A story begun, but never consummated… In either sense of the word.
One day it might make you scream: “Oh my God! Yes!”
~
Benton Wainright, self-professed man of god, lay upon death’s door in a hospital bed. The car accident which had devastated his body occurred weeks ago, yet he was neither alive nor dead, his body wracked by fits of intense pain. It was enough to wish for death, anything to avoid this damnable, broken body.
Modern medicine could not cure him of this incredible pain. Hopefully, he would either enter the domain of heaven or live on, whatever god wished. He prayed harder than he had ever prayed before.
“Dear god. Free me from this body and join you in heaven or allow me to live on and relinquish the remainder of my life in your works. Amen.”
The effect was immediate. Mercifully, the pain began to subside; He could feel it drifting away, like he’d detached himself from his body. God had answered his prayers!
When he looked down upon the heavily injured man with tubes running to and fro along a heavily bandaged body, elaborate medical equipment all around, it took him a moment to recognize something astounding. He was looking down upon himself! None of the doctors seemed to notice anything amiss, but they rushed around like honeybees as he continued drifting upward.
Dimly he could hear the steady drone of his heart monitor. But it too dimmed while he drifted ever upward.
He lost site of himself as he floated up through the ceiling and through to the next floor.
“I’m ascending to heaven,” he thought proudly, “god is good!”
He continued to rise through the floors of the hospital, through room after room of illness, death and disease, supremely confident that he was to join the choir of angels in heaven.
Benton drifted through the roof, reaching 20 feet or so above the hospital helipad. Reciting the rosary and having gotten about half way through, his ascent halted and the former Deacon, lifelong devotee of the Catholic church experienced an instant of doubt.
Then, as suddenly as it ceased, the drifting resumed,this time in a more horizontal direction, accelerating away from the city. Faster and faster the countryside flew past in a blur towards the southwest. He traveled for roughly 15 minutes, offering a prayer to Jesus as he flew.
“Dear god,” he thought as he rocketed through the prairie land, “let me do your will.”
His speed slowed and eventually he stopped in an area he didn’t recognize. Even so, he was glad the motion had ceased.
“Thank god!” Benton thought, once he recognized the building over which he hovered. A small, exquisitely decorated Catholic church.
“Perhaps I’ll be given a chance to atone for my sins before I ascend,” thought the man of god as he surveyed the simple bronze cross atop the steeple.
Descent began abruptly and he watched as the roof of the church passed through him, first his toes disappearing through the roof, then his torso. Finally, he was inside. Despite it’s unadorned exterior, the interior was richly appointed with tapestries and light streamed in from stained glass windows along either wall. A great central window, also stained glass, lit up the altar where a single woman knelt, her hands folded in prayer.
Benton alighted in the aisle between the pews 10 feet from the kneeling individual. She appeared to be the only one present in the whole building. There was an oppressive silence which hung in the air, only the stranger’s faint murmur broke the oppressive aura.
The woman was breathtaking. She had long blonde hair that ran down her back to her waist with a face of undeniable beauty despite tears running down rosy cheeks. The golden hair shimmered in the shafts of multicolored light. Even in a heavy knit sweater it was obvious that she had ample breasts and her pleated skirt revealed a pair of slender legs. Too much skin for a house of god, he judged, but truly an angel on Earth.
Why did she cry so?
As his gaze lingered, Benton became aware of a female voice, though not from the young woman as far as he could tell. Her her lips were no longer moving, but there was definitely a connection between the voice and the luscious blonde parishioner. He was absolutely sure it was her voice.
“Her prayer,” he thought with wonder, “I am hearing her prayer. I am truly blessed.”
“Oh god,” the voice implored, “Grant me the strength of spirit do what I must. I am so afraid, please give me the strength of will to not falter. Let my faith guide me through this terrible ordeal. If I do not endure, all is lost. God save me. Amen.”
He could feel her anguish as if it was his own. Now standing a mere three feet from her, Benton wondered what trials a young, pretty girl like her might be facing. Additionally, he puzzled over how he had gotten so close, even though he had not taken a step towards her.
“God has sent me here,” he realized. “I prayed for a body full of strength and free of pain, and she prayed for guidance. I have been sent to do god’s will!”
Benton attempted a tentative step he could move if he chose. Kneeling beside the crying girl (he realized now that she couldn’t be much older than 18) he tried to speak to her. She did not react to his voice so Benton reached a hand out to her. She took no notice of his presence, but only sobbed uncontrollably.
Finally, he placed his hand on her shoulder… or tried to. The hand went through her, but didn’t come out again. He tried to pull away but couldn’t, the arm was only pulled farther in! Yanking as hard as he could did nothing; his right arm was now enveloped up to the shoulder in this young girl’s shoulder.
Bit by bit, his form was drawn into her’s and when the ordeal was over, he brought up his hand, a small, perfectly smooth, petite hand, to his face. Feeling at the wetness on there, an odd sensation, and far softer than he remembered. The former deacon suddenly realized where he was.
“Oh the wonder of god,” he thought. ”I’m possessing the young woman’s body!”
Somehow, he could hear the girl’s voice like a distant echo in his mind,
“Do whatever he says…” it begged. “For ReRe.”
Then it faded, leaving only the fear behind, like a footprint in the sand, quickly washed away by a rising tide. The nickname, ReRe, meant nothing to him.
“I’m in control,” Benton thought studying the girl’s figure from this new perch, “God has appointed me to be his emissary, to do what another of his children cannot.”
Both their prayers had been answered, and Benton felt an indescribable joy at being an instrument of god’s will. Pushing aside the girls fear, he would not let his faith waver.
Experimentally, he rose to his feet, enjoying the feel of the long hair and natural grace of this body. The weight in his chest was more evidence that her breasts were quite large and he had to fight the sinful impulse to examine them.
In fact, he realized with alarm, a body like this was temptation birthing a million sins. He could walk out of this church right now and do anything he wanted Perhaps god had put him here to do just that!
No, Benton decided. The girl was filled with a burdensome sense of purpose that he could feel like a anchor about their neck. Still, it seemed that aside from the emotions bubbling up through him, he was in complete control of this teenage knockout. Yet it was god’s work he was meant to perform. The girl’s sense of duty was too strong for Benton to believe that god meant him to do anything other than remain here and carry her through this ordeal.
He tried to concentrate and discover what trial lay ahead, but the only dread lingered. Fear and a name. Angelica, did it belong to the young woman? Fitting, given her great beauty, but at the moment, terror dominated her mind. It pervaded so deeply, Benton felt it as his own, but he could also sense more. Hope, belief and… something else that she tried to hide. It was definitely there, but he couldn’t quite make out what it was.
If it was something she was hiding from herself, perhaps it was better left buried.
“Hello miss Dunbar,” said a gruff voice behind, back towards the rectory. A small, balding man in priest’s vestments beckoned to her, gesturing that she should follow him. “Father Hastings will see you now.”
As a former deacon, Benton struggled to come to grips with riotous emotions that tumbled through him. They weren’t his, but he could feel them vividly. The emotion that had come through when the older priest had mentioned, “Father Hastings” had been an almost overwhelming sense of uncertainty and strange feeling from earlier which he couldn’t identify.
Even as he was coming to know this mystery emotion better; the girl attached wrongness to it, but also a rightness that seemed conflicted, yet perfectly logical.
“Girls,” thought Benton, “They are so strange”.
Still, God had brought him here, so that he might be the faith that she lacked. In the body of the teen, Benton followed the priest a short way down the hall, dimly aware of swaying hips and a sinfully sexy gait which he could not correct. The fluttering of the skirt brought his attention to the peculiar, unprotected emptiness between his legs and he shivered, goosebumps rising on Angelica’s perfectly smooth arms.
Still, Benton followed the priest. Together they stopped before a plain wooden door.
“Go on in,” said the rough voiced old priest. “Father Hastings is waiting for you inside.”
Benton appraised at the man, noting a sadness in his eyes. He refused to meet the gaze of the young woman he inhabited.
“Thank you,” Benton finally said, shocked at the high pitch of the voice that came out. It was melodious and a little watery. Keeping the emotions the girl was feeling out of his voice would take some effort it seemed. “Should I just go in?
“Don’t thank me young lady,” said the priest off-handedly, he opened his mouth as if to continue, but then closed it, gesturing for her entry. The priest turned without another word and left Benton alone before the door.
Studying Angelica’s delicate hand as it reached towards the door, it was shaking visibly although he couldn’t understand out why.
What was there about this priest that had this young girl so scared?
“He must be old and fat and scary,” thought Benton. He could remember such priests in his early days as an altar boy. The kind that still scared you even when you grew up and you knew eventually age ravaged everyone. It was God’s will.
“Maybe it is only this,” mused the ex-deacon and he forced the door open with the still-trembling hand. “But it feels like something else, something far darker.”
The priest that sat behind the desk of the small office was not old and wrinkled.
In fact, the man was young (for a priest), his late 40’s if Benton had to guess, sandy blonde hair just beginning to turn to gray and his body still looking relatively fit. Where most priests his age had turned doughy and tired, he looked very alert with the wrinkles around his eyes looking merry in the smile he showed.
“Come in, come in, Angelica,” he said jovially, “What a young beauty you are now. When I first came here you were only yay high.”
The priest was standing now and held his hand up at his waist to show what height he meant. His voice was pleasant enough, but his eyes had a way of sliding up and down his body that sent shivers down the girl’s spine… her spine. Her heart thumped beneath an ample chest.
The priest took a seat on the front of his desk and said, “Why don’t you come over here and sit on my lap, like you used to when I was only a young seminarian.”
Benton was more than a little taken aback at this. It seemed a tad inappropriate for a priest to ask this of a young girl, but he believed that God would guide him and his faith led him to the conclusion of the innocence of the priest’s suggestion.
She walked over to the man who now sat on the edge of the table, lifting one arm around the priest’s neck and pulling her onto his lap. Mercifully, she found that she was no longer shaking although the fear was still there. She used the free hand to reflexively push down her skirt, feeling the girl’s self-consciousness bubble up without Benton’s command.
The priest used one hand to stroke her long, blonde hair and the other was on her knee, “to steady her,” thought Benton, whose faith was still as strong as ever.
“You know,” said the priest thoughtfully, “what happened to your brother is tragic.” Benton was again helpless as a new emotion surged up, this time one of great sadness. Father Hastings continued, “This parish would love to donate the money for his operation.”
A surge of hope. Shining and warm, the feeling blossomed within her.
“But,” continued the priest, “I have to be sure that your family is dedicated to the church.”
The light of hope snuffed out like a candle in a vacuum. In fact, it was getting harder for her to breathe as Benton felt the priest’s hand slide up a few inches from the girl’s knee. Nevertheless, she pushed past the Angelica’s discomfort and spoke, believing this to be the reason for her presence.
“We are totally dedicated,” Benton insisted in the lilting voice of the young blonde. ”I am totally dedicated.”
“I wish I could believe that,” complained the priest. “Perhaps if you were to volunteer for something.”
“Like what?”
“I can use some help this very afternoon,” the priest replied as if it was just occurring to him. ”If you gave me some assistance, I will guarantee your brother will get the care he needs.”
Father Hasting’s hand had slid another inch up her milky thigh and Benton was just beginning to have his first doubts.
“What kind of help?” she asked in a voice that sounded so small and terrified, she had a had a hard time believing it had come from her mouth. The ex-deacon was now aware that the roaming hand of the priest had reached the hem of the short skirt leaving Benton’s body nearly petrified, the last slivers of his faith now being strained to their limit.
The voice of the priest was now a whisper, and Benton could feel the mouth at her ear. Blood rushed into her face as she shivered deliciously.
“Just do everything I say for a little while and your brother will be all better before you know it.”
Hasting’s hand was completely hidden beneath her skirt now. Benton gasped, sure of the priest’s intent now as she felt his fingers slide between her inner thighs.
“Let me show you the love of god.”
Fear rose, but it was mingled with the mystery emotion which was strong enough for Benton to finally identify. Refusing to admit it to herself, Angelica had sought refuge from her fate, but it was undeniable.
How the ageless emotion had avoided detection Benton didn’t know, but he could understand why Angelica had buried it. After all, it was one of the seven deadly sins.
With his hand beneath the skirt of a young girl, the priest had evoked the worst of the seven deadly sins.
Lust.
Emily Cummings' TG Fiction 
I am looking forward to the full story!