There is something inherently sinful about the concept of temptation.
In cartoons angels and devils perch upon the shoulders of the unwary, helping them litigate their choices. On billboards women recline in baths of gold as chocolate is poured lasciviously onto their chests (because ice cream adverts are always basically softcore porn for some reason). “Ooh, I know I shouldn’t”, we say, looking at a market stall display of jewellery or books or floggers or yarn (we all have our vices), “but I’m definitely tempted…”
The other thing about temptation, of course, is that the more you focus on it the harder it becomes to resist. Little wonder, then, that the very people who see themselves as guarding against the temptations of others can be the most likely to crumble when confronted with their own. The very act of preaching about what people’s sex lives should look like is thinking about sex, after all.
So discovers Father Underwill, caught in the midst of planning his next sermon when a passing succubus drops in to spank him with their unholy text. He’s spent so long denying his urges and smothering his instincts that when the moment arrives, he gives in to it utterly.
And what a moment it is.
