upper chest on either side of my halter, his long, bony fingers probing,
leaving me feeling violated.

All evening long, from the time I left home to go to the wedding, I had
felt so sensual and desirable in my gown with my earrings, makeup and long,
white gloves making me feel and look like a young princess. The men at the
wedding couldn't keep their eyes off me, and the women were catty and
jealous because I was prettier than they were. The clerk and the concierge
at the hotel were eager for me just to smile at them. Dr. Phillips, more
than 30 years older than me, couldn't keep his hands off me.

But now, standing in front of the old, sinister priest with my wrists
handcuffed behind my slender, bare back, so much of my skin exposed, I
began to flash back to when I was in the back room of the convenience store
in that sexy schoolgirl outfit with my wrists restrained, feeling so
helpless -- and turned on -- as Gary the clerk had his way with me. Now
Father Kincaid's wrinkled, age-spotted, 70-something hands were on me, and
something within me was stirring even as I told him how much I loathed him.

"Ashamed?" he said self-righteously. "You speak of shame? You're a boy, a
young man, and look at you, wearing a revealing dress just like a woman."

His hands traveled lightly over my soft, bare shoulders as he continued to
lecture me. I couldn't help but writhe as he made my skin crawl.

"What you have become is blasphemous," he thundered, "an offense to your
religion and this church."

His big, rough hands meandered over my bare back, his fetid breath on my
neck. My body began to betray me. I was weakening, but a part of me just
wanted to die.

"I saw you making a spectacle of yourself dancing with that man at the
wedding."

Father Kincaid's right hand moved to the slit in my dress. His fingers
moved slowly up the inside of my left thigh. It felt like a cross between a
tickle and a caress, My eyes closed. His hand moved almost all around my
slender thigh. I was having trouble breathing.

"Rubbing your body all over that man who was old enough to be your father,
kissing him in public."

Tears started to well up in my eyes as I struggled against the handcuffs.

"You keep saying these terrible things to me," I said, my small chest
heaving, my voice cracking, :"But ... you ... keep ... touching ... me."

"Well now," he said, smiling, "a priest has his privileges. That's why I
was able to have that fine policeman wait for you in the parking lot. Good
Christian man, that Timothy, brings his family to church every
Sunday. He'll be expecting to see you dressed just as you are when he
returns. Still, that shouldn't be a problem, should it, Billy?

With that, both of Father Kincaid's hands moved under my dress to my hips
and grasped my panties. Then, ever-so-slowly, he pulled them down my long,
slender legs, moved them off me over my high heels and held them in front
of him. He inspected them closely, then smiled to himself.and put them into
a drawer in his desk.

I stood there, feeling even more exposed, humiliated because my little
penis was stirring..

The priest's left hand moved all over my bare back, holding me close to him
as his right hand moved up and down my thigh. My body was trembling, my
mind muddled, trying to process my hatred for this horrible man who had
baptised me and had the entire church community fooled into thinking he was
saintly, and the sensations going through my body as he held and caressed
me. His face close to mine, I stood helplessly in my lovely halter, my legs
growing weak.

"You are a disgrace to your wonderful mother," he said. "A disgrace to your
whole family."

The priest smiled confidently, his long, bony fingers strongly grasping my
bare shoulders, making me shudder, even as the old man's strength made
something inside me flutter in feminine surrender.

"Do you remember, Billy, how you threatened last time to tell everyone you
know that I had sex with you?"

My eyes wide, I nodded warily, my long earrings jingling.

"Well, now that you have been caught by the police stealing from me, what
do you think the chances are of anyone believing you?"

I hadn't thought of that. His hands squeezed my sensitive shoulders harder,
like he owned me.

"I ... I guess not, Father," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"So," he said cruelly, his fingers loosening to a caress on my shoulders,
"what's to stop me from having the good officer arrest you and take you
downtown to jail?"

"Please, Father," I pleaded, my eyes wet with tears. "I just couldn't bear
that. My parents ... they wouldn't understand. Please ... I said I was
sorry."

With that, Father Kincaid's hands moved down and gripped my tiny waist, the
tips of his fingers on the bare skin of my back. He moved his thick lips to
my collarbone, then slowly, sooo slowly, moved his tongue over my right
shoulder and down my bare, restrained arm until he got to the top of my
white glove. I writhed in protest. Then, I tried to kick him in the groin
like I had done the last time, but he was ready for it and blocked my knee
with his right leg.

We stood there for long, torturous minutes, both his rough hands holding my
waist as he repeated the process with his mouth on my left shoulder and
arm. He smelled musty, like mothballs in a closet, his old face looking
like he was entitled to do with me what he pleased.

Father Kincaid took a step back, smiled confidently and looked me up and
down before pulling his black cassock off over his head, He had nothing on
underneath. His huge, flabby, wrinkled, florid body was covered with what
looked like one immense patch of gray hair. For the first time, I saw the
ancient penis that had taken me so forcefully from behind in his office. It
was uncircumcized, thick and almost angry-looking as it emerged from a
swath of gray pubic hair. The only things on his body were his clerical
collar and his black socks and shoes.

He was so old, so gross. Why was it that I felt like a captured young
debutante in a romance novel, so young and sensual while looking up at him
in my beautiful gown and long, white gloves? Was it struggling to free my
wrists from the handcuffs that made me shimmy girlishly? Why couldn't I
catch my breath? Why was my panty-less little penis so erect?

Father Kincaid turned his back and walked toward a big, soft, living toom
chair. If anything, his huge hairy body looked more saggy and disgusting
from behind. He sat back comfortably, his thick penis resting in front of
him as he looked at me standing there, feeling so vulnerable and
uncomfortable.

"Come here, child," he said, his crocodile smile revealing his uneven, gray
teeth.

I stood where I was, my lips pressed together, trying to keep from crying
as I shook my head "no." Father Kincaid's face turned serious.

"I said, come here," he ordered. "Or do I tell the police that I want to
press charges?"

There was nothing I could do. I started to sob as I walked slowly to him in
my high heels, my breasts slightly jutting out, my posture erect and
feminine with my wrists being restrained behind me.

"I have to concede, Billy," he said, "that while you are an abomination to
all that is righteous, you are most surely beautiful in that dress. But
Peter tells us in the Bible that your beauty should not come from outward
adornment. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading
beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit. Now, get on your knees, child."

On my knees! This hypocrite quotes the Bible, then ...on my knees?

It wasn't easy in my dress and high heels and with my arms behind me, but
soon my knees were on the thick carpet, my face staring right into Father
Kincaid's thick, soft penis. His large, rough right hand grasped the back
of my neck and pulled my head down into his thick bush of smelly pubic
hair. I was beyond helpless as he held my face in place.

"Kiss my balls, you little harlot," he ordered, pushing the back of my neck
harder. His thick penis was pressed up against my face. There was no
denying him. I tenderly kissed his gross, hairy scrotum.

"Good," Father Kincaid said, his voice more gravelly than usual. "Now, the
other one."

I did as I was told, wetly kissing his other testicle. His hand on my neck
pulled my head back. He looked down at me and smiled cruelly.

"What was that you had said, Billy?" he said. "No way you would ever 'kiss
it and make it better?''"

Oh my goodness! He was right. That's exactly what I had done. He was smugly
triumphant, and I was so humiliated.

"Come now, child," he said, his voice barely above a whisper as his hand
brought my face forward again. "Put my penis into your mouth like a good
girl."

I was defeated. Without protest, I let that thick, limp, old, uncut cock
enter my moist mouth. It was the first soft penis I had ever had on my
tongue.It felt so icky, but there was something strangely erotic about
sucking it. After several minutes, it began to spring to life and I had to
open very wide. I could feel the organ's ridges on my tongue and the roof
of my mouth. His hand on my neck moving my head slowly forward and back, I
was too ashamed and defeated to even cry.

"Ah, that's a sweet, young thing," Father Kincaid said, so satisfied with
himself.

The old man's penis was kind of bitter, and I found myself trying to avoid
the taste by flooding it with saliva, making wet, erotic sounds as it went
into and out of my lipsticked mouth. I don't know how long I leaned forward
in my beautiful gown and sucked the awful old priest's hard, vile organ,
but finally he leaned forward and brought me to my feet by my upper arms. I
stood there in a daze as he carefully raised the skirt of my gown up to my
slender waist.

His huge, rough hands then reached behind me and gripped my bare little
bottom.

"What a wonderful ass, Billy," he said, kissing my neck as he kneaded my
tight cheeks. "What a wonderful little ass."

Father Kincaid's powerful hands lifted me up off the carpet by my bottom. I
had to lean forward into him to keep from falling backwards. He sat back
and maneuvered me onto his lap with both my legs stretched out on either
side of his torso. His hands on my bottom lifted me up several inches as
his thick cock paused at my anus. Despite our position, he was so much
taller than me that our faces were almost the same height as I looked into
his eyes and shook my head "No" slowly and mournfully, knowing that I
couldn't expect any mercy or compassion from this lascivious man of the
cloth.

As my eyes fixed almost hypnotically on his clerical collar, his thick
penis slowly entered me and stretched my opening wide, his strong hands
lowering me slowly while I moaned and thrashed about with my wrists bound
behind me.

"Please!" I cried. "It hurts! You're too big! Oh please don't do this to
me!"

But, he did do it to me. Slowly he lowered my body down until my tight
little bottom rested on his lap, trying to adjust to the girth of his cock
filling me up so completely. My hair and makeup still immaculate, the top
of my halter gown in place, my long earrings swinging gently from my lobes
as Father Kincaid held me, I was grateful that he didn't thrust, just
letting me get used to having that thick organ inside me. But I absolutely
could not catch my breath. My mouth was open as I tried to breathe in and
out. Finally, my breathing subsided and the old priest pulled me to him by
my shoulders and our lips grew close. I closed mine tightly.

"Come now, child," he said, his voice taking on almost a paternal tone. His
right hand slowly moved down and grasped my erect little penis. His smile
was knowing and triumphant. "Don't resist."

I didn't want to accept his kiss. I really didn't, despite my little penis
jutting out in front of me as he released it and moved both his hands to my
back. But what was the use of resistance if Father Kincaid was threatening
to press charges and ruin my life?

His thick lips moved so lightly onto mine that I could feel their
texture.He moved them almost imperceptively side-to-side, with his hands
now on my slim shoulders, preventing me from leaning away. In a twisted,
strange way, it was erotically personal, two humans -- one old, the other
young -- sharing a kind of perverted intimacy with the rest of the world
shut out. His tongue tested my lips, but I held them tight. His leisurely
lips pressed harder against mine. He was breathing a little harder now, and
I could smell his moldy breath as his hands on my sensitive shoulders held
me down onto his pulsating cock.

The kiss seemed to last forever, and I don't know exactly when it was I
surrendered, but soon the old priest's tongue was exploring my mouth and
his hands were all over my bare skin.. With my wrists secured over my white
gloves behind my bare back, there was little I could do except shimmy and
moan helplessly. My will to resist was dissipating with each kiss as his
possesive hands took ownership of my firm, undulating body.

I began to move slightly up and down on his cock as it became more
comfortable and returned his kiss as his hands moved all over my bare
back. If my wrists weren't handcuffed behind my back I might have
femininely crossed my arms around his turkey neck. The contrast of his old,
gnarly body against my smooth, slender one wasn't lost on me. I hated
Father Kincaid ... I hated him ... I shouldn't be kissing him back. I
shouldn't be moving on that thick cock inside me. I shouldn't be letting it
turn me on..

As our lips parted, the old priest still didn't thrust. He leaned back and
looked at me, his hands caressing my back and shoulders.

"You're really very pretty, you know, Billy," he said."You remind me so
much of someone I met about 20 years ago or so when I must have been --
what -- 53 or 54."

He leaned in and kissed me again, his tongue lingering in my yielding
mouth, before continuing.

"She was a young newlywed, slender, blonde and wearing a pretty summer
dress when she came to Confession," he said, one finger playing momentarily
with my left earring, "She was new to town, very shy and nervous, and said
she desperately needed to confide in someone. It had taken all of her
courage to come to Confession, but she had been taught that she could place
her trust in a priest.

I didn't know why Father Kincaid was telling me all this ancient
history. His thick cock was inside me, my bottom making a feeble effort
despite myself to manuever it to my prostate, his loathsome hands idly
moving lightly up and down my bare arms, making me tingle.

"It took a long time," he continued, "for her to tell me what was troubling
her. She had been a virgin before she was married. Her new husband was a
good man, she said, but she wanted to get pregnant, and they were having
trouble. Not only that, but she had been girlishly looking forward to sex
with her husband, and now she found it unsatisfying. It seems her husband's
penis was extremely small and slender."

Father Kincaid pulled me to him for another long kiss, which I didn't
resist. I found myself squeezing his penis with my bottom, shimmying in his
grasp and moaning softly until he ended the kiss, leaned back and went on
with his story. I was having trouble paying attention to it.

"I told the young woman that she must seek guidance from on-high and to
continue to be a good wife to her husband. She left the confessional, began
to cry and searched her purse for a tissue. She was so slender and lovely
in her summer dress, all bare arms and legs and a hint of cleavage. I gave
her my handkerchief, and she nodded gratefully but wouldn't stop crying, I
put my arm around her and offered her a cup of tea. She smiled bravely
through her tears, nodded and leaned against me as I walked her to my
rectory, the very room we find ourselves in now, Billy.

"She smelled like lilacs, and her skin had a radiant, alluring quality to
it, a lot like yours. She was feeling safe and secure as we walked here and
I cuddled her into me ... and was the most surprised girl in the world when
I kissed her lips hard. She was so shocked. She cried out and struggled,
but I held onto her and kissed her again."

I could feel Father Kincaid's cock grow inside me as he recalled what he
had done to that poor girl. I realized that he had been a horny fiend even
before I was born. I hated myself for being in the situation I was in,
where I had to submit to his desires. I wondered how long it would be
before the policeman came back.

"In between my kisses, she begged me to let her go," he said, "and I'm not
totally proud of what I did. I had been celebrate for so long, and she was
so sweet and incredibly pure and beautiful. I'm afraid I threw her down and
forced myself upon her, holding her wrists over her head with one hand
while taking her panties off with the other. You should have seen how wide
her eyes got when I penetrated her. For the first time in her young life,
she found out what it was like to be fucked, to be fucked by a real man
with a real man's dick.

"That's the same dick that's inside you right now, Billy," he said with an
arrogant smile as one massive hand moved to my neck and face before he
kissed me, his tongue teasing mine, leaving little doubt that he was in
charge.

"She cried while I fucked her in the missionary position, but after several
minutes, her loins were moving with my thrusts and her panting mouth
welcomed my tongue. I let go of her wrists and soon her arms were around my
neck, pulling me to her. Because she was crying, I could tell she hated
herself, but I could tell she desperately needed a thick cock inside her
and a masculine man to fuck her.

"I was in my 50s, and a priest. I knew I was probably going to hell, but I
didn't care. She was so young, trusting and beautiful. I grabbed her blonde
hair and pounded into her again and again, my tongue owning her little
mouth. I grabbed her cute, perky left breast and nuzzled her neck. When I
pinched her left nipple, her eyes rolled back in her head as she screamed
and reached the first orgasm of her life. That put me over the edge. I
rammed into her, gushing my seed into her nubile, unresisting body."

At that memory, Father Kincaid began thrusting up harder into me. It felt
so powerful, its girth filling up my canal. He began wetly kissing my bare
upper chest next to my right shoulder. I wondered what the point of his
story was. Was he confessing to me for some unknown reason?

"She lay back, breathing hard, her blonde hair all over her face, her arms
on either side of her head as I lay on top of her after coming inside
her. Her tight pussy felt so good on my cock. When I finally took it out of
her, she covered her face with her hands. She had taken a vow to be
faithful. But she knew her husband could never satisfy her now that she
knew what sex really was. About nine months later, she gave birth."

His strokes grew more powerful, filling me up and making my earrings fly
back and forth. His rough hands devoured my bare back and shoulders, his
teeth were on my neck, careful not to leave a mark that the policeman might
detect. I despised him.

"She .... she should have reported you to the Diocese," I said, gasping as
his thick penis plunged up into me, sapping my resistance.

"I'm sure she thought about it," he said, sucking on my neck and giving me
the chills, "but she never did. I didn't see her for more than a
year. Then, about six months after she had her baby, she came back
here. She told me she despised me. She stood there trembling, and I could
tell she hated it when I grabbed her and kissed her. She was crying because
she knew she needed a thick cock instead of that puny thing her husband
would stick in her.

"Now, every three or four months for the last 20 years, she stays late
after Mass, comes here to suck the only cock besides her husband's she's
ever had in her mouth and begs me to fuck her, which I do gladly because
she's still slender, blonde and beautiful. She loves her husband and son,
but she needs a thick cock attached to someone who won't ever reveal her
secret."

Father Kincaid's right hand went to my slender penis while his left moved
behind my head, holding it in place as his mouth joined mine, sucking the
air from my lungs as his thick cock thrust into my slim, undulating body. I
was edging closer and closer to an orgasm when he leaned back and smiled.

"You know, Billy, you remind me a lot of her," he said. "Same blonde hair,
same slender, sexy body, same skin I love to touch."

He paused and smiled slyly at me.

"Even the same Chantelle panties."

Through my haze and sexual buildup, I thought about what he just said. I
had worn Chantelle panties today. I had borrowed them from ...

... MOM!

NO! NO! IT CAN'T ... IT CAN'T BE!

MOM? My sweet mother was ... that girl?

Father Kincaid's huge, age-spotted hands grasped my shoulders and made them
shimmy girlishly as I started to feel sick to my stomach. His thick cock
moved methodically up and down inside me as I started to cry. He kissed my
lips while I gagged.

"You kiss alike," he said calmly. "You even suck my cock like your mother."

I tried without success to dispel the image of Mom sucking the cock that
was impaling me right now. Then, the horrible thought occurred to
me. through my tears.

Was Father Kincaid ... MY father?

My mind was swimming. The man I called my dad all these years might not
really be responsible for my birth? My wonderful mother sucking Father
Kincaid's cock and getting fucked by that horrible old man all these years
was too awful to contemplate.

And that same dick was fucking me right now after I had sucked it to
hardness. That same horrid priest's hands were caressing my body.

My voice tremulous, my body shaking, I asked the question while absorbing
his pounding cock.

"Are you ... are you ... my father?"

Father Kincaid leaned back and smiled, the wrinkles on his face becoming
more pronounced. His penis continuing its methodical assault inside me, he
ran his massive hands leisurely over my bare back and shoulders over and
over again, prolonging my agony. His lips closed in on mine, but I tore my
mouth away.

"Damn it," I cried. "Are you my father or not?"

Father Kincaid felt my breasts through my gown, his thumb and middle finger
squeezing my small nipples. My arms behind me, there was nothing I could do
as he pinched both nipples harder and harder, pulling me toward him. His
lips were soon on mine. This time, I didn't resist, and his ancient tongue
was soon in my mouth, moving in rhythm with the thrusts of his cock as my
body went limp.

"That's better," he said, slowly, arrogantly breaking the kiss and moving
his hands from my breasts to my back.

"Am I your father?" he said with a whimsical smile. "I might be. In fact, I
thought I was until I saw that puny little dick of yours. My guess would be
that your old man got lucky with your mother around the time I fucked her
for the first time."

I looked at him aghast.

"But ... even if there is a chance," I said incredulously, "even if there's
a chance that I'm your son ... you could do ... this? Do this ... to me?"

The old priest laughed.

"Don't be naive, Billy," he said. "I've known for a long time that I'm
going to hell. And besides, have you looked in a mirror lately? You're
gorgeous."

The room was spinning all around me. Nothing in my whole life made any
sense anymore. My mother ... my father ... it wasn't so long ago that I was
a horny teenage boy with no feminine thoughts whatsoever ... and now
.... and now ....?

My mind surrendered to the situation, going blank as Father Kincaid's cock
increased its pounding intensity. I was only somewhat cognizant of his
rough hands moving all over my bare skin, his tongue doing what it pleased
in my unresisting mouth. Everything was a blur. I was vaguely aware when I
felt him thrust up into me savagely and cry out the same way he had when he
took me in his office.

"Hail Mary, full of grace," he shouted, "Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art
thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus!"

His movements ceased after a while and his shrinking cock eased out of my
bottom. His cum was no doubt inside me. My father's cum? I couldn't know
for sure as I listlessly watched as the old man, his face all flushed, lay
back and tried to recover from his orgasm. I felt dizzy and disoriented. I
guess I leaned back. Without Father Kincaid's hands to hold me up, I fell
backwards off the chair onto the carpet.

My wrists handcuffed behind me, I lay there awkwardly, my gown up to my
hips, looking like a helpless fawn.

Father Kincaid rose wearily from the big chair, stood over me and laughed.

The old bastard laughed at me. Not that I cared very much. I didn't care
about anything. His right hand went to my neck as he moved closer.

"Clean this up," he said.

Mindlessly, I took his glistening cock into my mouth, sucking and licking
as if in a trance until he pulled me away by my neck.

Slowly, he put his cassock back on, adjusted his collar and ran his hands
through his thinning gray hair while I lay back, unable to get up. Finally,
he helped me to my feet and moved the gown down my legs. His hands went
over my curvy torso several times, straightening the fabric. He had been
sweating, and he smelled awful. I stood there helplessly, uninterested in
what was going on around me.

"The officer will be back soon," he said, reaching for my little purse and
opening it.. "Your lipstick could use a little touching up."

Father Kincaid carefully applied the lipstick to my lips, then put it back
into the purse. He looked at me critically, then put his huge hands around
my waist, pulled my unresisting body to him and kissed me.

"Your lipstick was already compromised by your kissing that old man at the
wedding," he said, still holding my waist. "Now it looks like it did when
the officer left. Then he kissed me again as I melded into his body.

"The first kiss was for Officer Timothy's benefit," he said, wiping the
lipstick off his lips with a handkerchief. "The second one was for me."

Father Kincaid went to a bookcase, took out a Bible and sat back down on
his chair. I stood there in my high heels, my mind and face a blank. About
10 minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and the police officer
walked in.

End of Chapter 13. (To be continued.)