Fighting Temptation...And Losing

Fighting Temptation...And Losing

Chapter 1 -- The Problem

The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly knelt in front of the altar and prayed fervently. With all his heart. He prayed for strength to live the Lord's will. He prayed for strength to resist temptation -- his biggest need in his mind. And then he prayed for sin.

The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly was completely aware that he was committing the grossest of sins, praying for sin. Fervently wishing it with all of his being. And therein lie the inherent contradiction in The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly's life.

He was truly devout, totally and honestly believed in the full panoply of the Christian faith. Though raised a Catholic, he had been unable to accept a life without a woman. After all, that particular proscription didn't become extant until 1022 when Pope Benedict VIII banned marriages and mistresses for priests. Prior to this time, it was perfectly normal and permissible for priests to have multiple wives and mistresses/concubines. The change was made solely to protect church property from inheritance. As far as he was concerned, it was in total contradiction to the essential nature of Christ's teachings and also of the Bible's admonition to go forth and be fruitful and multiply.

So he had accepted the Protestant faith in order to marry the girl of his dreams, all of his dreams, both pure and most especially the impure dreams. The fact that Faith was equally as devout was something that he hadn't counted on, hence his praying for sin. For the sin of lust. In Faith.

He wanted his precious wife to be lustful. It wasn't as though she was cold or anything. Faith had never resisted him in any way, always dutifully complying with his every wish, as long as he expressed it. But there was never any type of spontaneity from Faith in any way sexually. She was completely subservient, willing, though not obsequiously so.

And Faith was beautiful, beautiful beyond Michael's wildest dreams. She was small, only just over 5 feet tall, but she had an angelic face that was always framed by the incredible mass of her long, ringleted red hair which hung down to her waist. Lightly freckled, her bright green eyes sparkled whenever she smiled, her bright white teeth gleaming as the bright rosy tip of her tongue would slightly protrude from between her lips, something she was totally unaware of, he was certain. For such a small woman, her 34C breasts seemed huge, her dark pink silver-dollar-sized aureolas tipped by nipples the size of the end digit of her pinkie finger -- he'd actually measured to see the proportion once. Her fiery red bush barely concealed her delectable pussy, which brought Michael to his present situation, on his knees in front of the altar, trembling and praying for help.

Because The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly was completely and totally addicted to his wife's body and the delights he found therein. He could never stop thinking of her. Every chance he got, he was ravishing her in whatever way his fancy was struck at the moment. And with nary a single complaint or hesitation to comply on her part.

As long as there was nothing in the Bible prohibiting a thing, then according to Faith's interpretation of her beliefs, it was okay. Even 1 Corinthians 7, the only place in the Bible where celibacy is even mentioned, says that 'The husband should fulfill his wife's sexual needs, and the wife should fulfill her husband's needs. The wife gives authority over her body to her busband, and the husband gives authority over his body to his wife.'

Therefore, since there were no specific sexual acts between married couples that were even mentioned, when Michael wanted his cock sucked, Faith sucked his cock, never failing to swallow every drop of his cum. If he wanted to fuck her ass, no problem. And he took advantage of this acquiescence as often as possible, usually several times a day, never with any hesitation or complaint on Faith's part.

And yet he found himself on his knees praying for his wife to be sinful. His lust was almost completely taking over his soul, blinding him to everything else that he had always believed and practiced.

For whatever reason, The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly had decided that he just had to see his wife lusting for him, openly desiring him. He had even imagined her having sex with other people, both men and women. And he wanted her to want it herself, to lust for a sexual depravity that knew no bounds. There was no reason for this, no sign in any way from Faith that she had ever entertained any such thoughts, yet The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly found himself constantly filled with thoughts and visions of this type.

Groaning out loud as he pushed to his feet, The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly was close to tears. Here in the most sacred act of prayer, in the house of God, in front of His altar, the only thing he could think of was watching his wife openly lusting for him sexually, being taken by other men and women. Almost in tears, he realized that he really and truly needed help, that he was becoming lost.

But to whom could he possibly turn? He was The Pillar of religious devotion in their community. He was looked up to. He served his flock and community with an honest passion and zeal, completely and selflessly giving of himself, trying to bring the love of the Lord into their lives through example. And yet he was himself the basest of them, so completely dominated by his uncontrollable lust that he felt helpless. There was no way he could seek help from anyone in their town; that was out of the question.

Tears rolling down his face in the depths of his despair, The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly realized that his only choice was to turn to his spiritual, as well as administrative superior, Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey. Though only a few years older than Michael, Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey had been fast-tracked for advancement. Michael knew that it would be another 15-20 years before he would be considered for a Monsignor's promotion.

Though they weren't particularly close, Michael had a good working relationship with the Monsignor, actually admiring and respecting him for his obvious devotion and the depth of his knowledge, having had the benefit of a Jesuit education before himself turning to Protestantism for the exact same reasons that Michael himself had so done; he had fallen in love and didn't want a life without a woman. The commonality they found in their attitudes towards the Vatican's version of Christianity had created a friendly and warm relationship between the two men.

His hand shaking as he picked up the phone, Michael dialed Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey's number and waited as it rang. When he heard Sheamus' deep rich voice answer, he immediately felt both a cold chill run down his spine and a sense of relief that he knew help was at hand.

"Sheamus, Monsignor," Michael began, then blurted out, "I'm in terrible trouble and I need help and don't know where to turn. I can't think of anyone but you."

"Michael, Michael, what on earth is the matter?" Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey asked, truly shocked, as The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly was one of the rocks upon which his diocese depended.

In the four years they had known each other and worked together, there had been an uncommonly strong bond of shared experience, thought, and belief that had always made it very comfortable for Sheamus, realizing that his lofty position with respect to his age was sometimes a problem with some of the older pastors who fell under his jurisdiction.

"I'm having a terrible moral and spiritual crisis," Michael replied, almost sobbing. "It's so terrible I don't even know how or if I can talk about it, but I must do something, for it's just tearing me apart."

"Michael, I want you to come to see me, right now," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said. "We'll talk, privately and face to face, and see if we can't find a way through this for you. Are you okay to drive, to come see me?"

"Yes, yes, I can drive," Michael said, swallowing a sob. "I just don't know what's happened to me."

"Well, try not to think about it, try to enjoy the drive and we'll talk when you get here," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said.

"I'll try," The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly said.

"Then until then, God be with you," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said.

"And with you," The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly replied, hanging up the phone.

The only thing Michael could think of as he drove the hour and a half to Devil's Hole where Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey had his office was that he would be found to be so sick, so demented and possessed of evil and unholy thoughts that they would strip him of his pastorship. As much as he loved his wife, as much as he lusted for her in ways natural and ways he thought of as totally unholy, he loved his Lord and his Son Jesus even more.

Faith complemented his life, completed it, but the Lord and Jesus filled it. Or used to. Michael sobbed as he realized that he was spending more time obsessing over his perverted desires than he was spending with the Lord and His only Son.

When he pulled into the parking lot of Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey's church and office, Sheamus himself came out to greet him at his car, seeing the deep distress in his face and embracing him, holding him tightly for a moment before releasing him and stepping back, his hands on each of Michael's shoulders.

"Let's go inside," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said. "It's good to see you, Michael, though I am sorry for the circumstances."

"I just don't know what's happened," Michael said, his voice quavering.

"Well, let's sit down here and I'll pour us a couple of drinks and we'll talk, okay?" Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said, indicating a deep comfortable leather chair for Michael to sit in as they entered his office.

"So how is Faith doing?" Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey asked as he began to pour a couple of glasses of bourbon.

"Oh, God," The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly sobbed, burying his face in his hands, "that's the problem."

"Michael, there's nothing wrong between you and Faith, is there?" Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey asked, genuinely concerned.

"No, no, not like that," The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly replied. "It's me, but it's about her."

"Here, take a sip of this and try to tell me what's bothering you," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said, handing him a tumbler half-full of single malt Scotch whisky.

Quickly taking a gulp, The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly slowly and haltingly related to Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey his problem. Though inwardly Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey was shocked, outwardly he let only gentle concern and compassion show on his face, though at great personal effort.

As The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly related his tale, Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey recalled his year of school in Rome, Italy, at the Jesuit's Gregorian University, a part of the Pontifical Biblical Institute, where he had met his now wife, Rosaria de Gama, a distant descendant of the famous explorer, Vasco de Gama.

He could still remember the first time he had seen her as they both reached for the door of the same taxi one day. Her wide, generous smile, raven hair falling free halfway down her back, her flashing black eyes, an incredible sense of relaxation inside of her very palpable aura; these things he remembered as though they were yesterday.

That had been the beginning of the end of the beginning, because it was then that he realized that he could never go through life without the love of a woman, and one particular woman in fact, Rosaria de Gama, for he had fallen totally head over heels in love with her that day in Rome.

They had ended up sharing the taxi and he had embarrassingly asked her if it would be okay to meet again some day, as he had so enjoyed talking with her. She had responded with an invitation to dinner that very evening that she herself would cook.

"So that's about it," The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly said, breaking through Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey's reverie. "I just don't know what to do."

"Well, first of all, what you're experiencing is not all that uncommon, Michael," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said. "Most normal men have these type of feelings at one time or another, whether it be about their mother, sister, wife, et cetera. It's a part of being human. The issue is what you do about it, with it," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said.

"But it's just so against everything moral and Holy that I've ever learned," The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly said.

"Yes, but not necessarily in the Bible," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said carefully.

"What do you mean?" The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly asked, his eyes wide in shock. "God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah because of this kind of sin."

"God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah because the people had turned away from Him," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey replied. "There has been far too much focus on what the people turned to when they turned away from God, but it was their turning away from God that incurred his wrath."

"I've never thought of it in that way," The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly admitted.

"Even further back in history the priestesses in the temples of Astarte were there to sexually bring the men of the city closer to God. Wives encouraged their men to do what was at that time thought necessary to appease God. These priestesses were highly sought after as wives after their time serving the temple and God," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey explained. "And then what about 1 Corinthians 7?"

"I think 1 Corinthians 7 is the bedrock of Faith's attitude towards marriage," The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly said, shaking his head.

"So as I see it, the real problem you're having is that you're feeling yourself pulled away from God in favor of the earthly pleasures, not necessarily the particular earthly pleasures you're envisioning; am I right?" Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey asked.

The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly just sat there, still as a stone, his mind whirling as he tried to digest what he had just been told. If he didn't know Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey as well as he did, for the kind of man that he was, he would have said that anyone else saying such words would be blaspheming. But this was the Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey speaking to him.

"If what you say is true, then I'm not lost," The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly finally said softly.

"Michael," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said, standing up, "you've met Rosaria. You know why I'm a Protestant, just like you. Unlike Vatican Catholicism, Protestantism allows us to enjoy our humanity instead of suppressing it. I love being a Protestant. I can love and serve and worship my Lord and His Son without having to give up my humanity."

"But what do I do about Faith's, well, lack of open lust?" The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly asked, almost embarrassed.

"Well, have you ever talked to her about it?" Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey asked. "That's the first thing I'd recommend."

"Well, no, I haven't," The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly replied. "She is so very devout, the perfect Christian wife. I'm afraid. I'd hate to have her think I'm sick or perverted or something and then I'd lose her."

"Do you think what you're thinking is sick or perverted?" Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey asked.

"I have mixed feelings about it," The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly confessed. "On some levels, yes, terribly. Isn't it sick and perverted?"

"Not in any way that I can see," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said evenly, glancing sideways at him to see his reaction.

"Really! Oh, if that were only true," The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly sighed. "That's one of the things that bothers me the most, that I'm thinking sick and perverted things, and about my wife whom I love more than anyone living on this earth."

"Well, I recommend that you first talk with Faith about your feelings," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said. "Without doing that, you can't do anything. Then, why don't you and Faith join me and Rosaria at the diocese's ranch up at Satan's Lake on Friday after work. We'll stay until Sunday morning and then get back in time for our services. Maybe it will help for everyone to have someone to talk to."

"You're lifting such a huge weight from my shoulders," The Right Reverend Michael O'Reilly said to Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey. "I don't know how to begin to thank you."

"Come now, Michael, that's what you and I do for a living, remember? We bring succor and comfort to people through our Lord and His Son. It doesn't make us any better than them or any less in need of the same succor and comfort from time to time," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said.

Chapter 2 -- Sheamus and Rosaria

"Mmm, hello!" Rosaria de Gama O'Shaunessey said as her husband pulled her into his arms and kissed her as he came home for the day. "Somebody's happy to see me," she said, reaching down and grabbing his rapidly hardening cock through his pants.

"Well, it has been a very interesting day and somebody is very happy to see you," Sheamus O'Shaunessey said, releasing the hook at the top of Rosaria's dress and stepping back a step to watch as it slid down her body to pool at her feet, leaving her standing naked in front of him wearing only the 3" high heels that she never seemed to be without.

"Is that so?" she asked with a blinding smile, lifting her arms above her head, her feet planted apart, slowly swaying her hips, her olive skin glowing, her full 35C breasts sexily moving back and forth, the almost black berry-like nipples full and hard, sticking out prominently.

"Tell me more," she said, lowering her arms and reaching for his pants, lowering them and his boxer shorts to the floor as he removed his shirt, "and don't leave anything out," she said as she wrapped a hand around his rock-hard cock and began to softly suck on the head, her tongue probing the slit to taste the pre-cum that had already gathered there.

"First things first," Sheamus O'Shaunessey said, reaching down and urging her to her feet, then sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her into their bedroom where he gently placed her on the bed.

"I'm also very thirsty," he said, pushing her knees up to her shoulders and sticking his tongue into the steamy cauldron of her pussy, her thick clit visibly throbbing as he fastened his lips on it and gently sucked.

"Mmm, yes, worship at the altar, baby, worship at the altar," Rosaria urged, reaching down and pulling her husband's face tightly into her pussy.

More than almost anything else, Sheamus O'Shaunessey loved eating his wife's pussy. An even deeper duskier color of olive brown, Rosaria's inner pussy lips protruded almost an inch from between her plump outer lips, slightly curling out. Sheamus loved gripping them between his fingers and pulling them out and apart to reveal the bright pink interior of her pussy, always slick and shiny with her juices.

"Oh, yes, that's it, that's it," Rosaria de Gama O'Shaunessey cried out as she came, flooding her husband's face as he frantically licked and sucked at the cum feast she was producing.

"Ahh!!!" she cried out, arching her back as he gently chewed on her inner lips, knowing how sensitive they were, especially right during and after an orgasm.

"Now I feel better," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said, looking up from between his wife's spread thighs to smile at her, his face smeared with pussy juice.

"Now you truly look like a man of God," Rosaria de Gama O'Shaunessey said with a laugh. "You look like you've been to the promised land."

"This is the promised land," Monsignor Sheamus O'Shaunessey said, pushing to his feet and driving his rock-hard cock all the way into his wife's open and inviting pussy.