La Confesion Novels & Stories

Wave after wave drained me until I was trembling, my cock twitching between her perfect lips. Finally, she released me with a soft, wet pop, placing one last gentle kiss on the sensitive head. I sagged against the wood, breathing hard, my spent cock still hanging through the hole. Reality crashed in. What had I done? In the house of God, during confession… I tucked myself away with shaking hands and stepped out of the booth. The church was dim and quiet. My footsteps echoed as I walked around to the penitent’s side. Heart pounding as I pulled open the wooden door.

his hoarse voice cracked. I did not speak again. I heard him sigh very loud and deep before pulling himself up. He struggled to stand up, as if he was very weak. My lips parted, but I stopped myself from talking. Slowly, he went behind me, and pushed my wheelchair towards the elevator. The cold and harsh wind kissed my face as soon as we got in the rooftop. He looked at me, so weak and lifeless. I lifted my chin. “Tell me everything.” I saw how he swallowed hard. Is he having a hard time confessing about his lies, or he's hesitating because he doesn't want to let me go? I will choose the latter, but I don't wanna get my hopes so high again.

mind: the secret glances, the whispered promises, the hidden touches. I recall the rush of adrenaline as we sneaked around, avoiding detection. But now, those memories taunt me, reminders of my failure. I glance around my room, the familiar comforts now feeling hollow. My icons, once reminders of my devotion, now seem like mocking echoes of my failure. The crucifix on my wall appears to judge me, Christ's eyes seeming to bore into my soul.I think of my congregation, trusting souls who look up to me for guidance. What would they say if they knew? Would they still listen to my words, or would they see the hypocrisy? My parents, devout Catholics who encouraged my vocation, would be heartbroken

In that moment of vulnerability, the beautiful woman felt a surge of conflicting emotions coursing through her veins. Fear and desire intertwined in a tumultuous dance, each vying for dominance over her trembling form. Summoning her courage, she drew in a deep breath, steeling herself for the confession that lay ahead. "Father," Elena whispered, her voice barely audible above the hushed stillness of the room. In the darkness beyond the screen, she could sense his presence. Granger. Silent witness to her innermost thoughts and desires. It was a dangerous game they played, this ritual of confession, a dance of temptation and absolution that threatened to consume them both.

Shit shit shit! Hell! No freaking way, no no no, just pick your things and get the fuck outta here, Melanie, how can you make this terrible mistake, my cheeks burned with embarrassment, a video of my legs spread apart fucking… sucking… gods on their freaking bar as well!! Jezzz!!!!!! I just want to die right now. I tried to compose myself to text back, “I’m so sorry, Gabriel, hmm I was supposed to send it to Dan, please, I will delete the video and don’t tell Dan I accidentally sent it to you.”

Warning: This story centers on a priest. If you’re uncomfortable with this subject, please skip it. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Please confess your sins” The man’s voice came from the other side of the confessional, low, deep, laced with a thick Italian accent. The kind of voice that instantly makes you picture a tall, dangerous mafia man. The kind that could make any woman feel something sinful stir deep inside her.

Her confession today was different; not the usual petty transgressions of thought, but something deeper, more unsettling. "I… I have been having… impure thoughts, Father," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "Thoughts that shame me. Thoughts of… flesh. Of touch. Of wanting…" She trailed off, her cheeks flushing a deep scarlet visible even in the dim light. Father Michael clenched his fists, the cheap fabric of his cassock rough against his skin.

’d continue to serve a God who killed my parents.” Roslyn grimaced and whimper upon hearing what David said. “I forbid ya to say that,” Roslyn said, standing to her feet. “A light has no function in the daytime, David; a beacon shines only when there is darkness. To discover the light that is within us, we must go through the darkness and when Christ said that he was the light of the world, he was not talking about an external light at the heart of the universe only.” David smiled fleetingly at Roslyn. “Ya still remember the book so well.” Roslyn slightly smiled and nodded her head in response. “I cannot forget Sr. Stanislaus spiritual reflections; ya used to be so in love with her books. I

Afterwards, we sat on the floor against the altar steps, her head on my shoulder. “I found something today,” she whispered. “In a forgotten ledger while copying texts. A note in Perpetua’s handwriting. It mentioned ‘the archive of true confessions’ and a name — Hale." The bishop’s surname. Before I could respond, a new sound cut through the rain. I heard multiple footsteps in the corridor outside. We scrambled up, adjusting our clothing. I blew out the candle. We hid behind a collapsed pew as the chapel door opened. Flashlight beams swept the room. Sister Agnes’s voice drifted through the dark. “Search

Then, he furthered his confession by describing how he watched grown men fuck younger boys while pumping his own cock using his hand and soap. That confession just made me sweat a lot and my cock hard against my pants by the time it ended. I quickly walked away from the door before he could spot me, but the entire way home was hell, continuous flashes of imaginary scenarios of me fucking his ass hard till he begs for mercy. Micah was there, holding his rosary, very quietly. When we reached home and entered,the living room, I could not hold it in any longer. ''Micah, just wait," I began. "About your confession... I heard it."