Catholic girls are always the worst. Or the best, depending on one's viewpoint. All that genuflecting and pre-marital sex is sin indoctrination. No masturbation. Kneeling, worshipping higher powers. It takes its toll on their behaviour.

Such a furtive hotbed of repression can spill over. Burst from those that break free of the flock. Create the dirtiest little sluts.

Like Trinity.

A self-confessed recovering Catholic, she's utterly angelic. And naked, gazing up at me towering above her, resting on her haunches, hands in her lap. Those wide cornflower eyes search mine, watching me drink her beauty, the matching shock of electric-blue hair another act of rebellion. It cascades down the curve of her back, clothes piled beside her.

She'd knocked on my office door and entered without waiting. Stood in front of my desk and wordlessly began unbuttoning her copper blouse. Disrobed, item by delicious item, just for me. The flawless skin sweeping from her shoulders revealed delicate straps of a pale teal bra that housed the most perfect breasts with the tiniest upturn at their deep brown caps. I'd gawped, dying to bite them and see what she'd do.

But I had no time to reflect before her jeans had been unsnapped, button by button, scrap of cotton panties hitting the floor soon after. When she stepped from them, the cutest thatch tufted between her trim thighs took my breath away.

She beckoned. One finger luring me, as she sank to her knees. I knew I shouldn't. A thousand reasons surfaced and swirled, but were eclipsed by the naked vision. I rounded the desk on autopilot, brushing the pine bookshelf to stand before her on the springy carpet.

Trinity brought her hand to my leg. Traced an agonising path up my trousers until she brushed my firmness trapped within. Lowered the zip. Freed me, the relative cool of the office unable to temper the heat of my cock in her dainty hand. Natural fingernails, painted scarlet, scraped tenderly from base to tip, before the pads of her fingers swirled my cock head and returned to her lap.

With deliberate slowness, she crossed her hands behind her back; an act of stylised submission learned from years of worship. She leaned forward to kiss my shaft. Nibbled the edges, the breath from her nose tickling my rising manhood until I was fully erect. My hands fumbled the desk edge behind me for support, wedding band clacking the underside as she kissed my flared tip. Flicked her tongue out and circled, the desk lamp reflecting a specular highlight in the glistening saliva.

The faintest shimmer of lip-gloss transferred to my glans. I swelled in her mouth before she drew back, her eyes flicking to mine as she purred.

"Mmmm. Think I can take it all?"

I found myself nodding, her eyes burning into mine. My twitching length parted her lips and she sank a third into her welcoming cocoon. My gasp rang out and she withdrew.

"Shhhh. Wouldn't want your colleagues to hear," she chastised, the silkiness of her voice diametrically opposed to her act. "Naughty boy."

Her eyes shone as she lapped the dot of pre-come from me, swirled it around my rigid tip and sank just over half. The intense heat flowed inward. Trinity sucked once, drawing her lips back up to pop from my wet shaft. Slithered breath down one side to the base where I protruded from my zipper, nibbling her way back up.

She was sensational. Such outward innocence harbouring unfathomable dirtiness beneath. Her inhalation marked the next descent, taking more of my girth, almost to the hilt. Back she drew, dragging her lips and the faintest graze of her teeth over the ridge before plunging down wetly.

Again.

Again, each time taking a fraction more until I nudged her throat.

She coughed, pulled away, a trickle leaking from the corner of her eye to stream down a blushed cheek. She fluttered natural lashes, oozing faux innocence. Kissed my dripping length. Parted her lips, encasing me inch by inch, gazing up until her lips skimmed the zip. Her eyes squeezed shut, another tear forming and she yanked free, gasps momentarily drowning the grandfather clock ticking against the far wall.

My shaft leaked a dangling silvery droplet. Her tongue met it. Joined us before she lapped and swallowed. I was close already and she knew it.

"Throat, face or breasts?"

Such an impossible decision, my mind scrambled for an answer. "How about… all three?"

She grinned. "Greedy boy. Somehow poetic."

Her mouth bobbed to my tip. Tongue swirled as she widened, took me in, pistoning her way down my dripping shaft, engulfing a few millimetres more with each descent. She sucked and slurped as I fought to keep my moans under control, the dark wood of the door the only thing separating us from discovery. The end of my career. But there was no way I could stop the sensational twists of this perfect girl's volleys on my aching shaft. Too far gone.

I swelled in the grip of this fallen angel's mouth and bit my lip to stifle the groan of release. A spurt fired down her clutching throat and she hummed appreciation, swallowing before slithering up to capture the second and third jets on her lips and cheek.

Jagged stripes of pearly come lashed her cheeks, smeared her glistening lips, dotted her chin, and dripped to pepper the swell of her beautiful chest.

She sat back, hands still behind her, cocked her head and smiled up at me, displaying the result of her brazen handiwork as my breathing slowed. Running her fingertips up her sides, she cupped her breasts, massaging my seed into them, smeared it up her neck and scooped the strips on her face onto a fingertip, hungrily feeding them to herself, sucking her sticky fingers clean.

She leaned into me. Breathed. Lapped a stray droplet clinging to my withering shaft. Zipped me and sat back, smiling.

"Thank you, Father. Same time next Sunday?"