Story 3 – Confession Chapter 2

I kept him in my mouth longer than I needed to.

Father Elias’s hand stayed buried in my hair, fingers tight against my scalp. His cock rested heavy on my tongue, thick enough that my jaw already ached. I took him deeper, letting spit run down the shaft and over my fingers. Every time I looked up through my lashes, his eyes were fixed on me—dark, wide, watching his cock disappear between my lips.

A low sound left his throat. His hips shifted once, pushing farther into my mouth. I moaned around him on purpose and felt him throb against my tongue.

“Grace…” His voice came out rough. “We can’t do this.”

I pulled off slowly, still stroking him with my wet hand. The head of his cock was flushed dark and shiny with spit. A thin string of it connected my lower lip to the tip before it broke.

“You already are,” I said.

I licked a long, deliberate stripe up the underside, then took him back in. This time I sucked harder. I hollowed my cheeks and worked him the way I had practiced alone in my bedroom at night—wet, steady, a little messy. His other hand gripped the wooden arm of the chair hard enough that the wood creaked. His breathing turned uneven. I could feel how close he was getting in the way his thighs tensed under my palms and the way his cock swelled thicker against my tongue.

I wanted him to finish in my mouth.

I kept the rhythm, never slowing, never looking away from his face. When his fingers tightened hard in my hair and a broken sound tore out of him, I stayed right there. He came in thick pulses across my tongue. I swallowed every bit of it, still sucking gently until the last tremor left his body. Then I pulled off and licked my lips clean, still on my knees in front of him.

Father Elias stared down at me like he had never seen me before. His cock was still half-hard, wet from my mouth, resting against his open trousers. His chest rose and fell too fast under the black clerical shirt. The white collar looked almost ridiculous now.

I stayed where I was.

“That was my first time swallowing,” I said quietly. “Did I do okay?”

He didn’t answer. One hand dragged down his face. His shoulders were tight. He looked like a man who had just stepped off the edge of something and was still waiting to fall.

I reached out and carefully tucked him back into his trousers, zipped him up, then rested both hands on his thighs again. The fabric was warm from his skin.

“I’ve been thinking about this for months,” I whispered. “Coming in here and saying dirty things just so I could be alone with you. Wondering what you would taste like. Wondering if you would let me.”

His voice came out low and strained. “This is a mortal sin.”

“I know.”

I stood slowly. My knees ached from the hard wooden floor. My own cunt was soaked—I could feel the wetness every time I shifted my weight. I didn’t try to hide the way my breathing had changed or the flush high on my cheeks.

Father Elias stayed seated. He wouldn’t look at me at first. When he finally did, his eyes dropped to my mouth for a second too long, then flicked away again.

“You need to leave,” he said.

I stepped closer instead. Close enough that the hem of my skirt brushed against his knee. Close enough that he had to tip his head back slightly to hold my gaze.

“I don’t want to leave yet.”

His jaw flexed. I could see the fight still happening in the tight line of his shoulders and the way his hands stayed clenched on the arms of the chair. But he didn’t stand up. He didn’t push me back. He didn’t order me out of the confessional.

I leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth. Soft. Testing.

He turned his head and kissed me properly—hard, almost rough, like he was trying to punish both of us for what had already happened. His hand came up and gripped the back of my neck, holding me there. I opened for him and let him taste himself on my tongue. The kiss went on longer than either of us meant it to. When he finally broke it, we were both breathing hard.

I stayed close enough that my lips almost brushed his when I spoke.

“Tomorrow night. After evening service. Same place.”

I didn’t wait for him to answer. I stepped back, smoothed my skirt down my thighs, and slipped out of the confessional. The church was still empty and quiet. Candle smoke hung in the air. My legs felt unsteady as I walked down the side aisle and out into the cool night.

I touched my mouth once in the dark.

It still tasted like him.

I walked home with my pulse high in my throat and the wetness between my legs impossible to ignore. Every time I replayed the sound he made when he came, my stomach tightened all over again. I already knew I would be back tomorrow. I already knew he would be waiting.