Confession Novels & Stories

beside me. I found this yesterday when I went out to get something ” she said and showed me front of the book which was written on it ” MAGIC AND POWERS ( how to control them ) “. ” I found something about a confessor inside ” she said and dropped the book on the bed. ” What about confessor ?” I asked. ” Well according to the book, they’re ancient order of women sworn to find the truth no matter how people may try to hide it ” she said. ” Does that mean I’m ancient? ” I asked and she burst into laughter. ” Alaina you’re funny ” she said and laughed again. I sighed and looked away from her. ” Apart from the ancient stuff what other things do confessor’s do, like what’s their ability and what

she laid her complaint immediately she heard his voice "Were you worried" he desperately wished someone would love him for him not because if whatever benefit they would get She hesitated, she didn't want him to be able to read her easily. "Well...." "Well?" "What's wrong?" "Nothing" "Why are you like this?" "How?" "Are you angry at someone?" "Do I have to be?" Fidelia was confused. "Am I that bad?" He paused "Or you don't know I like you?" "Or wait, I'm am not the type of guy you like"

"Tell us you still want us." I close my eyes. A second. Two. Then I give in. In a breath, a broken confession. "No." And everything tips over.

His eyes dark and knowing. “You came,” he said. Mia stepped forward. “I was told you offer… confession.” “I offer correction.” Her breath caught. “I’ve sinned,” she whispered. “Tell me.” “I touch myself when I shouldn’t. I think about things I’m not supposed to. I want to be controlled.” He stepped around the altar, slowly, like a lion circling. “Do you want to be punished for it?” “Yes, Preacher.” “Do you want to be forgiven?”

He smiles as he hands it to me. "I think you need to come more often to church, if you think that." He moves through the house and my nipples are hard through my habit and my nether regions are wet as I look at his strong back. I should leave, but something compels me to stay. "May I confess something to you, Sister?" "I can't take confession, sir, you know that only Priests can." "Not a confession then, but just a personal statement." "Okay." He leans closer to me and I want to kiss him, my breath catches. "It's been too long for me since Clara passed. A man has needs."

Then, a voice—deep, steady, with the kind of authority that scraped down my spine. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” I whispered. “How long since your last confession?” he asked. I smiled to myself. That voice. It didn’t sound bored. It didn’t sound old. It sounded young. Strong. Like it still believed in rules. That made it better. “A few minutes,” I said softly. “Depending on your definition of sin.” He paused. “What are you here to confess?” “That I think about fucking during Mass,” I said. “A lot.”

Sometimes I would grind against my pillow, imagining his touch, imagining riding him, moaning his name, taking him deep inside me as I shivered and came. I knew it was wrong, horrible even, considering he was a priest, someone the town respected. But I couldn’t stop myself. Today, I had decided to come clean, to confess my sins to him, certain that as a priest, he would forgive me. Forgive me for my lewd thoughts, my sinful actions, and guide me back to the right path. So when the silence in the confessional booth stretched long enough, I parted my lips, my voice soft and nervous, and tried to spill everything.

"Let them know that I have burnt for sex toys and you bought another to pleasure yourself.. is this not the work of the devil? She screamed as she tried holding back her tears but how can I tell her that father Kentucky is the devil in disguise, the one who keeps ruining my sleep with wet dreams just by his existence in Saint Raphael church. " You're coming with me and that's final, get the hell out of that thing and get dressed, since you ain't ready to wait to get married you can tell the father about all you've done today in the confession room" I stopped from standing up. " What do you mean to the confession room? Mum, I can

I exhaled only when the doors shut. He knows. Or worse, he suspects. ★ That night, I went to the confessional. I locked the doors, shut the screens, and knelt in the darkness. “Forgive me, Father,” I whispered, voice hoarse, “for I have sinned. I am a liar. A hypocrite. A coward.” My hands gripped the lattice until my knuckles whitened. “I let him touch me. I let him break me. I let him—God forgive me—I wanted it. I still want it.”

A groan muffled into his fist, maybe, but it was enough to make me tremble. “You’re learning,” he said after a pause, voice roughened. “Confession isn’t about forgiveness. It’s about truth.” I bit my lip until I tasted iron. “Then what truth do you want?” “All of it. Every filthy piece. And when you run out of words—” The hush of his shift pressed closer to the lattice, heat radiating through it. “—I’ll make you confess with your body again.” The hunger in his promise left me weak, trembling on the edge of a prayer and a moan.