Wet Confession Novels & Stories

The confessional waited at the side, wood dark and creaking, like it knew what he was about to do. Rum slipped inside. He heard the other side click open a moment later—quiet, hesitant. "Ru—" "I need to confess," Rum cut in, eyes fluttering shut, head leaning back against the wooden panel. “I needed to talk to someone. About my... urges.” A pause. “Go on.” Rum bit his lip. “I’ve been having thoughts. Bad ones. Wanting to do things. Needing things done to me.” Elijah didn’t speak. But Rum could hear his breathing. Measured. Controlled.

"I was still conscious at that time. I just couldn't move. I heard what you said." Esmerelda's eyes widened. She had said more than just that. Frantic, she asked, "Mom, did you only hear that one line? Was there anything else?" Ruth was stunned. She asked coldly, "You said more?" Relief flooded over Esmerelda. As she blinked, tears rolled down her cheeks. She flung herself on the bed and grabbed Ruth's hand, saying, "Mom, Clara was accusing me, and I lost my temper. I was just momentarily confused. You know me. I was just throwing a fit…"

I went to confession wet. Not figuratively. Not emotionally. I mean I was wet between my thighs, soaking the inside of my thighs, my slit open and greedy, throbbing with every step I took through the heavy chapel doors. I didn’t even bother with panties. Just a black skirt and a sin-stained heart.

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.

In them he looked at her like she was something to devour. In them he touched her in places no one had ever touched and she woke up soaked, panting, fingers already between her legs before she could stop herself. Guilt ate her alive. So on a rainy Tuesday afternoon she went to confession. The church was empty except for the soft patter of rain on the roof. She knelt in the dim wooden booth, heart hammering, knees pressed together under her pleated skirt. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” she whispered. “It has been… three weeks since my last confession.”

"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't do that!" I screamed.. How can I confess to father that I hav

Our eyes didn’t meet, but the air crackled. I entered the confessional. Dropped to my knees. Cock already leaking, the wet spot spreading darkly across the front of my boxers, the musky scent of my own arousal rising in the cramped, wood-scented space. The screen slid open with a soft wooden rasp. “You’ve come to be relieved of your burden?” Her voice;low, trembling, warm breath ghosting through the lattice like incense. “I don’t know. My thoughts are conflicted.” “What burdens you?”

“Dear Father, I have sinned and I am here to ask for forgiveness. If my life had gone the way it was supposed to, I wouldn’t have done all of these things. I would have remained steadfast. I would have remained with Clinton and I wouldn’t have left the church, but life is such a bitch. The cards that I was dealt were not in my favor, and so I had to make it work somehow. Forgive me for all the wrongs I’m currently doing and forgive me for the ones I’d do in the future. I hope that one day, I can find my way back to you. For now, I am in the world and I’d do all I have to do. “ She said , taking a deep breath before getting up from the kneeling position she was in. She felt a little less guil

His voice through the lattice is quieter, closer, intimate in the way that small dark spaces make everything intimate. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I say. “It has been ten years since my last confession.” “Tell me your sins.” I take a breath. The confessional smells like a hundred years of whispered secrets. His breathing is audible through the screen, and I can hear him controlling it, performing calm. “I’ve been having impure thoughts.” A pause. “What kind of impure thoughts?” “Sexual thoughts. About a man.” “This is not uncommon. The flesh is –”

Ann shifted on the cushion, suddenly aware of the thin partition between them. “Father, is this… normal?” she asked, voice uncertain. “I’ve never had a priest ask me something like that before.” “Confession requires honesty, my child. Not comfort. Answer.” She swallowed. The weight of the past week pushed the words out anyway. “I got wet,” she admitted, the confession tumbling out before she could stop it. “Even while he was calling me useless I felt myself getting wet and that made it worse. I hated that my body still reacted.”