The priest's confession(2)

The following night the church was colder, has the silence became heavier.

Father Elias had spent the day in a haze of guilt and hunger. He heard every confession through a fog, gave absolution in a voice that cracked, and twice dropped the Host while his mind replayed the slick heat of Delphine’s cunt clenching around his fingers.

At 11:30 p.m. he locked the main doors, turned the key with shaking hands, and left the side entrance to the sacristy unlocked.

He had obeyed her.

Beneath the black cassock he was naked, cock already half-hard from the mere brush of wool against his skin. He had not cum since the previous night, had not dared touch himself, so the head of his dick was swollen, slick with hours of denied pre-cum.

He waited in the sanctuary, candlelight flickering across the marble altar. The crucifix above looked down in silent judgment.

Footsteps. Soft and deliberate. The click of a woman’s heels on a stone.

Delphine appeared at the top of the center aisle wearing the same black dress, but tonight the neckline was unlaced to her navel, breasts barely contained by a crimson corset. Her veil was gone. Hair the color of spilled ink cascaded over one shoulder.

She carried a small leather case.

“You came,” she said, voice echoing beneath the vaulted ceiling.

“I am damned already,” Elias answered. His voice sounded foreign rough and hungry.

Delphine smiled and walked forward until she stood at the altar steps. She set the case down, opened it, and withdrew a silver chalice. one he recognized from the sacristy cabinet and a small crystal vial of consecrated chrism oil.

“Undress,” she ordered softly.

His fingers fumbled with the thirty-three buttons of the cassock. When the fabric fell away he stood naked before the holy altar, cock jutting upward, flushed dark, a bead of fluid trembling at the slit.

Delphine’s gaze devoured him. “Beautiful,” she whispered. “God truly wasted you on celibacy.”

She stepped close enough that her corseted breasts brushed his chest. With deliberate slowness she poured a stream of the sacred oil into the chalice, then dipped two fingers and traced a cross on his forehead, his lips, the hollow of his throat.

Each touch left fire in its wake.

When she reached his cock she wrapped her oil-slick hand around the shaft and stroked once, root to crown. Elias groaned, knees buckling.

“Careful,” she murmured. “You’ll spill before we’ve even begun.”

She pushed him backward until his hips met the altar cloth. The embroidered linen worked by the nuns for Easter was cool against his bare ass.

“Hands on the altar,” she commanded. “Palms flat. Like you’re consecrating the Host.”

He obeyed. The marble edge bit into his wrists.

Delphine knelt. The sight of a noblewoman on her knees in church should have been sacrilege enough, but then she took the chalice and tilted it. Holy oil poured in a thin stream over the head of his cock, running down the shaft, over his balls, dripping onto the altar cloth in slow, golden rivulets.

She leaned forward and licked him clean, tongue swirling through the oil, tracing every vein. When she reached the slit she sucked gently, drawing out the pre-cum that had mixed with the chrism.

Elias’s head fell back; a broken prayer spilled from his lips in Latin.

Delphine rose, unfastened her corset, and let the dress pool at her feet. She wore nothing underneath. Her body was lush, heavy-breasted, hips wide, a dark triangle of lush curls already glistening.

She climbed the altar steps, pushed him flat onto his back atop the consecrated cloth, and straddled his thighs.

“Look at me,” she said.

His eyes opened. Above him the crucified Christ stared down.

Delphine took the chalice again and poured the remaining oil over her own breasts. It cascaded between them, down her belly, into the curls between her legs. She rubbed it into her skin until she gleamed like an idol.

Then she reached between them, positioned his cock at her entrance, and sank down in one slow, deliberate motion.

The sound that tore from Elias’s throat was half-sob, half-prayer.

She was scalding, impossibly tight, clenching around him like a fist. When her hips met his, she ground forward, taking him to the root.

“Feel that, Father?” she whispered sweetly, beginning to ride. “Your cock is inside a sinner on God’s own altar. Every thrust is a mortal sin.”

He tried to speak. to beg forgiveness, to beg her to stop, to beg her never to stop, but she covered his mouth with oil-slick fingers.

“Shhh. Pray with your hips instead.”

She fucked him slowly at first, rolling, savoring, letting him feel every inch of the violation. The altar creaked beneath them. Candlelight flickered across her swaying breasts.

Elias’s hands found her hips of their own accord, gripping hard enough to bruise. He began to thrust upward, meeting her while driving deeper.

“Yes,” she hissed. “Harder. Damn us both properly.”

The rhythm turned brutal. The slap of flesh on flesh echoed through the empty nave. Delphine leaned forward, breasts dragging across his chest, and bit his shoulder until she tasted blood.

“I’m going to come on a priest’s cock,” she panted against his ear. “And you’re going to fill me with your unholy seed.”

The words snapped the last thread of restraint.

Elias roared, hips slamming upward, and came harder than he had ever imagined possible. Pulse after pulse of thick cum flooded her, spilling out around his shaft, soaking the altar cloth in blasphemous communion.

Delphine followed seconds later, back arching, a silent scream as her cunt milked him dry.

When it was over she stayed impaled on him, both of them trembling, breathing hard.

She traced a lazy cross on his chest with a cum-slick finger.

“That was only the beginning father Elias,” she whispered. “Tomorrow night we go beneath the church. The crypt. Where the old bishops rot. I want you to fuck me on their tombs until I scream loud enough to wake the dead.”

She rose, letting his softening cock slip free with a wet sound. A river of their combined fluids followed, staining the altar cloth forever.

Delphine dressed slowly, leisurely, licking her fingers clean while he watched from the altar, unable to move.

At the door she paused.

“Leave the mess, Father,” she said. “Let the cleaning women find it tomorrow. Let them wonder what devil pissed on the house of God.”

And Then she was gone.

Elias lay there until dawn, staring up at the crucifix, cum drying on his belly and thighs, the taste of chrism oil still on his tongue.

He no longer prayed for deliverance.

He prayed only that tomorrow night would come faster because that was what his body and soul now craves for.