Story 3 – Confession Chapter 3

I waited until the last car left the parking lot.

Evening service had ended twenty minutes earlier. The church was quiet again. Only a few candles still burned near the altar. I walked down the side aisle with my heart already high in my throat. The confessional door was closed this time. I pulled the curtain aside and stepped in.

Father Elias was already there.

He sat in the same chair, hands gripping the arms, black shirt still buttoned, white collar bright against his throat. He looked at me like he had spent the entire day trying to decide whether to lock the church or leave the door open for me.

I closed the curtain behind me.

“I shouldn’t have come,” I said.

“You shouldn’t have.”

His voice was quieter than last night. Rougher. I stepped closer until I stood between his knees. He didn’t lean back. He didn’t lean forward either. I reached down and rested my hands on his thighs the same way I had the night before.

“Did you think about me?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. His jaw was tight. I could see the pulse moving in his throat.

I sank to my knees again. This time he didn’t stop me when I opened his trousers. His cock was already hard when I pulled it free. I wrapped my fingers around him and stroked once, slow. A low sound left his chest. I leaned in and took him into my mouth without another word.

He was thicker tonight, or maybe I was just more aware of every inch. I sucked him deep, using my tongue, letting spit make everything wet and easy. His hand found my hair again. This time his fingers tightened with less hesitation. His hips lifted once, pushing farther into my mouth. I moaned around him on purpose and felt him throb.

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

“I touched myself last night thinking about this,” I said. “About the way you tasted. About how hard you came.”

His breath caught. I took him back into my mouth and worked him faster. I wanted him close again. I wanted him to lose the fight a second time.

But he stopped me.

His hand tightened in my hair and pulled me off. I looked up, lips wet, breathing hard. Father Elias stared down at me with something almost angry in his eyes.

“Stand up.”

I stood. My legs felt unsteady. He stayed seated for a second longer, then rose to his full height in the small space. The confessional suddenly felt smaller. He reached out and gripped my waist, turning me so my back faced him. His hands slid down and gathered my skirt, pushing it up over my hips. Cool air touched my bare thighs. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

A rough sound left him when he realized.

His fingers slid between my legs from behind. I was soaked. He dragged two fingers through the wetness and then pushed them inside me without warning. I gasped and braced my hands against the wooden wall. He fucked me with his fingers slow and deep, curling them until my knees threatened to give out. His other hand stayed on my hip, holding me in place.

“You’ve been wet this whole time,” he said against my ear. His voice was low and strained.

“Yes.”

He added a third finger. The stretch made me moan out loud. I pushed back onto his hand, chasing the feeling. He kept the rhythm steady, working me open while his breath stayed hot against the side of my neck. I came hard and sudden, thighs shaking, a broken sound tearing out of my throat as my cunt clenched around his fingers.

He pulled them out slowly. I heard the soft wet sound of him sucking them clean.

Then he turned me back around to face him. His cock was still out, still hard, shiny at the tip. He looked at me for a long second like he was giving both of us one last chance to stop.

I reached down, wrapped my hand around him, and guided the head between my legs. The first push made me gasp. He was thicker than his fingers. He sank into me inch by inch until he was buried all the way. We both went still.

Father Elias’s forehead dropped against mine. His hands gripped my ass hard.

“God forgive me,” he muttered.

Then he started to move.

He fucked me standing up in the confessional, short deep strokes that forced the air out of my lungs every time he bottomed out. The wooden walls creaked. I held onto his shoulders and took every thrust, moaning against his neck. He kept one hand on my ass and the other braced against the wall beside my head. His rhythm stayed controlled even while his breathing turned ragged.

I came again with him inside me, cunt tightening hard around his cock. The sound I made was loud in the small space. He followed a few strokes later, burying himself deep and spilling inside me with a low, broken groan. I felt every pulse.

For a long moment the only sound was our breathing.

He pulled out slowly. I felt his come start to leak down my inner thigh. Father Elias looked at the mess he had made of me and closed his eyes like the sight hurt him.

I fixed my skirt with shaking hands.

“Same time tomorrow,” I said.

He didn’t tell me no.

I slipped out of the confessional and walked down the dark aisle with his come still warm between my legs. The night air hit my face when I stepped outside. I didn’t look back.

I already knew I would be back again.