Wet Confession Novels & Stories

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."

The wet sounds echoed in the confined space. A knock on the confessional door. “Father? Are you available?” An old woman’s voice. My heart stopped. “Not now,” the demon barked in Father Elias’s timbre. “Deep in counsel.” The woman huffed and shuffled away. The demon’s thrusts sped up, thumb grinding my clit. “Confess more,” she demanded. “Tell me how you crave this—being fucked in His house, risking your soul.” “I do,” I moaned, too loud. “I crave it. Your cock… please…”

“Boys don’t know what to do with a woman’s body. They don’t know how to work a pair of tits like this until a girl is dripping wet and begging.” He pulled back to look at me, my nipples red and glistening from his mouth. “Are you dripping wet for me, Stephanie?” I couldn’t lie. My whole body was trembling. The evidence was soaking my shorts and I could only nod. a tiny, shameful movement. “Tell me.” “I’m… I’m wet,” I whispered. “Louder. Let me hear what a filthy little hitchhiker you are.” “I’m wet!” I said, my voice cracking. The admission sent another gush of moisture between my legs.

I can’t come so soon, not when I’m yet to feel those wet walls wrapped around my length. “Lay back,” I order and she tumbles back onto the bed, laying back and spreading her knees wide, baring that wet pussy to my hungry eyes. “You’re so fucking soaked,” I mutter, dragging a finger through her folds before sinking it inside her. She moans, undulating her hip and taking me knuckle deep. “It’s all for you,” she confesses. Given how wet she is, there’s no need for too much foreplay. She can take me just fine.

Tonight the church is empty and I’m sitting in his confession booth with my heart in my throat and my underwear already wet. The wood smells like incense and furniture polish, and when he settles on his side of the screen I hear his breathing change because he knows it’s me before I say a word. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” “How long since your last confession?” His voice is tight, careful, the way you handle something that might break if you hold it wrong. I give him the easy sins first because I want him comfortable. Missed mass, took the Lord’s name in vain, never visited my grandmother enough.

Only then did he clearly see that the dark red stain in the surveillance footage wasn’t wine at all. It was dried blood! “Astrid… Something happened to Astrid and the baby!” His mind went blank with a buzz. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the floor.

There are confessions that arrive like storms loud, sudden, rearranging everything in their path. And then there are the quiet ones. The ones delivered in six words to a stranger's phone at seven in the morning. Those are the confessions that take the longest to stop shaking from. Not because they are louder. Because they are more precise. Z. Cole, notes written in a parked car with the engine off She read the six words eleven times.

Wet sounds filled the dark room. The orgasm hit me hard and fast. My whole body shook as muscle spasms rushed through my belly and legs. I squirted heavily, soaking the sheets beneath me. A loud moan came out of my throat and echoed off the walls. I lay there for minutes, breathing heavily as my heart beat wildly for the night to come

I pushed further, sliding my hand under my own skirt right there in the confessional, letting a soft moan escape. “I’m so wet right now, Father. Just from being this close to you. I haven’t confessed in years, but I’ll come every day if it means I get to be near you.” “Enough,” he growled, but there was no real force behind it. The wooden door to my side of the confessional opened suddenly. Father Elias stood there, tall and imposing, his jaw clenched tight and his eyes dark with conflict and lust. “Get out,” he said quietly. “We cannot do this here.”

I will remember this day forever! ...closed his mouth around the cake and my fingers! ... And a hot rush which started somewhere in my core began to spread inside with lightning speed and I felt my cheeks burn. His mouth was so warm and his lips, they were everything I imagined them to be, and more. My lips parted as I watched him close his eyes and lick my fingers. Was the cake so good? Damn it! Why couldn't he look at me when I was looking at him so desperately, ready to confess my love that I had buried for three long years!