The fancy name of Xavier didn't surprise her. His title was also typical of those of his profession, if it could be called that. Each day she saw him walk out into the yard, and depending on the weather, some days were more enticing than others were. Sylvia dreaded her first real teaching placement. St Johns College wasn’t an ordinary secondary school, it was one of the most prestigious. After spending the better part of three years as a casual relief teacher, she felt relieved that she finally found her path and then along came Xavier to rumble her idyllic calm.

Swathed in black, he was either on yard duty or teaching math to matriculating students. Each time Xavier ran into her, he nodded politely and continued along his way. At each pass, Sylvia shook her head in disbelief. How he managed to stay on the right handed path of righteousness, and chastity, was something that eventually embedded itself in her mind.
When the breeze caressed tree branches and swept leaves along their way, when this coincided with Xavier standing in the schoolyard or simply strolling through the park, his robe swirled around his calves.
What lay beneath?
Did he ever wear civilian clothes?
How did he look in a pair of snug jeans?
He towered over her, lean yet sturdy. Although his vocation spoke of angels and deities, his dark glance didn’t resonate with the sweet and innocent evangelical concepts. Xavier averted her gaze, often looking toward the floor each time their eyes met in the corridor of the main building. In the quadrangle, during assembly, he stood and sometimes his glances strayed.
One thought led to many others. Masculine, young and a splendid specimen, his image shifted to the infernal recesses of her mind. Lust undulated within the realm and spoke of ripples of pleasure that threatened to rise up over the Richter scale.
She felt silly addressing him. In Sylvia’s mind, he was far too young to be addressed with such a formal air. What? She thought. He would have been a little over thirty, at best. It felt rather stupid to call him Father.
Therefore, she approached the situation like a demonic child.
‘Hi Xavier…’ said she on a quiet afternoon in the library. He was returning some textbooks and she was checking out Principles of Biology.
‘Hello Miss...?’
‘It’s Sylvia,’ she replied.
He quietly nodded, focusing his gaze on his departing books. The librarian, one Mr Smith, smiled at them both and whisked Xavier’s returns away, leaving him with a bare laminated desk to stare at.
‘We haven’t spoken, haven’t been introduced. I’ve been here for four months now. I’ve seen you around,’ she managed to say. His brown gold-flecked eyes shortly bore into hers.
‘I teach math,’ he said.
‘I know,’ she replied, fingering the spin of her book with her index finger.
‘Yes…’
‘How long have been at the school?’
‘Three years,’ he replied.
Inwardly, she sighed thinking of the futility behind her motivation.
Damned Priest!
‘Well, I’ll see you around. I’ve got to get going…’ she said, waiting for him to reply, if only to catch a last glimpse of him looking at her.
‘Nice to have met you,’ was all he said.
~~
It was in the darkness of her room or in the kitchen as she stood, that she thought of his naked form. Constructing him from scratch, like a join the dot puzzle, she imagined broad shoulders and an equally broad chest. Sylvia thought she was close to the reality she saw. His opaque black robes concealed his skin, but they failed to hide his size.
In her bed she'd climax in record time, five minutes, and gripped her pillow and in other places, such as the kitchen, her hand gripped the counter or a nearby chair as she exploded.
‘Are you mad? He’s a priest,’ one of her friends exclaimed.
‘You’re wasting your time even thinking about the guy,’ another told her.
However, he was attractive, he was the only one that fuelled her desire and such a long time had elapsed between lovers. The need sprouted at odd moments. A glimpse of him walking in the hall or in the yard was enough for her to return to the library and reconstruct the event. The auditory centres in her mind rewound the neuronal tape of his voice and it was then that she felt the familiar warmth invade her pelvis.
A sordid idea arrived when she passed two older boys in the canteen area.
‘I hate confession,’ one boy said.
‘He becomes so righteous, expecting a bad deed.’ the other said.
‘I thought he’d be okay, he isn’t an old fart like Father Martin but he’s worse,’ the first boy retorted.
‘And what kind of a name is Xavier?’
They both laughed and continued on their way.
Sylvia rather liked Xavier’s name. She thought it unusual and, sexy. Him behind her, her facing some nondescript wall, his fingers rubbing the cleft of her ass and asking her if she had anything to confess. It was the typical fantasy she had. Each time she shook her head, his digit plundered her sex and she’d whimper.
How she found herself in the confessional was anyone’s guess. Sylvia wasn’t Catholic, had no attraction to the faith and didn’t really understand the concept of confession. In her mind it absolved a person from personal responsibility. Hell, if a person confessed to being Ted Bundy in a confessional, the priest was prohibited from coming forth and revealing the fact that the person slaughtered people for a hobby or turn on.
She began to pant. Her breath exited and reentered her body in small bursts. Her toes curled within her pumps, unpleasantly rubbing against the leather. Xavier entered his side of the booth, his shadow darkening her tiny booth. Their faces were obscured by the screen and as he spoke, to ask her of her last confession, her mouth gaped with anticipation.
‘I’ve never confessed,’ she said.
He paused.
‘Why haven’t you confessed child?’
Child!
‘I’m uncertain about sin and sinning Father,’ she replied, as her hand traveled up her thigh.
‘I see,’ he softly replied.
‘Is it a sin to feel pleasure Father?’
‘It all depends,’ he replied.
A sigh escaped her. Her fingers rubbed her pubic mound.
‘I think about…’
His lips on hers, tongue sliding in her mouth like a rampant serpent threatening to engulf her.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Ahhh…’ she moaned.
Her fingers trekked to her clitoris and softly caressed it with short circular strokes.
‘I think about a man, and I masturbate Father,’ she managed, noticing a rise in the slick damp between her legs.
She unbuttoned her shirt and was left with her bra and skirt. The heat rose off her skin and diffused through the booth.
‘I-I- carnal desire is a sin, is this man your husband?’ he asked.
‘Is masturbation a sin?’
‘Umm… y-yes,’ he stammered.
Licking her lips, she parted her legs and slowly inserted her middle finger inside her sultry canal. In and out, she stroked, building up a steady rhythm.
‘When my finger pistons in and out of my pussy, I imagine him fucking me…’
‘A…’
‘You can’t say you have similar thoughts?’ she asked, her finger coming to a stop, as it lay embedded within her.
‘I ca…don’t,’ he slowly replied.
There was uncertainty as to whether he could register the musk of her smouldering sex. On fire, her fingers entered and exited, only to distribute her hot nectar all over her labia. Sylvia’s breaths filled the cubicle.
‘Y-you can’t…’ he said
‘Yes I can…Ohhhhhh… .’ she wailed.
‘Shhh!’
‘You look at me Father, each day. Your eyes wander and they try to peek into places you forbid yourself entry to…’ she murmured, rampantly rubbing her wet flesh.
‘I’m a priest,’ he firmly stated.
‘You’re still a man,’ she taunted, ‘a demon that taunts me each night.’
If she weren’t half-naked, she’d stride out of her side of the confessional and step into his cubicle, only so he could see evidence of her arousal and the effect he had or so she thought. There was her job to think about, and yet, he could come to her.
‘Are you hard Father?’
‘What?’
‘I’m wet…’
Each thrust magnified her moisture, each whispering hiss of her fingers inside her as they thrust produced sound that she was certain diffused through the Holy fence of mesh.
Leaning back, she reveled in her arousal, her free hand freed one breast and she toyed with it as she slowly brought herself to the brink.
In a brief flash, the door swung open. As quickly as it opened, it shut. His scent filled the booth as he towered over her. Squashed together, she had little option but to part her legs further, giving him a bird’s eye view of her drenched sex.
His eyes afire, he reached down and grasped by the forearms.
‘Get up!’ he hissed.
Her mouth hung open, lying in wait.
‘Xavier… .’ she murmured.
His tongue snaked inside her mouth, tumbling with her tongue while his hands unzipped her skirt and proceeded to unhook her bra.
They precariously stood, huddled together before he sat and placed her on his lap.
‘Shh…’ he hissed.His hands cupped and squeezed her breasts as Sylvia arched her back, rubbing her ass against his solid concealed cock.
Sylvia leaned into him, watching, as his hand traveled toward her inner thighs.
‘Ohhh…’ he moaned. Xavier's thumb lazily stroked her glistening clitoris. The stroke quickened and extended to the soaked aperture of her slit.
Her hand met his, and guided his fingers into her steaming slit. First one, then two fingers slid inside her and began their fervent dance, as his warm breath fanned her neck.
'You’re a succubus,’ he whispered. His fingers emphasized his ardor with a firm, deep thrust.
‘Fuck me, Father,’ she whimpered.