Filter Writing Episode 2

Umm hyperfixation hobby, anyone?

I decided to do another filter writing session. ICYMI, I challenge myself to write a short, smutty story in 30 minutes to an hour. The twist? TikTok filters decide what I write about it.

For this episode, here's part 1 (the filters) and part 2 (the writing process) I finished this one in just under 50 minutes. Let me know what you think!

TikTok filters: Main character is a priest. They date to marry, are sensitive, and they’re an 8 on the delulu scale. Their crush is waiting for them to make a move and they are 72% good girl, 28% naughty. 

Summary: Imani, a priest, struggles with the lust she feels for her massage therapist Sarah. When her attempt at canceling her next appointment goes awry, she must grapple with the potential loss of celibacy and all she might have to gain in its place.

Tags: Sapphic romance, no plot just vibes, girl next door, interracial romance

Content warnings: Catholic language, sacrilegious language and content, adult language

Tropes: small town romance

Kinks: happy ending massage

Praying For A Miracle

The clock was ticking down and Imani still didn’t know what to do. Or rather, she knew what she needed to do, but she didn’t know how she would do it. As a priest, Imani took her role in the community seriously and that included never lying unless in an absolute dire emergency, and Imani was certain that there was no way she could convince God that this was an emergency. In fact, Imani was almost certain that this was a punishment from God and that she would need to find a way out of this with as much poise and honesty as possible. 

Which didn’t quite explain why she had taken a 40 minute shower that morning, complete with exfoliation and a leave-in conditioner. Imani shook her head at herself in the empty hallway of her home, her two-strand twists bouncing around her face. She knew that she had just been fooling herself, playing along to the fantasy of what could have been, in a different life, one that wasn’t devoted to pious platitudes. All the same, she needed to figure out what she was going to say, and quickly. It was 11:56 and she knew Sarah wouldn’t be late.

Just thinking Sarah’s name brought up those deviously delicious feelings of lust and want that had crept up and suffocated Imani just last week. About a month ago, Imani had decided to invest in self-care and scheduled an appointment with Sarah for an at-home massage. She’d met Sarah at a flea market one brisk Saturday morning a few months back and kept her card. They had started talking because they’d both been interested in this art piece by a Chilean painter and Sarah had told her that the painter was a distant cousin of hers. Imani had been excited to get to see the honey blonde, brown eyed cutie again and thought they could be fast friends. That was, until last week. 

Sarah had come in carrying a portable massage table in one hand and a large canvas bag on her other shoulder and Imani had watched in wonder as Sarah’s boisterous personality quickly filled up her chronically tranquil home. Once Imani showed her the living room, Sarah moved like a rabbit, hopping back and forth, setting up incense around the room, plugging in a noise machine, heating massaging oils and warming some towels. Once set, Sarah had given Imani a few minutes to undress and relax on the table and then Sarah was back with an easy smile and energetic hands. She kept up a light conversation with Imani, asking her about her work and hobbies, and periodically checking in to make sure that her touch and pressure was okay. 

And therein lied the problem. Imani was no longer accustomed to that kind of physical touch, having professed her love of god over all others at a mere 19 years of age. At 32, she had gone more than half her life without experiencing hands roaming her body and the here-and-there touches she had experienced couldn’t hold a candle to the way Sarah played her body like a cello. The smooth sensuous glides of Sarah’s warm hands had left goosebumps in their wake and a kindling of heat in Imani’s stomach that she didn’t know how to douse. 

Knock, knock.

Imani facepalmed before turning to the sound at the door. She had spent precious minutes daydreaming about last week instead of figuring out how she would tell Sarah that she could no longer receive massages from her. 

Imani opened her cherry wood front door and smiled instantly at Sarah. It was hard not too. Sarah’s honey blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun, sweat beaded above her hooded brown eyes, and her lips were separated in a bright, open smile. Just laying eyes on the most beautiful woman Imani had ever seen caused her shoulders to relax and her breath to flow naturally. 

“Will you invite me in?” Sarah asked with a laugh. 

Oh! Imani had been admiring her in silence instead of coming up with something to say. 

“Sorry Sarah, my bad. I’m just not feeling well. In fact, I actually wanted to cancel our appointment today.” Imani cringed on the inside. She needed to be good and redeem herself, she needed to not lie right now. 

She cringed again, on the outside this time, as she watched Sarah’s face crumple in disappointment. “Are you sure? What’s wrong? I’m happy to help if I can.”

“Oh, no,” Imani started. Don’t lie, don’t lie, don’t lie. “I’m actually just, um, I’m just really stressed right now and—I know massages are supposed to help with that but, uh, it’s more of a mental thing and—I need to pray! Uh, right now. It’s honestly really urgent, I need to pray so I can get rid of this stress.” Imani was proud of herself. Standing in front of this gorgeous woman, Imani was certainly feeling all kinds of nerves and was dead-set on praying as soon as Sarah left her porch. The truth shall set you free indeed. Except… Sarah wasn’t leaving. 

“Oh, that’s actually perfect Imani, you can pray during the massage. Don’t worry! Between me and god, we’ll get you fixed up right away!” She began to ease herself in the small space between Imani and the front door and Imani abruptly stepped back to let her in, too stunned to make any further arguments with Sarah’s response ringing in her head. She was pretty sure Sarah was standing between her and god, and for the first time in years, Imani wasn’t so sure that she hated that. 

Sarah flitted around the living room just as she had last week, setting up her materials and filling the entire room with her calming energy as Imani watched from the archway. In truth, this should’ve been exactly what Imani expected. Of course she wouldn’t be let off the hook with a simple cancellation because having the massage wasn’t the problem. She was going to have to go through with this, and prove to herself and her Father that she could receive a massage without succumbing to temptation. Gazing up at her shiplap-covered ceiling, Imani released a silent request to her patron saint and moved to the center of the room. Sarah was setting up the warm towels and Imani remembered from last week that that had been the last thing she did before she left the room for Imani to undress. 

Sarah turned to Imani with her signature smile, “I know you’ll be praying and I don’t want to distract you with too many questions. Assuming things are about the same as last week, should I repeat the same locations and pressure?” 

Heat snuck in to Imani with that simple reminder of how the location and pressure of Sarah’s hands had felt last week and she was grateful that blushing wasn’t as noticeable on her dark brown skin. Her reaction to Sarah’s words told Imani exactly what her answer should be. She gave Sarah a quick nod and a small smile; she would need to pray and pray hard. 

The lights in the living room were dim, the bright scent of lemongrass wafting through the air. Oceans waves crashed through the sound machine, and, face down with a cushion under her ankles and a towel over her butt, Imani couldn’t enjoy any of it as she realized she couldn’t think of a single prayer! With the sounds of Sarah’s feet padding the carpeted floor brushing her ears, Imani decided to start small and list the things she was grateful for. Her life, her home, her family, her friends. She could hear the glug glug of oil leaving a bottle to fall into Sarah’s hands as she kept up her list: her car, her savings, the little bakery she frequented on Main Street. Imani breathed deeply in anticipation of Sarah’s first touch and tried to continue: her faith, her degrees, her—. Imani felt the smooth glide of Sarah’s hands on the expanse of her back and the heat in her stomach dropped low. 

Imani stifled her groan and tried not to show any outward signs that Sarah’s hands were affecting her sensually. As the massage continued, Imani mentally jumped from thanksgiving to her to-do list, to naming all the patron saints in counter-alphabetical order but try as she might, she still felt the effects of every brush, dip, and knead of Sarah’s experienced hands as they coasted across her back, over her shoulders, and down to her tailbone. After about ten minutes, Imani felt Sarah’s hands come to a stop right above her towel. 

“Imani,” Sarah whispered.

Imani turned her face to the side, careful to keep her shoulder down so that her chest wouldn’t be revealed, “Yes?” 

“How, uh, how is the prayer going?” Sarah asked. “I know sometimes these things take a while but you’re still feeling pretty tight. Almost as if I hadn’t even been here last week. Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Imani dropped eye contact, still too embarrassed to admit the truth, “Yeah, I’m okay.” 

“Why don’t you try praying out loud?” Sarah suggested. Imani was about to come up with another flimsy excuse when a prayer finally, finally, popped into her head. She had no choice but to take it as a sign from God that that’s what she should do. 

She lifted her head again to smile at Sarah, “Good thinking, I’ll try that.” 

Imani resettled her head back into the open space of the massage table and prepared to recite the miracle prayer. “Lor Jeshus, I cum before you,” she began, realizing that it was hard to enunciate her words with her face being squished into the small round opening. “I repen of my sins, I–.” Imani stopped in her tracks, taking in Sarah’s warm hands on her legs. She’d been mentally ready for Sarah to touch her back, but she was even more desperate to beseech the lord with Sarah’s hand’s traveling quickly up and then slowly down her tight thighs. “I repen of my sins,” Imani repeated, “please forgive me.” 

Imani’s voice tailored off as her focus honed in on Sarah’s hands once again. They almost made Imani feel safe and sheltered, like Sarah’s hands could take care of all of her problems. But as Sarah’s thumbs brushed the underside of Imani’s butt, she was quickly reminded of one problem she was beginning to realize only Sarah had the solution to. Imani fought with her body as it rushed to produce a natural lubricant Imani hoped beyond hope that Sarah couldn’t smell. So focused on the embarrassment of getting wet during a massage, she couldn’t stop her hips from lowering further into the table on the next upward pass of Sarah’s hands. Imani cringed as she felt Sarah’s hands slow down, she had to have noticed. Imani decided to continue with the prayer and hope that would distract them both. 

“Heal me, change me, strengthen me in body,” Imani’s strong, resonant voice reduced to a whisper. Did she do that on purpose? When Sarah had brought her hands up Imani’s thighs again, not only did Sarah’s thumbs brush Imani’s butt, but it felt like she used her thumbs to separate Imani’s cheeks and open her up. The silence between the two women was suddenly so loud, it drowned out the waves from the small noise machine. Imani had a choice to make. 

“Cum Lor Jeshus, cover me.” She did it again! Imani continued her prayer aloud, all the while debating if Sarah was working her up or working her over. She reasoned with herself that if she let her thighs fall open just the tiniest bit, it wouldn’t be her succumbing to lust but rather silently checking in on Sarah’s intentions without embarrassing the brown-skinned beauty by openly acknowledging what was happening. She felt Sarah’s hands stop again as she slowly rotated her thighs to leave her center a bit more open and waited. Will she do it again?

No. The answer is no. Because, instead, Sarah dropped her thumbs between Imani’s knees and ran them all the way up her thighs and continued across her butt to stop at her tailbone. Starting at her knees, Sarah repeated the motion again, spreading her hands around Imani’s upper thighs and butt. 

The third time around stopped Imain’s prayer again, a strained exhale escaping her lips. Sarah must have leaned in closer because on the third pass, she felt Sarah’s breath travel over her oiled skin. She felt her walls contract as she called out to her personal temptress, “Sarah.” 

“Yes, Imani?” Sarah replied but Imani didn’t even know what she should say. What she could say. She dug her hip bones into the table again, her body’s feeble attempt at seeking out friction. She couldn’t offer herself up, couldn’t ask, so she did what any other clergy member would do. She finished her prayer.

“All the angels and saints, please help me.”  Sarah’s hands skimmed across her legs and rested, actually rested, on her butt. 

“Imani,” Sarah whispered, “would you like me to help you?” Sarah enunciated her question by dragging her thumbs across the lips of Imani’s pussy. Imani couldn’t keep in her moan nor stop her hips from rising, silently urging Sarah to do it again. 

“Imani, I need your words,” Sarah spoke in a soft but firm tone, “would you like me to help you?”

“Yes.”