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19: The Photographer’s Muse(2)

Auteur: Chris Muna
last update Date de publication: 2026-03-18 14:03:35

The address wasn’t a bar.

It was a narrow alley between a tattoo parlor and a boarded-up café, a black-painted door hidden by ivy and shadow. No sign. No sound. Just the faint hum of the city behind her.

Emma hesitated. A cat darted past. Then... footsteps. The lock clicked.

Noah opened the door. Amber light spilled out behind him. He didn’t smile. His expression was quiet, intent.

“Hey,” he said. “Come in.”

She stepped inside, and the world outside vanished.

The air smelled of incense, c
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  • The Coochie Diaries    84: Locker Room Lust

    Chloe closed the diary a little slower this time, her thumb brushing the edge of the page like she wasn’t quite ready to let it go. “…okay.” She let out a soft breath, leaning back, staring at nothing for a second as everything settled in her chest. “That one…” she murmured quietly, almost to herself, “…that one’s it's giving oh my God, what the fuck.” At first, I thought it was just going to be another power thing. Temptation, control, pushing boundaries… and yeah, it was that. Very much. But it didn’t feel empty. It didn’t feel like someone just taking and taking until nothing is left. It felt like… two people falling into something they knew was wrong… and still choosing it anyway. And I don’t know why, but that made it hit harder. She shifted slightly, pulling one leg under her as she kept talking, her voice softer now, less judgment, more reflection. “I actually love them,” she admitted. Not in a “this is healthy, this is perfect” kind of way, because it’s not. It’s craz

  • The Coochie Diaries    82: Confessions to a Priest (4)

    The following week was a study in exquisite tension. I attended Mass, kneeling in the front pew, my eyes locked on Father Michael as he performed the liturgy. Every "Body of Christ" he uttered felt like a secret promise, a filthy echo of the night his body had joined with mine on the sacristy table. His hands, steady as they raised the chalice, would tremble almost imperceptibly when his gaze snagged on mine. The church, once a place of quiet boredom, was now a theater of our silent, screaming desire. Our confessions became a twisted, scheduled addiction. Every Tuesday at 3:15, I would enter the booth. The conversations were no longer about sin, but about planning. "Tell me where you want me next," I'd whisper, my fingers tracing the lattice. "The baptismal font? The altar itself?" "Quiet," he'd growl, but it was a plea, not an order. "The janitor… he cleans the vestry on Thursdays after nine. It will be empty." And so it went. Thursday, in the vestry, amidst racks of choir robes

  • The Coochie Diaries    82: Confessions to a Priest (4)

    The following week was a study in exquisite tension. I attended Mass, kneeling in the front pew, my eyes locked on Father Michael as he performed the liturgy. Every "Body of Christ" he uttered felt like a secret promise, a filthy echo of the night his body had joined with mine on the sacristy table. His hands, steady as they raised the chalice, would tremble almost imperceptibly when his gaze snagged on mine. The church, once a place of quiet boredom, was now a theater of our silent, screaming desire. Our confessions became a twisted, scheduled addiction. Every Tuesday at 3:15, I would enter the booth. The conversations were no longer about sin, but about planning. "Tell me where you want me next," I'd whisper, my fingers tracing the lattice. "The baptismal font? The altar itself?" "Quiet," he'd growl, but it was a plea, not an order. "The janitor… he cleans the vestry on Thursdays after nine. It will be empty." And so it went. Thursday, in the vestry, amidst racks of choir robes

  • The Coochie Diaries    81: Confessions to a Priest (3)

    The sacristy was a small room behind the altar, smelling of lemon polish, starched linen, and wine. By 9 PM, it was bathed in deep shadow, the only light a single candle on the counter where the sacred vessels were prepared. I stood in the center of the room, having entered through the unlocked door as instructed. I wore a simple, knee-length black dress. It was modest, but I wore nothing underneath. My own communion. The door opened silently. He filled the frame, still in his cassock, his face all sharp angles and shadow in the candlelight. He looked like a saint from a dark painting, one tormented by divine, or in this case, profane— fire. He didn’t speak. He simply closed the door and turned the lock. The final click echoed like a gunshot in the quiet. We stared at each other across the room. The air crackled. “You came,” he said, his voice not the priest’s from the booth, but lower, darker. “You commanded it.” He took a step forward. Then another. With each step, the preten

  • The Coochie Diaries    80: Confessions to a Priest (2)

    The sight of his hand, pale and large against the dark wood, sent a fresh jolt of lust straight to my core. My fingers worked faster, slick with my own arousal. “Can you hear it, Michael?” I whispered, my voice trembling with feigned innocence and very real need. “The sound of my sin? It’s so shameful. And so good.” A ragged breath hissed through the screen. “You are testing me.” “No,” I corrected, biting my lip to stifle a moan. “I’m showing you. Showing you what you do to me. Your voice, your hands, the way you look at the altar like you want to consume it… It consumes me. I dream of you consuming me.” His fingers curled against the lattice, knuckles white. “This is a house of God.” “And right now, it’s a house of my fantasy,” I countered. I leaned forward until my forehead touched the cool screen, right beside where his hand was. “What are you doing on your side of this wall, Father? Is your cassock still neat and tidy? Or is something… stirring? Something you can’t pray away?

  • The Coochie Diaries    79: Confessions to a Priest

    Chloe closed the diary slowly, but this time… there was a faint smile on her lips. “…Wow.” She let out a soft breath, shaking her head a little like she was still trying to process it. Okay… that was insane but in a good way. At first, I thought it was just going to be another power game. You know, seduction, manipulation, two people trying to outplay each other. And yeah, it was that… but it didn’t stay there. That’s what I love. They’re both dangerous. Both are a little unhinged in their own way. Both are willing to cross lines, bend rules, and use whatever they have to get what they want. And somehow… They met in the middle of all that chaos. She laughed softly under her breath. Like… who does that? Who looks at someone who literally tried to break them, outplay them, use them… and instead of walking away, goes— “Yeah. That’s the one.” But that’s exactly what they did and it works. That’s the crazy part, it actually works. She tapped the diary lightly, her eyes still s

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