Story 3: Confession-Chapter 1

I waited until the last person left the church.

The evening service had ended twenty minutes earlier. Father Elias was still in the confessional, the small wooden door half open. I walked down the side aisle, my shoes quiet on the stone floor. My heart was already beating too fast.

I stepped inside and pulled the curtain shut behind me.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

His voice came through the screen, calm and low. “How long has it been since your last confession?”

“Three months.”

“Go on, my child.”

I sat on the narrow bench and folded my hands in my lap. My skirt felt too short against my thighs. I had worn it on purpose.

“I’ve been having thoughts,” I said. “Bad ones.”

“What kind of thoughts?”

I stared at the wooden lattice. “About men. About their bodies. About what it would feel like if someone touched me.”

Silence on the other side.

I kept going. “I touch myself at night. I think about being on my knees. I think about a man putting his… his cock in my mouth. I think about swallowing.”

The quiet stretched. I heard him shift on the other side of the screen.

“These are serious sins,” he said. His voice sounded tighter than before. “Have you acted on them?”

“Not yet.”

I stood up slowly. The confessional was small. I could see the outline of his shoulder through the screen. I pushed the curtain aside just enough to step around to his side.

Father Elias looked up. His eyes were dark. He was still wearing the black clerical shirt, the white collar bright against his throat. He didn’t tell me to go back.

I knelt on the wooden floor in front of him.

“Father,” I said softly. “I’m so sad. These thoughts won’t leave me alone. I keep imagining it. Your hands. Your mouth. What you look like under those clothes.”

His hands gripped the arms of the chair. “Grace. This is not..”

I reached forward and rested my palms on his knees. His legs were tense under the fabric. I slid my hands higher, slow, until my fingers brushed the front of his trousers.

He was already hard.

I looked up at his face. His jaw was tight. His breathing had changed.

“I can feel it,” I whispered. “You’re hard for me.”

“Stop.”

I didn’t stop. I undid the button of his trousers, then the zipper. He didn’t push my hands away. I reached inside and wrapped my fingers around his cock. Thick. Hot. Already leaking at the tip.

A low sound left his throat.

I pulled him free and stroked him once, watching his face the whole time. His eyes were locked on mine. He looked scared. He also looked like he wasn’t going to stop me.

I leaned in and licked the head of his cock, tasting the salt of him. Then I opened my mouth and took him in.

Father Elias’s hand landed in my hair. He didn’t pull me off. He just held on while I sucked him deeper, using my tongue the way I had practiced alone in my room at night. I hollowed my cheeks and worked him slowly, wet and steady. His hips twitched once. A soft, broken sound escaped him.

I pulled off just long enough to speak, still stroking him with my hand.

“You taste good, Father.”

Then I took him back into my mouth and gave him everything I had.