Chapter Two
CAIN
It’s Sunday Mass and the devil comes to collect her dues.
I’ve been in more dangerous situations than I care to count, but who’d guess the most treacherous place of all would be my church?
Ever since Enya Garraway started coming to Mass a few weeks ago, I’ve been locked in a constant battle with the devil on my shoulder.
His wicked voice is constantly telling me about all of the vile things I should do to her.
Fuck her at my altar with the congregation watching, make her crawl on her knees and beg me for more…
Enya makes my body ache.
This trial does not define me. Fight your urges and bathe in the glory of God.
I’ve repeated this mantra every Sunday, since Enya first showed up a few weeks ago.
I’m God’s warrior, mighty and fierce. I won’t let a fresh piece of meat tempt me away from my path, not after what I’ve done to get to where I am.
I’ll not forget the blood, sweat, and tears that tested me once before, as Enya does now.
She touched herself… for me? I saw her battling the pleasure-drunk moans that were threatening to burst out.
What I’d give to hear only one of her sugar-coated wails, yelling out God, please, yes.
Her entry into my church and congregation forces me to wrestle against the beast inside, who is struggling to breach the surface.
I won the battle once before, but it took every ounce of my strength to do it.
Years of killing in God’s name are easy to forget about.
But fighting a carnal need to bend Enya over a pew and fuck the word of God into her?
I’m still a man beneath my clerical cloth.
She’s a temptress, challenging the very fiber of my being. She teases and tries my iron-clad will, but I can’t allow her to break it. Opening the doors of the past is for those who seek forgiveness, not those who’ve found their salvation.
Their fucking redemption.
When I’m certain the church is clear, I make my way to the confessional booths.
I speak with no messenger of the Lord, not today.
I will disclose my sins directly to God and pray they do not fall on deaf ears.
I am weak, and if he doesn’t show me strength, I will crumble.
I drop to my knees in the small wooden box, wiping away the beads of sweat that are pouring over my brow with the sleeve of my jacket.
“Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned. I have indulged in an act of lust.”
The words sting my ears and hurt my heart.
“You work in mysterious ways, I understand. You put trials before us to test our faith. Why have you put Enya Garraway in my path? It’s been eighteen years, with twenty-two before that acting as your sword.
I’ve dedicated my life to you and to the cloth, and have served in your holy army.
Lord, God, why are you doing this to me now? ”
I spew my words and questions out in a stream of consciousness, unable to form coherent thoughts.
Even here, in private with my God, I can’t stop thinking about Enya fingering her tight hole.
Filthy desperation rocks my very foundation.
What I’d give to have my face between her smooth, milky-white thighs.
Enya Garraway is a false prophet and I want to worship at her feet. Fuck, I want to kiss the scorched earth she leaves in her wake of destruction.
“I confess my impure thoughts for Enya Garraway. I confess the burning lust that tears through me. The way I want to tear those purple panties off her tiny frame. You’ve seen my mind, Almighty. You’ve seen my horrible desires for that poor gir—“
Before I can finish my confession, I hear the second door of the booth open and then shut, followed by a soft thud of someone’s taking a seat.
“Excuse me,” I speak with conviction. “I’m not taking confessions right now. I’m speaking with the Lord in solitude.”
“It shouldn’t be you on your knees in there, Father Cain,” Enya Garraway’s voice rings in my ears. A sensation that sends shivers down my spine causes my cock to spring to life. “It should be me, begging for forgiveness.”
Her sparkling ocean blues peer at me through locks of her red hair, behind a slat in the narrow grill of the booth’s dividing wall.
It’s rarely open, and I forgot to shut it after Bethany DeWitt’s disclosure on Thursday, about her growing hatred for her husband.
Why she insists on looking me in the eye, while speaking such vile thoughts of Marlon DeWitt, is beyond me.
Now, this narrow gap serves as a window for Enya to see me at my weakest; on my knees, and praying for exoneration.
My fear of her seeing me so frail is instantly replaced by wondering how long she’s been out there.
What did she hear me say? Her interest is clear, and if she knows I’m failing to remain steadfast, Enya will pounce and claim my purity.
“Enya, I…”
She’s licking her lip during her inspection of me.
“Aren’t these things supposed to be anonymous?” she cuts me off with a giggle.
“Yes, of course.” Thank God she said it. In a single sweeping motion, I slam the slat shut, so hard the timber booth rattles around us.
Not that anonymity means anything. I’d know Enya’s voice anywhere; soft, sultry, and sexy.
It’s like honey dripping into my ears, and sending spikes of agonizing glee through my body.
Enya’s voice is imprinted on my memory, never to be forgotten.
But, let’s face it, most of her is. Her freckled cheeks, the curve of her ass, her huge tits, which are constantly threatening to spill out of the neckline of her shirt, and now her clean-shaven cunt.
“What can I help you with?” My voice is shaky. I want to be alone. If it were anyone else, I’d cast them out of this place without a second thought. But not Enya, no. She’s got me hooked and I can do nothing about it.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…” she pauses as she mumbles numbers to herself, “ …three years since my last confession.”
“I’ve already told you, I’m not taking confessions right now,” I interrupt.
“I have committed the sin of lust. Not of the body, but of the mind,” she ignores me. She’s lying to my face. Fingering herself in public is definitely as of the body as it gets. “But I don’t think I’m fully to blame, Father.”
“Enya, I need to be alone,” I say. “Mass is canceled for good reason.”
“No, I’m not fully to blame,” she continues on, disregarding my protest. “There’s a man.
He’s inspired a fire inside my belly. His clothes stretch against the thick muscle of his frame.
His stormy eyes melt my weary soul. I’ve seen him in the fields, tending to cattle in the clean-cut grass of his pasture.
All I want is his rough fingers deep inside me. ”
Enya’s talking about me. Her admission forces my girth against the zipper of my tight trousers. I palm it aside, pinning it against my leg. With every staggered, shallow breath, my hand shakes against my cock, sending tendrils of satisfaction creeping through my body.
“Should part of the blame not be on him, Father? I’m only reacting to my body’s natural impulses.
I’m in the prime of my life, fertile and ready to breed.
Why is God punishing me by setting this stoic giant in my path, when he’s the one who tempts me?
Should he not carry part of the blame on his broad shoulders?
Should we not suffer together?” Enya asks.
Her intentions are clear and I have an answer. So why am I struggling to give it? Because I’m partly to blame for her turmoil? No, that’s not right; I’m not partly to blame. I’m in the captain’s chair of this sinking ship, ready to plunge into the depths of Enya’s dark, wet void.
“That isn’t how it works, no.”
“And yet, if we fuck…” hearing that vile word come out of Enya’s innocent mouth has me gasping for air that refuses to fill my lungs. “We’re sinners. Filthy vermin in the eyes of God. To hell with it, then, right?”
Straight to hell.
“I feel lost, Father Cain,” Enya continues. “Engulfed by the hulking brute that’s won my heart and makes my lady parts quiver.”
I’ve released all control to Enya. What was once a twitching of my hand has turned into gentle strokes back and forth over my pants.
She’s got me shaking, miserable, and horny.
I used to fight these urges with days of hard labor, breaking my body to the point of exhaustion.
But, that was easier when all I had were impure thoughts of no one around me.
Enya’s an enigma. She’s got her hooks deep into my skin and she’s drawing me ever closer.
“You felt it before, haven’t you, Father Cain? A man forced to celibacy can’t have only lived a pure life. In all your years, have you not imagined what it’d feel like to be inside a woman?”
Every fucking day while you’re in town.
“What makes me different? Or is my sin worse because I want it to be you inside of me?”
I didn’t have doubts before, but even knowing that, Enya’s full admission hits me harder than I expected. Dirty acts in a church could be played off as some twisted kink. But, telling me that I’m the one who’s doing this to her?
I need to get out of here.
With God’s divine light, I find my feet and start to run. I barrel out of the small confessional, one foot after another, unwavering in my steadfast determination to remain pure. I barely make it to the pews, leading to the front door, before I hear Enya’s voice again.
“I’ll see you in seven days, Father Cain.”
Those words bring me to a standstill. Can I go a full week without seeing Enya again?
A week of mental torture waiting for another Sunday in her presence?
Keeping my distance used to be easy. When Enya showed up and sat in the back row.
But, now she’s given me a taste of her forbidden fruit and, like Adam, I will feast.
Seven days? No. I will be seeing you very soon, Enya Garraway, though I don’t believe you’ll be seeing me.
Why must I face this cruelty alone? Enya knows what she’s doing to me.
Yet, she doesn’t show any sign of fear, not for what she’s doing, or for me.
God knows she should. If she knew what I’ve done throughout this sordid life of mine, she’d be running for her life; far, far away from Father Cain Jameson, the Angel of Death.