Confessions Novels & Stories

he stammered, his voice now shaking. I could almost hear my heartbeat in my ears as he finally confessed, his words tumbling out in a hurried, desperate rush. "Sharon, my ex-girlfriend… She’s the one behind this. She was the girl at the hotel that day. It wasn’t my fault! She tricked me! She said she’d pay me if I pretended to sleep with her, to pretend that I raped her... I didn’t know what I was getting into," he continued, his voice cracking with the weight of his confession.

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.”

so much pressure . My heart was pounding in my chest and I felt like I couldn't breathe. So, I came to the realization: No matter how old you are, no matter what the crime is, confessions are the hardest thing to do. I took a deep breath and walked out with him. "I'm sorry but I'm not pregnant" There were gasps and screams of "What ?!"

I snapped at him, the bottled up anger and resentment was threatening to spill. He lowered his gaze and shook his head, "Alright, I won't. Please, calm down. We can talk once you get discharged, my love. I have to make my confession." He spoke. "Confession of what? You have done so many crimes, plotting and killing an unborn child, Martinez? What else is there to confess?" I mocked him. He winced at my sharpness but it served him right. "My parents told me the truth." He uttered after a brief pause.

I can't go back in past. I know I am sinner, a big one but whatever happened in my school life was no t letting me go back. I looked at him who's face was whole red due to his sudden out burst. He was breathing heavily. "Ummm I know I am at mistake and I realized this just now. I did bad after blackmailng her into nikkah after kidnapping her. But I was not in my senses. When she something about being her someone else wife, I just lost. And about my past. That was past I will not tell her about this. And for your kind information, she is already in love with me. She herself confessed when she was in drunken state. Someone had spiked her drink when we were in a part. That was the moment, I got

Nothing" I sniffed. "There's something about this. Your crying" "No I'm not" I argued. "Yes you are" "No" "Yes" "Alright alright. I'm crying" I admitted. "Why are you crying then" Barb asked "I committed a crime" "What? Where? How? What crime?" "Enough questions Barb" I giggled. "Not an actual crime" I continued "Then what" I sighed "I had some sexual play with a girl" "What?! Did you have sex!" "No!" I exclaimed. "Is that even possible?"

The dried wax that clung to the edge of my ribs. And the collar. I ran my fingers across it feeling not restrained, but claimed. Underneath the pillow, I found another card. Rest. Breathe. You're not broken. You're opened. When you're ready, write your next confession. There were no flowers. No demands. Just space. And the echo of everything we’d shared. Somewhere between heat and silence, I smiled. Because I wasn’t just a submissive anymore. I was a story unfolding. One confession at a time.

SARAH Confess. To openly admit something or declare something that you’ve been hiding, keeping secret, or feeling guilty about. Turns out what the rest of the world knows—and that includes their psychotic foster father who has been out of touch with the world, their world, for almost twenty fucking years—that I don’t, exists. It is not just a concept I made up in my head. It is not an abstract. It is a thing. It is their history, their truth.

Brown smirked, “Of course you’re a slut. Only a slut would agree to be locked up in a room with strange men, begging to me fucked senseless.” I felt a drool slip out of my mouth. I wiped it off and for the first time, the corners of my lips curved up. “I’m a slut.” It was a confession, one I had longed to say out loud. “Shit boys, we’ve got ourselves a real one here.” that was Green eyes. I felt cinnamon spank my ass, I gasped out. “Get on your knees, Slut” I didn’t care who the order came from, I scrambled to my knees without a second of hesitation.

My notebook lies open on the bed, pages scattered with scrawls that don’t look like journalism anymore. I stare at them, ink smudged by my own fingertips, and realize with a slow rush of shame—and something darker—that I’ve stopped writing articles. I’ve started writing confessions. Entry 1 “Pain is not pain when it’s chosen. It becomes something else. A doorway. A release.” That was Jennifer’s voice echoing in my head tonight. I had scribbled it down after watching her work with Leo, but the words feel like mine now.