Wet Confession Novels & Stories

I kept moving because stopping would mean admitting I noticed. “Storage room,” he said after the third set. His voice was low. “Now.” The room was small and smelled like cleaning supplies. He shut the door and locked it. When he turned around his shorts were tented. He looked at me for a long second. “Kneel.” I did. The concrete was cold through my leggings. He stepped closer and pulled himself out. I had never seen one in person. It was thick and already wet at the tip. “You ever sucked dick before?” he asked.

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

My fingers were coated, webs of slick stretching between them and Ryan’s cock jumped in his grip when he saw them. “Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re soaked. Been playing with that tight little pussy while you watched me?” I nodded my throat too tight to speak. “Words, baby. Use them.” “Y-yes,” I whispered but voice sounded wrecked already. “I… I had a dream and a woke up so wet I couldn’t think, then i came down for water and… heard you.” His eyes darkened. “And instead of leaving, you stood in the dark and fingered yourself to me jerking off.”

“You will go to confession tomorrow. Real confession. Father Julian is a good man. He will guide you back to the light.” I almost laughed in her face. Good man. The same man who had fucked my ass in this very kitchen while she was at bingo. The same man whose cum was probably still leaking into my panties right now. “Yes, Mama,” I said sweetly. “I’ll confess everything.” That night I sent Julian a video. I snuck into the church bathroom during Saturday vigil, locked the stall, hiked up my dress, and spread my legs. Two fingers plunged deep into my soaked pussy while I recorded, moaning softly.

“Flushed and sinful in the house of God. My church. My little whore.” He pinched her nipple, twisting sharply, and she gasped, her fingers digging into the heavy wool of his cassock. “You’re going to tell me everything,” he commanded, his mouth trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down her chest. “Every dirty thought. Every time you touched yourself thinking of this. You’re going to confess it all to me.” “I… I did,” she panted, her hips beginning to rock against the solid muscle of his thigh. “Last night. I fingered myself… thinking of you hearing me… thinking of you knowing how wet I was…”

I cleaned his cock eagerly, tasting my ass and pussy on him while he stroked my hair almost tenderly. “This is only the beginning,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “You’ll come for ‘confession’ every week. I’ll use you in the rectory, the confessional, even during Mass if you’re quiet enough. Your mother can never know what a disgusting, cock-addicted whore her daughter has become for me.” I nodded, cum dripping from my chin, pussy and ass throbbing with satisfaction and fresh need. Outside, rain continued to fall, but inside the church, my soul felt deliciously damned.

This was a career-ending sermon. Confessions were just as bad. As a priest, I obviously could not judge them, but it was quite something. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I lusted after my neighbor’s wife with desire in my heart,” the man confessed. I nodded sagely, trying to focus. “And how many times—” “But she looks just like that dangerous-hot looking Norwegian ex I had. Her ass is round and perfect and…” I coughed to get him back in order.

Chapter 65 Amber Whyte. I was ready. I swear I was. My gut couldn't hold on to those confessions anymore. Nothing I did to suppress them worked. It felt as though my sins were starting to drown me into a deep dark lonely abyss. I needed to confess. I needed to be free. I tilted my head in Delilah's direction, ready to spill the beans without holding back. My eyes were glossed with unshed tears. My trembling lips moved to speak.

For a second, the world stops. “You’re a devil,” he whispers, the words tearing out of him like a confession. “Yes...” I purr, sliding my fingers away from my shorts, showing him the glistening wet patch on my fingertips. “...a wet devil.” Silence stretches between us, heavy and electric, vibrating right under our skin. I wished he would just stop this act and make my job easier, take the fingertip to his face and suck my wetness. But Christian is the man Claire says he was.

Carter held Vivien gently, his heart aching at her distress. "You're lying. If you truly loved me, why didn't you believe me? I didn't do it. I didn't push Mom into the water," Vivien's sorrowful cries filled the air. "I was wrong. I'm sorry. I should never have doubted you!" Carter's voice was sincere as he admitted his error. Carter then turned to Benedict and ordered, "Burn those verification results!" "Yes, Sir," Benedict acknowledged before leaving with the document in hand. Witnessing this, Vivien felt a measure of relief wash over her.