Father John smiled at the man seated across from him, watching carefully as he completed writing out the check. Alexander Murphy was one of the church's greatest contributors. The Murphy family's donations were double what their other parishioners offered. It was Father John's job to make sure that Mr. and Mrs. Murphy were kept happy so that the donations wouldn't stop. The middle-aged man pushed the check across the shiny surface of the desk, and Father John placed it in a locked drawer for safekeeping until it would be cashed the following morning. "Once again, Mr. Murphy, your offerings are a miracle for this church," John said. "Your good deeds in this house of our Lord and Savior do not go unnoticed."
"It's nothing," Alexander laughed. "After all, my family's been going to this church since you and I were children. I'm happy to be able to give back to it." H
e got to his feet and glanced at Father John thoughtfully. "And speaking of children, why don't you come by for dinner this evening? Rachel is coming home from her first year of college for her spring break, and we're planning a special 'Welcome Home' meal for her."
"I wouldn't miss it," Father John agreed. He remembered Rachel Murphy well. As a fresh-faced, newly appointed priest of 20 years of age, young Rachel had been the first baby Father John had ever baptized. He'd also been the one who performed the ceremony on her thirteenth birthday when the church recognized her as a young lady. She'd been sent away shortly after that to a private boarding school, so he hadn't been present for most of her teenage years.
Judging by his own age, Rachel Murphy would be right at her 19th birthday soon. He was curious to see how she'd grown up, and not only that, his presence at her return dinner would keep the Murphy family happy and content. And since a content family was also a well-paying family, Father John felt it was his duty to the church to pay a visit that evening.
It was around seven in the evening when he came to call, bringing along a lovely cake for dessert and a bouquet of pink roses for Rachel. Alexander's wife ushered him in and led him to a rather comfortable sitting room. "Alexander is out picking up Rachel right now," she informed Father John. "I'm in the middle of dinner, but please, make yourself at home."
After delivering a glass of cool iced tea, she disappeared into the kitchens again and left Father John to pass the time alone. He wandered around the room, admiring the large collections of books resting on the bookshelves and the large family crest that adorned one of the walls by the door. Lost in his contemplations, he didn't realize someone had entered the room until a soft voice called out to him.
"Well, well...if it isn't the good Father? Come to welcome me home?"
Father John turned, and nearly gaped in surprise. The young woman standing in the doorway had to be Rachel, but the change in her was amazing. The young and freckle-faced girl she had been had blossomed into the smooth features she bore now. Hair the shade of carrots had either deepened or been dyed to the color of autumn leaves. Despite his reservations, Father John couldn't keep his eyes from admiring how her body had ripened. She was wearing the traditional Catholic college uniform: a dark pleated skirt and white blouse, with knee socks and soft leather Mary Janes. But the way she wore the uniform made it look utterly sinful.
Beneath that snow-colored blouse, Rachel Murphy sported what appeared to be an utterly huge pair of breasts. They strained against the button front, so much so that beneath the white fabric he could see clearly the delicate lace designs of her bra. Her waist curved in, emphasizing the "hourglass" shape of her body. Her hips flared nicely just under the waistband of her pleated skirt, so that even amidst the folds you could tell the shape of her body as she walked. Her thighs above the knee socks were tight and firm. The calves of her legs curved down into delicate ankles above the leather shoes.
Father John's eyes came up again to rest on her breasts, and he realized with a sudden start that his body was starting to react in a less-than-pure manner towards this girl. He jerked his gaze up to meet her eyes. When he saw the impish light in those hazel orbs, he knew that Rachel Murphy knew exactly the effect her body was having on him. She smiled at him and announced, "Mother said to tell you dinner is almost done. Would you like to follow me to the table?" She turned and flounced out of the room, leaving him to follow her with a blush staining his cheeks.
He really tried to concentrate during dinner. Elanore Murphy was a wonderful cook, and the food was savory. Thankfully everyone was interested in Rachel's college tales, and so he gratefully turned his attention onto his pot roast. He hadn't been interested in a woman since high school, so it was hard for him to comprehend his sudden fascination with the daughter of his greatest contributor.
Maybe it was the uniform; he'd heard several confessions of people fantasizing about young women in Catholic schoolgirl garb. Whatever caused the attraction to the young spitfire, he couldn't act on his desires. Not only did his faith not condone that type of action, but he also couldn't put the church needs in danger over a girl. Father John did his best to ignore the pretty tones of her young voice as she related stories, and instead concentrated on pushing his green beans around his plate.
It went well until he dropped his fork, the utensil spiraling under the table so far he had to crawl beneath to retrieve it. Elanore told him to ignore it, that she would get him another, but he insisted on at least getting it back and crawled under the tablecloth to claim the silver fork. As his hand closed around it, he looked up and nearly hit his head on the bottom of the table in shock. Rachel had been sitting directly across from him, and now she used that to her advantage when she knew he was under the table. Her legs were spread wide in front of him, giving him a clear shot of the lacy white panties she wore beneath her navy skirt.
She knew he was gaping at her, and brought one hand beneath as well, rubbing the crotch of her underwear with her fingers. Father John was speechless, helpless to do anything but watch the slender white digits rub up and down the damp cloth over and over. He could smell her scent, a mixture of woman and perfume. Rachel chatted with her parents as if nothing was happening, while underneath the tablecloth she hooked her fingers in the side of her panties, pulling the crotch away so he was looking directly at her pussy. Father John stared at that tiny pink slit, glistening with her juices and framed by a triangle of reddish-gold curls.
