The Confession Booth Part 2

Part Two

Father Luca didn’t sleep that night.

He sat in the dark of the rectory, the sweat of her still clinging to his skin, his hands trembling where they rested on his lap. The crucifix above his bed loomed heavy. He didn’t dare look at it. He just breathed.

And remembered the way her moans echoed through the church like a hymn.

She hadn’t said her name. Still hadn’t. And yet, she’d taken up residence in his veins like holy wine. His cock stirred again at the thought.

He gritted his teeth and reached for the cold water by his bedside.

It wasn’t over. He knew that.

He didn’t want it to be.

She came again the next Friday.

But this time… she wasn’t alone.

He was already in the booth, half hard from anticipation, his hands folded but unsteady, when the door opened.

Footsteps. Two sets.

A pause.

Then her voice. "Bless me, Father. For I’ve sinned."

He exhaled. "Again?"

"Always."

And then another voice. Softer. New. Feminine.

"Bless me, Father. I’ve sinned too."

His blood turned to ice.

He opened the partition slowly. Her face was there — confident, amused, beautiful as sin. And beside her, kneeling in the shadows, was another woman. Younger. Nervous.

He couldn’t speak.

"Her name’s Eva," she said. "She wants to learn."

"Learn?"

"What it feels like to be worshiped."

He stared at her.

She smiled. "You’re already hard, Father. Don’t lie."

Eva looked at him through the lattice, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and intrigue. She bit her lip. His cock surged again.

"No," he whispered.

She tilted her head. "Why not?"

"Because this is madness."

"You didn’t say that last week."

He shut the partition.

Stood.

But the door to the confessional opened before he could leave. And there they both were — she in a red dress that clung like sin, Eva behind her in black lace and innocence.

"Father," she whispered, "we want to confess. With our bodies."

He lost the fight.

Again.

She kissed him first. Deep. Tongue warm, hand already undoing his belt. Eva stepped in behind her, hesitant, then bolder — her lips brushed his neck. His knees weakened.

He groaned.

Two mouths on him. Two sets of hands. One dragging his cock out. The other dropping to her knees.

"Let me taste him first," the woman said.

She did. Her lips wrapped around him like heaven had rules she didn’t care for. Wet. Slow. Skilled.

Eva watched, eyes wide, mouth parted.

"Come," the woman said, pulling away just enough to guide the girl.

And Eva, trembling, leaned forward.

She licked him like he was forbidden fruit. Innocent and messy. Her tongue shy, then confident. The woman guided her, teaching her how to suck. How to use her lips. How to moan around his length.

He was going to explode.

He yanked them both up, turned the older one around, bent her over the padded bench inside the booth.

"You first," he growled.

He slid inside her again. No foreplay. No prayers. Just raw, slick, hot need.

Eva kissed him while he fucked her friend. Her hands roamed his chest, her breath hot. Then he lifted her onto the edge of the bench beside them.

"Next."

He thrust into Eva, her gasp sharper, her pussy tight and untrained. Her legs wrapped around him.

"Please—Father—"

He growled her name. Thrust harder. Faster.

The older woman moaned beside them, one hand between her thighs, watching.

He fucked them both until they were gasping, begging, ruined.

And when he came, it was on his knees, his mouth against their bare skin, his soul screaming.

There was no forgiveness this time.

Only fire.

But it didn’t end there.

Eva lay stretched across the velvet bench, breathless and dazed, her thighs glistening, lips swollen from him. The older woman crouched between her legs, licking her clean — slowly, reverently, with moans that echoed off the confessional’s walls. Father Luca stood watching, cock twitching again, drenched in guilt and desire.

He wasn’t sure if this was a punishment or a reward.

"You like watching?" the woman whispered.

He nodded.

Eva moaned and curled her fingers into the woman’s hair, her hips rising, surrendering. Luca stepped forward, hand tightening in her curls. She looked up at him, mouth already open.

He shoved his cock into her throat.

She gagged around him but didn’t pull back. He fucked her mouth while she licked Eva, the three of them lost in a world that no longer cared about salvation.

When he came again, it was messier. Louder. More depraved.

He collapsed into the corner of the booth, breathing like a man who'd run from God.

The older woman rose, lips smeared, eyes feral. She knelt before him, kissed his chest, then whispered:

"Next week, you’ll watch us. But you’re not allowed to touch."

He wanted to argue. Beg.

But he just nodded.

Because somewhere, deep inside, he already knew: he was never going back.