In the dimly lit confession booth of St. Margaret’s church, Sister Mary Joseph, a brunette woman in her early thirties, knelt behind the screen, listening to the whispered sins of the parishioners. Her heart was heavy with the weight of their transgressions, but her body yearned for something more than the ascetic life she had chosen.
Tonight, a man came to confess, his voice low and ragged. She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the desperation in his tone. As he spoke of his temptations, she couldn’t help but feel a stirring in her own loins. It had been so long since she had felt the touch of a man, the warmth of his body against hers.
She listened as he confessed his sins, her own breath coming in shallow gasps. She could feel her nipples harden beneath her habit, the dampness between her legs growing. She knew she should resist, but she couldn’t help herself. She reached down, her fingers brushing against the wet fabric of her panties.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I have been thinking impure thoughts.”
There was a pause on the other side of the screen, and then the man spoke. “Go on, my child,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Tell me more.”
She took a deep breath, her fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties. She was wet, so wet. She began to touch herself, her fingers sliding over her clit, her body trembling with pleasure.
“I have been thinking about you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “About your hands on my body, your lips on mine.”
There was another pause, and then the man spoke again. “Tell me more,” he said, his voice ragged.
She closed her eyes, her fingers moving faster. She could feel herself getting closer, her body trembling with pleasure. “I want you to touch me,” she whispered. “To taste me.”
There was a rustling on the other side of the screen, and then the sound of fabric tearing. The man grunted, his breath coming in shallow gasps. She could hear the sound of his zipper, the rustle of clothing.
“Open your legs,” he whispered, his voice ragged.
She did as she was told, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel his hot breath on her thighs, his tongue sliding over her skin. She gasped as he began to lick her, his tongue exploring every inch of her wet flesh.
“Yes,” she moaned, her fingers clutching at the fabric of the confessional. “Oh, yes.”
He licked and sucked, his fingers sliding inside her. She could feel herself getting closer, her body trembling with pleasure. She moaned louder, her hips bucking against his mouth.
And then she came, her body shuddering with pleasure. She could hear the man groan, his hot seed spilling onto the floor of the confessional.
They sat there for a moment, panting and spent. And then the man stood, adjusting his clothing. “Thank you, Father,” he whispered, his voice ragged.
“Go in peace,” she whispered back, her voice trembling.
And then he was gone, leaving her alone in the confessional, her body still trembling with pleasure. She knew she had sinned, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. It had been so long since she had felt such pleasure, such release.
She stood, smoothing her habit. She would have to confess her own sins, of course. But for now, she would enjoy the memory of the man’s touch, the taste of his lips on hers.
She smiled to herself, her fingers brushing against her wet panties. She would sin again, she knew. And she would enjoy every moment of it.
