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“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned, it has been six months since my last confession. Since then…” My voice is soft; barely an audible whisper yet carries through the ornate divider without hindrance; its solid panel having been drawn back with a light rasping sound. “I … I have missed Mass, three times, told several lies and, Father, I have had impure thoughts while … touching myself.”
After what felt like an inordinate amount of time, a somewhat younger than usual, male voice is heard. Faltering, seeming to stumble over the words and clearing his throat regularly. “Where, and how did you touch yourself, my child, tell me more about these thoughts.”
Through the grille he’s barely visible, more of an outline than discernible features; not my usual Priest but then, it has been six months since the last time I’d sat in the confessional. A wicked thought occurs to me, what if, this is some sort of trainee, a newbie Priest. Terrible of me to consider it, but I toy with the idea of teasing him.
Aware of his limited visibility, I remove my heavy outdoor coat and lay it on the floor next to me. My low-cut blouse is unbuttoned to show ample cleavage and I lean in closer to the grille separating us. “Oh Father, they were terribly impure, I don’t know how much I should tell you, what if God won’t forgive me?”
One hand rests against the partition and to my surprise, it shifts; if moved enough, it would open entirely providing a windowed opening; something I do not want to happen to avoid recognition.
Another pause, a throat clearance then, “God forgives all, my child, confess and lighten your soul.”
This doesn’t sound right to me at all, but, again, I blame it on too long between Confessions “Alright, Father, if you insist.” I take a few deep breaths as though trying to calm myself, well, I am rather aroused at what I’m about to confess, absolutely fabricated of course but deliciously apropos. “It actually involves, you, Father.”
He seems to splutter, coughing “Me? … er… my child?”
“Yes Father, well, not you, precisely, but a Priest, you see, I fantasised that, during confession, the Priest, or, you…” I’m sinful, I know it, he knows it, yet I continue. “You slide back the grille, reach through, and start fondling my breasts Father, and I’m so excited, my nipples get hard, I press into your hand and reach for your cassock, Father, and, you urge me on…”
I’m fairly certain at this point, the priest has swallowed his tongue, he’s making strange sounds as though in the middle of a fit, so, leaning closer I try to peer up at him to determine whether this has affected him at all.
I hear shuffling, then a small groan, a series of rustling that might signify clothing adjustment and finally the Priest’s voice, “Tell me more, go on, purify your soul… my child.”
At this point, I need little to no prompting at all and launch into the description “Well, Father, I discover that under your cassock you wear nothing at all, and your cock, goodness, it’s so antep escort long, thick and hard. I have to touch and taste it. So, you press yourself up against the opening and reach through, grasp my hair and demand I suck you; you are very insistent Father, you even grasp my hair and tug, telling me that this is God’s work and to please you is to please him, so of course, I comply, I mean, I’m a God-fearing girl, Father…”
The poor Priest is losing his mind, I can tell; the noises emanating from his side of the confessional tell me so. Leaning in closer, eyes wide, I try to see through the ornate grille, I want to know just what he’s doing. There’s movement, a definite rhythmic back and forth with an accompanying grunting snuffle and I’m certain I know what that signifies, more so when he groans “Go on… My child… don’t stop.”
A lascivious grin on my face says it all; a pity he can’t see it. “Yes Father, of course, to absolve me of sin.” I don’t wait for his acknowledgement; he’s far too busy for that now. “I’m sucking you, Father, I have your lovely cock in my mouth and I’m sucking so hard. Every now and then your tip hits the back of my throat and I gag, like this.” Effecting a few throaty choking sounds, marred slightly by my urge to laugh delightedly at this unfolding scene, I continue, my voice lowering to a more teasing sultry level, laced with breathy moans. “Oh Father, you taste so good, and I’m such a devoted girl, I just keep sucking and sucking but Father, it doesn’t stop there because you start moaning then command me to strip naked and, well, Father, what am I supposed to do but obey?”
He emits a strangled groan then gasps “Yes, naked, you’re a good girl, God wants you naked.” This bolsters my courage, and as I speak, the tips of my fingers begin sliding back the partition.
“I am a good girl Father, a very good girl, so while you’re stroking yourself, I undress, and in moments I’m naked for you, oh, and God too. My dress, panties and bra in a little heap on the floor next to me. I think you’re pleased with what you see…” I’m pushing back the partition even further, but the Priest does not yet seem to notice, and at the same time my free hand is undoing the buttons of my dress, deftly pulling apart the material.
I could be wrong, but I’m fairly certain that this man is supposed to be celibate, chaste, asexual, but what I see, once the grille is entirely pushed aside, is far from the pious, dignified and reverent vision I associate with the clergy; leaning over, one hand pressed to the partition wall, the Priest is masturbating furiously, his face flushed, eyes closed, mouth slack and he’s yet to notice me.
Without hesitation I divest myself of the dress, bra and panties quickly, maintaining my steady flow of the narrative. “… and Father, you are pleased, I’m sure of it because you reach out to touch my breasts. They are soft, firm, and my nipples are dark pink little nubs that have become erect, just for you, er… and God, Father, because that is what He wants after all.” My hands are roaming across each heavy globe of flesh while tweaking the nubs, just as I describe, into stiff peaks. “Then you decide you want to explore more, Father, and your hands slide down, over my tummy and between my thighs, and it feels so good to me that I open my legs wide.”
I’m leaning in closer to the open partition window and breathing unevenly, whispering the next words in a voice thick with arousal “Father, I love your cock, it’s so long and thick, and I’m in need Father, I am so desperate to feel you inside of me. Please, Father, I need you. Look, just look.”
My hands are uncontrollably rubbing across my breasts, stomach and between my legs, I can’t seem to help it; the visual of his desperate masturbation drives me wild with desire and in a louder voice moan “Forgive me, Father, for I am a sinner…” and turn, bending at the waist to present him with a clear view of my slick wet cleft while pulling apart both buttocks.
There is no doubt he can see me, the choking gasp followed by his hands on my hips are proof enough, and if it were not, then the prick plunging into me certainly is.
Glorious, unequivocally, absolutely, fucking wonderful.
I’m an evil sinner for sure, but this evil sinner is not only corrupting a man of the cloth but orgasming too. I’ve worked myself up so much, primed to the point that after only a few short thrusts, my orgasm slams into me like a tonne of bricks. I use the wall opposite me for support and brace myself with a foot behind me.
He is a beast, uncontrolled, erratic and wild; hips like an oiled piston, unimpeded until flesh meets flesh. I’m surprised he has such stamina that he’d last longer than a few seconds given his supposed lack of sexual experience and yet he’s still going strong; thrust after thrust, fingers indenting my rump to hold on tight while ravaging my dripping cunny.
Oh yes, I do believe I have hit the jackpot.
I feel fingers in my hair, clutching at the roots, bringing my head back; throat elongated, it distorts the animal sounds I’m making as he pumps his way toward his climax. I hear squelching wet noises, feel the dribble down both inner thighs and push back, aiming to achieve a second orgasm. This seems to spur him on to a faster more frenetic pace, and in moments we are both joined in unison as slick warm spunk erupts from his pulsating dick combining my creamy liquid release.
Neither of us wants to move; I certainly don’t want to go anywhere yet, not that I could with his fist closed around a clump of my hair. His breathing is ragged, as is mine, and I feel the slow seeping leakage between my legs, relishing its presence. I briefly consider that contraceptives might have been in order, but given the fact I’ve just likely popped this Priest’s cherry and I’m on the pill, it doesn’t remain a consideration for long.
Squeezing my internal muscles, I smile at the noise it triggers from the Priest while tugging at the grip he maintains. Surprisingly, he doesn’t get the hint and refuses to let go. “Father…” my voice is croaky, barely resembling my earlier sultry tones. “Father…” I falter, fumbling with what to say that would break him of his current state and allow me to move.
A sudden pull on my hair brings tears to my eyes, as the Priest, who has woken from whatever blissful trance he’d been in and is now focused on what he desires next, moans the words. “Clean me, my child.” He withdraws, slipping free of my dribbling pussy and pulls once again, guiding me around within the tight confines of the confessional, down to my knees where my mouth is level with his dripping cock.
This is not something I would ordinarily indulge in; however, I’m still flushed with the afterglow of post-coital bliss and with a mental shrug, I reach out, grasp his tumescent length and slide it past my lips. The combined flavours of both his ejaculate and my unmistakable taste are a mixture of sweet, salty and something else unique to each.
I moan, the throaty sound a deliberate emission to cause a soft reverberation around his rapidly softening appendage. I pull back, hands encircling the base, to lick all the way down and back up again; root to tip in a slow rhythm designed to titillate and provoke.
The Priest grunts, shifting his weight from one foot to the other while leaning against the confessional partition. His fist tightens then releases, giving me an excellent indicator of just how I am affecting him; if I didn’t have my mouth full, I’d smile.
After several minutes he steps back and releases my hair. His flaccid cock flops down, taking with it a string of saliva that stretches tenuously then breaks off. For the first time, I’m allowed to see him more clearly; the view from my knees looking up with a face full of groin hardly ideal for such. He appears young, perhaps too young for a Priest, but then, I am no expert on ages nor on how old one needs to be to enter the clergy and hold this level of responsibility. Our eyes meet and there is a long and somewhat awkward silence before he slams the partition back in place, latching it from his side.
I hear movement from the other side, assuming he wishes to straighten himself up then a voice, more in control than it was a few minutes earlier declare “Say your penance, five Our Fathers, dress then go in peace, my child.” This does not ring true, something in the way he says it reinforces my belief he’s painfully new to the position, but I can’t let it bother me; I’m still thrumming from orgasm.
Several minutes later, I’m dressed and ready to depart, having said my penance within the confessional to give me time to compose myself. The Priest is still there, listening, watching me through the grille and I rather enjoy the attention. However, it is time to leave.
Closing the brocade curtain behind me, I stride out from Church with a slight wobble to my gait, and head home, the taste of him still on my lips, anointed and absolved.
A figure disrobed of religious vestments, finding the way clear and devoid of police attendance, slips into a nearby alley, adjusts his still damp cock, pulls the baseball cap down over his eyes and in moments is gone.
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