Story 3 – Confession Chapter 4

I came back the next night before the last of the lights were turned off.

Father Elias was waiting in the sacristy this time instead of the confessional. The small room behind the altar smelled like old wood and candle wax. He stood with his back to the door, hands braced on the table where the vestments were folded. When he heard me close the door he didn’t turn around right away.

“Lock it,” he said.

I turned the lock. The soft click sounded final in the quiet room.

He faced me then. The white collar was gone. His black shirt was open at the throat. He looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with the late hour. I walked to him without speaking. He watched me the whole way.

I reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt. He let me. When I pushed it off his shoulders I saw the lean muscle underneath, the dark hair on his chest, the way his stomach tightened when my fingers brushed it. I leaned in and kissed the center of his chest. His hand came up and rested on the back of my head, not pushing, just holding.

“I thought about you all day,” I said against his skin. “About how you felt inside me. About the way you sounded when you came.”

A rough breath left him. I kissed lower, over his stomach, then dropped to my knees on the sacristy floor. I opened his trousers and pulled his cock free. He was already hard. I licked the head once, slow, then took him into my mouth and sucked him deep.

This time he didn’t stay still.

His hand tightened in my hair and he began to move, short careful thrusts that pushed him farther across my tongue. I stayed open for him and took it, eyes watering, spit running down my chin. The wet sounds filled the small room. I kept my hands on his thighs and let him use my mouth until his breathing turned sharp and uneven.

He pulled me off before he finished.

“Up,” he said. His voice was low and rough.

I stood. He turned me around and bent me over the table. My cheek pressed against the cool wood. He pushed my skirt up over my hips. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath again. He dragged two fingers through the wetness between my legs and then pushed them inside me, slow and deep. I moaned into the table. He worked me open with the same controlled rhythm he had used the night before until my thighs were shaking.

Then he replaced his fingers with his cock.

He sank into me in one long stroke. The stretch forced a broken sound out of my throat. He held still for a second, buried all the way, both hands gripping my hips hard. Then he started fucking me. Deep. Steady. The table creaked under us. Every thrust drove the air from my lungs. I pushed back to meet him, chasing the feeling, already close.

“Harder,” I said.

He gave it to me harder. One hand slid up my back and pressed between my shoulder blades, holding me down against the table while he drove into me. The wet sound of his cock moving in and out of my cunt filled the room. I came first, sudden and hard, moaning loud against the wood as my body clenched around him. He kept going, fucking me through it, until his rhythm broke and he buried himself deep and came inside me with a low, rough groan.

We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard. I could feel his come already starting to leak out around his cock.

He pulled out slowly. I stayed bent over the table, skirt still pushed up, the mess of us dripping down my inner thighs. Father Elias’s hand rested on the small of my back for a second longer than it needed to. Then he stepped away.

I straightened and fixed my clothes with unsteady hands. When I turned he was already buttoning his shirt again, eyes lowered.

“This has to stop,” he said quietly.

I walked to him, rose onto my toes, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“It won’t.”

I unlocked the door and left him standing there in the sacristy with the smell of sex still in the air. Outside, the night felt colder than it had the night before. I walked home with his come still warm between my legs and the knowledge that neither of us was going to stop.

Not yet.