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Confession
There was a light rain, and fall had only just set in. I could still get away with wearing nothing more than a black dress with a jean jacket over top while hiding from the weather beneath a navy blue umbrella. My hair (long, brown, tangled, just like the mother I’d never met) was tied back in a ponytail. I was on my way to the confessional, and I was terribly aroused. My usual playthings were absent since I had just come home from college, freshman year. Less than half an hour ago I was alone, in my room, legs spread, a hand mirror in front of my pussy so I could watch what I did. Spreading the lips, teasing out the clit. I was good, getting better, but I still couldn’t get over the edge alone. That, more than anything, felt sinful.
The front door of St. John’s, a Catholic church in a neighboring town, was painted a fresh, bright red. There were rumors that a real scoundrel ran their confessional during the week. Inside, the church was huge, quiet, empty. I could still hear the rain above. The sound made me think of people praying, but in my mind’s eye I saw myself at the head of the pews, sitting in front of the altar, one hand on my breast while I took myself closer and closer with the other.
With a flutter of excitement in my stomach I entered the booth. I leaned the wet umbrella in the corner and sat on the bench.
“Welcome, my child.”
“Thank you, father. I…don’t know how to start. I’ve never confessed anything before.”
“Say, ‘Bless me, father, for I have sinned.'”
“Bless me, father, for I have sinned.”
“Go ahead, child. Tell me your first sin.”
“I haven’t been a good daughter recently. I’ve always tried to be, but, well…I wanted to wait for my husband so I could serve him well. My dad always insisted on keeping my virginity intact. He scared boys from school away before they could so much as glance my way. I would come home and he’d be stressed, from work, and I’d offer him my ass to cheer him up. I know it’s cute. He was lonely after mom died, and I wanted to be a good daughter. He told me after every time that we hadn’t done anything god wouldn’t approve of. He’d even clean it out for me afterward with his tongue.”
“Does he do this often, my child?”
I spread my legs, pulled my thong to one side, and started petting.
“Yes, father, so often it isn’t tight for him anymore. Sometimes he chokes me, with his belt or a necktie, so I tighten back up. It’s always Lefkoşa Escort a surprise, even when I know it’s coming. He likes to say, ‘There, good as new.'”
“And do you take pleasure from any of this, my child?”
“I do, father. That’s my sin, but greater ones always follow. My dad leaves me excited. I try to…calm myself, but I can’t. I am a whore.”
“It’s okay, my child. You are a good and faithful daughter. God approves of these things. Is there anything else you wish to confess?”
“Yes, father. Even though my dad always tried to protect it, my virginity is gone. My brother ruined me. He came into my bedroom yesterday. His girlfriend broke up with him, and he was upset. I invited him onto the bed and held him. I wanted to comfort him, to be a good sister. He kissed me. I didn’t kiss back. I was confused. He put me on my back, pinned me, and pulled off my shorts. Before I could even ask what he was doing he…Even now his seed might be working inside of me.”
“This is indeed a grave sin, my child. But before you can be absolved, you must describe your pussy to me.”
I stopped petting. Such a straightforward method surprised me. I had expected him to ease into it a little more.
“Describe my…pussy? Father…”
“Yes, child. I must be able to see the sin before I can absolve it.”
“Okay. I’ll try. It’s an innie, I guess. A little swollen. A little wet. It looks very photogenic. People tell me that.”
“What people tell you that?”
“Classmates: girls in my dorm. One of my professors.”
“And is it smooth, child?”
“Yes, it’s very smooth, father.”
“And was it tight for your brother?”
“Yes, father. It was very tight for him.”
A slide opened in the wall between the booths. A fairly attractive cock came toward me, right at eye level. The head was surprisingly small, a little bit pink, but the shaft was thicker. His balls were smooth, perhaps because he had used some kind of hair removal cream. It had a slight curve to it, but not as much as my younger toys. This was a man who didn’t masturbate often.
“Pray to it, child. On your knees now. Be a good girl. I will absolve you after.”
I removed my jacket and pulled down my dress, just below my breasts. I wasn’t wearing a bra (I’m only a B cup) so they popped right out. If the boys were being nice, they called my breasts “cute.” I liked it better when they were mean and sent me home with Girne Escort bite marks on the undersides. I clasped my right hand over my left breast, leaned forward, and kissed the head of his cock.
I licked it, still playing only with the head. I went underneath, the frenulum, all around the hood, and on the very tip, where I tasted a little bit of precum. He was rock hard from my stories and his veins stood out all down his shaft. I picked the most prominent one and traced it with my tongue. With my free hand I cupped his balls. I let one rest on my fingers while rubbing the other with my thumb.
“That’s wonderful, child. Keep going. Take the sin out of me like a snake’s venom.”
I put it in my mouth, slowly moved up and down. It took half of his length to reach the back of my throat. I gagged a little–stomach flattening, back arching–but stayed quiet. He was bigger than the boys in school. I pulled his cock out and dripped spit on it, hoping to lube it up so I could go deeper. When I tried to take it all, I choked. I took it out of my mouth and started to stroke it, sighing loudly.
“Will you forgive me, father?”
“For what, my child?”
“For choking.”
“Of course, child. God doesn’t mind at all if a whore chokes.”
I went down on him again, deeper this time. I moved my hand from my breast to my pussy. Most of his cock disappeared each time I bobbed now. My eyes began to water. Spit fell out of my mouth and onto my hand. I rubbed it into my pussy. It trickled down his balls and fell on the confessional floor. I was about to come.
“My child, I only feel one hand. Are you pleasuring yourself?”
I said “Mmm-hmm” with his cock in my throat, gagging a little as my muscles tightened around it.
“Don’t you think you should focus on your prayers?”
I took my hand away from my pussy and put it around the base of his shaft. I pressed my lips against my hand each time I sucked. I tightened my grip. I tried to find some way to touch my pussy while sucking. I rose from my knees to a squat. If I pulled my legs back and pushed forward, I could just get my pussy to the wall of the confessional. Sucking from this angle got spit all over my breasts and on my dress, but I didn’t care. The priest heard me humping the wall.
“My, you are a little whore.”
His cock tensed in my mouth. I moved faster, sucked harder. There was sweat on my shoulders and in the small of my Magosa Escort back. I blinked. My vision was blurry from tears.
The priest didn’t warn me before he came. I tried my best to gulp it down, opening my throat, almost spitting it all up when his dick hit the roof of my mouth, but still his semen overflowed between my lips. Most of it landed in my cleavage (such as it was) and a few drops fell to my knees. More landed in the middle, making obvious stains on my black dress. The last of it ran down my chin and dangled there. I sucked it back up, letting it join the bit I had actually managed to swallow.
I let the head rest on my tongue and squeezed out the last drops, licking it clean, sealing it with a kiss.
“That was a lot,” I said.
“I don’t masturbate. It’s a sin.”
He pulled his cock back through the hole and shut the slide.
“What about my sins, father?”
“You may absolve yourself, child, but only this once.”
I reached for my pussy with both hands, sliding inside with the left, rubbing my clitoris with the right.
“You are a whore,” the priest said. “One day god will ruin you. He will send many and they begin with your holes, worming to your rotten core, then they will bind you and drag you down from the harlot’s throne on which you sit. Once you are filled with the nectar of god’s soldiers, the flies will come. Only when you have suffered sufficiently will the angels come to take your heart. That is, if they bother with the heart of a slut groveling on the floor of a backwater church. I hear you fingering your cunt. Those stories you told were lies; no one else would touch it, would they? You are a sinner, and I will not absolve you after all.”
I slumped forward, pressing my forehead against the wall of the booth. My knees shook. My leg jerked out and I kicked over the umbrella, flicking water on my arm and the back of my head. My thighs and the floor below were wet. I came twice while he degraded me. Finally he stopped, and it was quiet again. Only the sound of my panting and the rain on the roof remained. Having his voice had proven enough, a midway point between coming with another and coming alone.
Think what you will, but the man cured me: from that point on I didn’t need my boy toys, or anyone else–I could give myself an orgasm whenever I wanted. But the shame lingered. My orgasms were always stronger with womeone watching over me, criticizing my every move.
I stood up, pulled my dress back over my shoulders, and picked up my umbrella. I decided not to open it in the hopes the rain would hide the come stains. I paused with my hand on the door. Before I could begin my walk of shame, my confessor fired one last parting shot:
“Begone, whore of Babylon.”
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