The Priest’s Confession part 2

One week later.

Celeste stepped into the confessional at exactly 9:47 p.m., long after the last parishioner had left and the church lights had been dimmed. She wore the same black dress. No bra. No panties. Just the thin fabric clinging to her skin and the memory of last week’s sin still aching between her legs.

The door on his side opened the moment she sat down.

“Kneel,” Elias ordered, voice low and rough.

She didn’t go to the kneeler. She went straight to him.

He was already standing, cassock unbuttoned down the front, the heavy weight of his big cock hanging thick and half-hard against his thigh. The second she was close enough he fisted a hand in her hair and dragged her mouth to his. The kiss was immediate and filthy—tongues sliding, teeth catching, the wet sound of hunger filling the tiny wooden box.

He broke the kiss only long enough to yank the straps of her dress down her arms. The fabric pooled at her waist, freeing her breasts. Full. Soft. Nipples already tight and dark.

Elias groaned low in his throat.

He bent his head and sucked one nipple into his mouth, hard and wet. His tongue flicked over the peak while his hand cupped the other breast, thumb rubbing slow, deliberate circles around the sensitive tip. Celeste’s head fell back against the wall with a soft thud. A broken moan slipped out of her.

He switched sides, sucking the second nipple deep, teeth grazing just enough to make her hips jerk. His free hand kept rubbing the first one—fingers pinching, rolling, then soothing with the flat of his palm. The dual sensation made her thighs press together, already slick.

“Elias—”

“Quiet,” he muttered against her skin, then bit down gently on the swollen peak. “You’re here for penance.”

He spun her around, pushed her chest against the wooden wall, and kicked her legs apart. One big hand slid down her stomach, over the soft thatch of hair, and cupped her bare pussy. Two thick fingers parted her folds and found her dripping.

“Already soaked,” he growled. “Filthy little thing.”

He rubbed her there for a long moment—slow, firm strokes of his fingers through her wetness, circling her clit, dipping just inside, then spreading the slickness higher. Celeste’s hips rolled helplessly against his hand.

Then she felt it.

The hot, heavy head of his big cock sliding up and down her pussy. Not entering. Just stroking. The thick ridge dragged through her folds, catching on her clit with every upward pass, smearing her juices all over the fat head. He did it again. And again. Slow. Torturous. The wet sound of his cock stroking her pussy filled the confessional.

“Please,” she whispered.

He didn’t answer with words. He notched the broad head at her entrance and pushed in with one long, relentless thrust.

Celeste cried out.

He was thick—thicker than she remembered—and he didn’t stop until his hips were flush against her ass, every inch buried deep. He held still for three heartbeats, letting her feel the stretch, then started fucking her.

Hard.

Deep.

The wet slap of skin on skin echoed off the wood. One of his hands stayed on her breast, squeezing, rubbing her nipple between two fingers while he sucked the other one from over her shoulder, mouth hot and greedy. His other hand gripped her hip, holding her steady so he could drive into her without mercy.

“This is your penance,” he rasped against her ear. “Taking every inch of this cock until you can’t walk straight tomorrow. Until you sit in that front pew and feel me still leaking out of you.”

He fucked her harder. The angle changed and the head of his cock dragged over that perfect spot inside her with every stroke. Celeste’s legs shook. Her palms slipped on the wall. He pinched her nipple hard at the same moment he slammed deep, and she came with a broken, open-mouthed moan, cunt fluttering and squeezing around him.

He didn’t slow down.

He kept fucking her through it, big cock stroking her pussy in long, punishing thrusts, the wet sounds growing louder as more of her release coated him. When her knees started to buckle he wrapped an arm around her waist and kept her upright, still pounding into her, still sucking and rubbing her sensitive nipples until she was whimpering from overstimulation.

“One more,” he ordered.

She shook her head, but her body betrayed her. Another orgasm ripped through her harder than the first, walls clamping down so tight he cursed against her neck.

Only then did he let go.

He buried himself to the hilt, groaned low and guttural, and unloaded deep inside her—thick, hot pulses that filled her until she could feel it start to drip down her thighs. He stayed locked inside her for a long moment, breathing hard, still gently rubbing one swollen nipple with his thumb as the last aftershocks fluttered through her.

When he finally pulled out, a heavy trickle of his cum followed. He caught it with two fingers and pushed it back in, slow and deliberate.

Celeste turned, legs unsteady, dress still bunched at her waist, nipples wet and red from his mouth. Elias looked at her like he wanted to start all over again.

He fixed her dress with careful hands, smoothed her hair, then leaned in and kissed her once—softer this time, but still claiming.

“Same time next week,” he said, voice low. “And this time… leave the dress at home.”

He opened the confessional door for her.

Celeste stepped out into the dark, quiet church, thighs slick, nipples still throbbing, and the heavy weight of his cum warm inside her.

Penance, it seemed, was only just beginning.