The Pleasure Club: The Priest

ISBN: 978-1-60088-314-9
Length: 22 pages

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Cobblestone Press | Barnes & Noble (Nook/ePub) |
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“The Priest is one kinky story… You’ll never think of priests in the same way after reading this supercharged story.”
4 1/2 lips, Two Lips Reviews

“Barbosa delves into women’s forbidden fantasies with [this] naughty short story. I found THE PRIEST to be titillating yet shocking and even a little endearing…”
4 1/2 blue ribbons, Romance Junkies Reviews

Welcome to The Pleasure Club, where fantasy becomes reality.

Marisol Rodriguez may have lost her faith, but she hasn’t lost her fascination with men in clerical garb. The Pleasure Club knows her every forbidden desire, and tonight, her Pleasure Master, “Father Mackenzie,” will make her dreams come true.

All she has to do to get everything she wants is to confess–and confession turns out to be far more fulfilling than even she ever imagined.


They certainly thought of everything.

Marisol Rodriguez stood in the doorway of the Chapel of the Vines and smiled to herself. She’d been here once before, years ago, for a friend’s non-denominational wedding. The owners of the vineyard—whoever they were—rented both the chapel and the large gazebo nearby for private affairs.

More than one kind of affair, apparently.Although the chapel itself looked much as it had the last time she was here—eight rows of wooden pews with an aisle down the center, stained glass windows depicting flowers and grapes and other secular objects—a large, black confessional booth now dominated the corner of the octagonal space next to the dais. Marisol’s body pinged with excitement, for she knew her Pleasure Master for her Pleasure Night awaited her inside that booth. 

It was a naughty fantasy, one that had tormented her as a teenager when she’d lain in bed at night, masturbating to one orgasm after another as she imagined fucking the handsome, young priest who’d recently arrived at her family’s parish. She knew it was wrong—sacrilegious—to have such thoughts, but that only made the fantasy more appealing. There was just something about the forbiddenness of the whole idea that set her body on fire.

She’d never before revealed her secret desire to be screwed senseless by a man of the cloth to anyone, and she still couldn’t quite believe she’d really done so when she’d filled out the paperwork and joined The Pleasure Club.
There was no denying, however, that she was here, and there was the confessional booth. And her fantasy always began in the booth.

Part of her was tempted to turn tail and run for the safety of her Camry. She had to be crazy to do this, to take this kind of risk. For all she knew, the guy waiting for her in there could be some kind of nut job.

Heck, when she thought about it, it was a virtual certainty. Only a complete head case would be willing to impersonate a priest to fulfill a total stranger’s sexual fantasy.

This was crazy.

And everything she wanted.

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