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Cracked eggshells with dried yolks stuck onto the window panes, trick-or-treaters were making their way home, and house lights began to switch off for the night.
Ah, the end of Halloween.
With the Lonely Man dinner slid to a forgotten corner, 2 hot bodies sandwiched a certain priest against his own desk, in his own church, in his own office. It all started with an "Orel told us you were pretty lonely tonight."
And who was Putty to deny something like this?
So there Clay was, leaning his ass on the wooden surface with Putty's back resting against his chest. He smoothed his hands along the material of the older man's sweater, effortlessly riling him up. It didn't help that Clay rested his chin on the gray shoulder, whispering dirty things about this and that.
"When was the last time you got laid?"
"Have you ever been touched like this?"
"I can see you getting hard already."
"Shut it," Putty grit through his teeth.
And there you were. Standing in front of Putty, slowly wedging your knee between his thighs as you ate up the view. Clay wore a sensual smile that paired perfectly with his half-lidded eyes. His pupils blown— steady on your gaze, occasionally flicking down to ogle at your figure. Putty gasped and arched, the mayor was under his sweater now. Those glasses hopelessly slid further down his nose. He studied you over the rims, heated and heavy, anticipating your next move. Attention switching from your eyes to your lips, tongue darting out to wet his own.
Grinning almost patronizingly, you closed the distance for a sweet kiss, his hot breath landing on you deliciously. Your hands slithered around into the warm space between his back and Clay's stomach. He melted into you, head already tilting to deepen the embrace. Small noises escaped him. He was desperate. So much so that it was pathetic. His arms quickly returned your gesture, hands resting on the small of your back— fingers itching to explore lower. Eventually, one of Clay's hands snuck a playful fondle onto your body, making you squeak.
Then, it was Putty's turn to jump and gasp into your mouth. You broke the kiss to see Clay attacking his bare neck with his teeth. His collar was opened. It was strange to see this much of the priest, as the clerical collar… well. Kept him modest. His skin was freckled with age, and it was at this moment you understood how alluring exposed collarbones could be. Putty's eyes struggled to stay focused, and seeing the push and pull of the two's passion was seriously something. Clay clawed at Putty, the latter desperately holding onto the man's arms to keep him at bay. His head tilted back— ever so shyly asking for more, fuck. You even noticed the tips of Clay's shoes digging into the plush carpet, maintaining the right leverage to grind into the man atop him.
You took this chance to tend to Putty indecently pressing against his slacks. Even churchgoers have their desires. You palmed him through the fabric, his entire body swelling in return. Clay caught on and moved to stroke Putty's thighs, eventually releasing his lips from the raw neck. His skin was pink and blotchy. Shallow teeth marks decorated the flesh, dappled with red spots signaling the early stages of hickeys.
You cleared your throat, "How is it? You like being fondled in your own office?" He let out a shuddery breath, hips rocking against your hand.
"I-I, well— when you put it like that…" He hesitated.
Clay chimed in, "It's dirty isn't it? You're all horned up in the house of God of all places. Just how many people have stood in this very room before all this?" He busied his mouth with the priest's earlobe.
Putty's body seemed to move with more urgency. Despite this, he shakily refuted, "You two act like you weren't the ones who started this."
"Oh? We can stop. All you had to do was ask," Clay removed his hands, your own hands quickly following suit. "No—! No, I didn't say that," he was so quick to beg. He just makes it so easy to tease him.
You hummed approvingly. Then the two of you graciously got back to work, even harder this time. He whimpered into the air, body swaying with the intensity. Clay fiddled with Putty's belt as you continued the verbal work.
"Now answer me this time— do you like being fondled in your own office?" You aimed to humiliate, Clay watching the man expectantly. Putty cast his gaze to the side. His voice soft with shame, "I do…"
You looked into his eyes, "You what?"
"I like being fondled— in my own office," he struggled between moans.
"Good job, that wasn't so hard now was it?" Clay cooed. You glanced down to see he was steadily pumping the older man in his fist.
Putty looked so good being broken down in Clay's arms… and you had an entire night to enjoy every last second of it.