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“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” I said as I took my place on the kneeler and rested my head on the wooden screen ahead of me, “I… I was late coming to Mass for the last three weeks. I-Including today.”
I saw the priest shift behind the grille and I forced my eyes shut, trying my hardest to ignore the heat blossoming in my lap. I folded my hands in contrition, though my hands were furiously perspiring. My heart thumped a raucous rhythm in my chest and I was panicking internally, praying desperately to God and the Saints above that he wouldn’t be able to smell me.
“Why were you late?” Father Kennedy asked, his voice low and gruff. I clenched my thighs together—God, why was I this way?
I swallowed and let out a shaky breath, rubbing circles into the meat of my hand with my thumb as I weakly tried to pray Salve Regina to myself. It was no use, I couldn’t concentrate long enough to get past the first line.
I must’ve been quiet for a while because I was snapped out of my haze by him clearing his throat.
“Time for confession is almost over,” he said gently, “If that is all you have to confess, then—”
My eyes flew open then and my hands fell to my lap. Through the thick black screen and wooden floral lattice, I could nearly make out his jaw line and the way his hair fell. God damn me to Hell, but I couldn’t stop my left hand from traveling down between my legs—I caught myself before I could undo my trousers, though. I contented myself to just press down for now.
“I—I don’t know, Father,” I blurted, face burning crimson. “I… I don’t want you to look at me differently or—”
“We’re all God’s children. Whatever is on your mind, the Lord has witnessed worse,” he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world, “I cannot break the seal of confession, and I won’t judge you negatively.”
I started rubbing myself through my jeans.
“Now,” he continued, “Will you please tell me why you’ve been consistently late coming to Mass?”
I hesitated.
“I—” I sucked in a breath through my teeth. “Ever since you were assigned to our parish, I…”
I slipped my hand quietly into my pants, whimpering as I made contact with the wet, sensitive heat.
“It’s all right,” he reassured me softly, “You’re the last one today. If you feel like you need to cry, you don’t have to hold back—” he chuckled “—I think this is a pretty good place to let it out.”
I started rubbing circles into myself, trying hard to fight against rocking my hips. I didn’t want him to hear the wood creaking under my knees.
“I…” I started again, swallowing dryly, “I’ve been late to Mass because I’ve spent my mornings giving in to lust.”
He went quiet suddenly.
“I love going to Mass and worshipping God,” I said as I felt myself throbbing in my hand, my cunt slicking itself as I grew more aroused, “The liturgy, th-the… eucharist, the hymns, adoration... I love all of it, but since you got here after Father Brian retired…”
I dipped a finger into my entrance and bit back a moan. I thought maybe I heard Father Kennedy take in a sharp breath.
“Even Christ was tempted by Lucifer,” he said, his voice low and almost ragged. “You have nothing to be ashamed—”
“I have everything to be ashamed of, Father Kennedy,” I whined, curling my finger inward and thrusting, “I’ve b-been late so much because when I wake up, I think about how I’ll see you and how I’m not going to be able to pay attention to anything you say because I’m looking at your mouth and I’m looking at your robes and how bad I wanna know what you look like without anything on.”
I heard him shift behind the screen.
“I wake up every Sunday morning and I think of you and I can’t help it—God knows I’ve tried—I just… I start touching myself and… and sometimes I’ll take my hair brush or one of my—”
I slip another finger in, not bothering to hide the sound that slips from my mouth. My hips are rocking now, the wooden kneeler whining obscenely under my shifting weight.
“I think about how badly I want you to take me into the nearest empty room and fuck me,” I said, feeling embarrassed tears streaking down my face. The wet sounds of me touching myself are just barely audible under my pants. I use my free hand to undo the fastenings and shove them down just enough to quell the ache in my wrist. “I was late this morning because I was imagining how big I think you are, how good it would feel to have my cunt split open by your cock.”
I wasn’t worried about anyone else hearing me masturbating while in confession—if there was anyone outside of this little stall except for him, I wouldn’t know nor care. I was just focused on the feeling of my fingers abusing my G-spot as I slammed my fingers in and out of me. I was so ashamed of myself, but also so deeply fucking thrilled by how much I did and didn’t want this all at once.
“Fuck…” I felt my cunt clench around my fingers, warning me that I was already at the precipice.
Father Kennedy coughed and cleared his throat. I couldn’t tell what he was doing, but I heard something shifting, like skin on skin.
“It’s a sin to lie during confession. With that in mind, tell me,” he said, his voice quiet and shaky, “Are you touching yourself right now?”
I whined and pulled my fingers out, rubbing the sensitive peak above my quivering entrance. I tried to keep my eyes from rolling back just enough to give him a response.
“Y-Yes, Father.” I answered, barely above a whisper. “Am I… Am I in trouble?”
“No,” he said, a little too fast. “You’re not.”
The sound from his side was starting to get faster, more rhythmic. The realization dawned on me that he was also touching himself. I nearly came just from the thought of it.
“Father, are you—?”
“Keep telling me what you were thinking about,” he commanded, “S-So I can decide what your penance should be.”
I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, my fingers working faster between my legs.
“I—I-I imagined you pushing my legs apart and calling me a wicked little thing, a-and then,” I gasped as I hit a particularly sensitive spot, my hips bucking into my hand. “And then you would start fucking me—” my voice cracked “God, I’ve wanted you so badly, I’ve wanted you to just take me every single time I saw you—”
I was close now, my cunt clenching on nothing.
“Father?”
“Yes?”
“I have another sin to confess.” I admitted, slowing down to catch my breath. Truthfully, I didn’t know if my next confession was more request than actual contrition.
“Then speak.”
“I want you to fuck me here in the confessional,” I whimpered quietly, “While you make me give my penance. I… I don’t know why, I just want it so badly. I think if I just rode you while you forced me to pray—”
The sounds from his side stopped.
“You think it will cure you of these impure, lustful thoughts toward me?” he asked, sounding intrigued.
I let out a breathless sound, feeling my arousal dripping down my inner thigh.
Yes. Yes. That is exactly what I think. If he just fucked me one time and let me get it out of my system…
“Fine,” he said. “But if we’re going to do this, then we will do it properly.”
I heard him stand, his vestments rustling swishy little sounds into the air. My heart hammered so loudly inside my ribs, I thought he could hear it through the lattice.
“Come here,” he commanded. “And don’t make a single sound.”
My legs shook and my knees ached as I stood, my trousers still undone and my aching cunt slick between my thighs. I fumbled with sticky, uncoordinated fingers with the door, and the hinges groaned softly as I pushed it open.
He was waiting for me on the other side as I closed the side of the penitent, and opened the door to his side of the confessional.
Father Leon Kennedy stood with his back against the far wall of the small booth. The space was barely big enough for two people to stand comfortably—he’d already undone his cassock, the fabric hanging open to reveal the white collar beneath, and below that… God, below that…
His hand was still wrapped around himself, cock sinfully hard and flushed, the tip glistening with a heady bead of precum. I couldn’t stop staring.
He was exactly as I’d imagined: thick, heavy, vascular. Exactly the kind of thing I hoped, exactly what I’d been picturing splitting me open in my wildest fantasies.
“Close the door.” he said, his eyes dark and hungry.
I obeyed, the latch clicking softly behind me as I locked it—why was there even a lock here in the first place
The booth felt suddenly a lot smaller, the air thick with the scent of frankincense, sweat, and something more carnal. His free hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me closer.
“Your penance,” he said, his voice just a hair’s breadth above a whisper, “is the Act of Contrition. You’ll recite it while I’m inside you—every time you stumble or get too loud, I will make you start from the beginning. You’re not to stop when you’re close and you’re not to stop when you climax until you’ve either gotten through it perfectly, or until I’m finished with you. Now…”
He gave himself a lazy, languid stroke before gesturing to his lap.
“Let’s proceed with your penance, hm? Turn around and sit.”
My breath caught in my throat, and I shucked my trousers and underwear down to my knees before I turned around, easing myself down onto his cock. I clamped my mouth shut, nearly gnashing my teeth just to keep the sound that wanted to tear out of my throat from escaping.
His cock felt more massive than it looked, stretching my wet cunt till I thought I might start to cry again. I took a shuddering breath as I sank down onto him, my body struggling to accommodate the size and girth of him. It was almost too much, but I’d been so wet and aching for this, dreaming of this, that every inch that filled me felt like an answer to a prayer I’d been to afraid to even articulate even in my intimate thoughts.
“That’s it…” he murmured against my ear as his hands came to rest on my hips, “That’s it. Good boy, take it—take all of me.”
I whimpered at the praise, the words settling somewhere deep in my chest and making my cunt clench helplessly around him. He groaned, his fingers digging into my flesh.
“Careful,” he warned, “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
I felt him smile against my ear—soft, almost reverent—and then his hips rolled up into me. Just enough to remind me of how completely full I was, every nerve narrowing to the thick stretch of him.
“Begin.”
I opened my mouth, but instead of words, a thin, reedy whine escaped me. My hands flew to his thighs to steady myself, fingers digging into the muscle through his open cassock. He was so fucking deep, I could almost feel him in my throat.
“I said, begin.” he repeated—this time, his words were edged with something sharper. His hands tightened on my hips and he thrust up. It was just once, a slow and deliberate grind that dragged his cock against that devastating spot inside me, but it was enough to make me choke on the air, vision whiting out for just a split second.
“O-O… my God,” I gasped, my mouth hanging open. “I am… h-heartily sorry—haah—f-for having offended Thee—”
A low sound of approval rumbled in his throat as his thumb traced small circles on my hipbone as he kept me pinned. I could feel a slight tremor in his hands, barely restraining himself as carnal need vibrated through him.
He wanted to move.
He wanted to desecrate me.
But with God as his witness, he could stand to make me wait a little longer. He was a patient man.
“I detest all my sins,” I continued, my voice shaking, “Because I dread the loss of Heaven and the p-pains of Hell—”
My rhythm faltered.
He began to move—not thrusting. Just a slow gyration of his hips that made my cunt clench around him in helpless, beating flutters. I could feel each individual vein, every thick and punishing inch of him, and—God—my body was already wound so fucking tight from the work of my own fingers earlier that I knew I wasn’t going to last long.
“B-But most of all,” I forced the words out in a rush as I began to weep openly, my nails biting into the flesh of his thighs, “Because they offend Thee… m-my God…”
“No,” he interrupted, his voice a low gravel against my hair, “You’re not asking for extra sauce at a drive thru. You’re begging the Lord Almighty to have mercy on you, so act like it, boy.”
A hot flush of embarrassment washed over me, and I clenched at the same time. I nodded, trying to catch my breath however shakily, trying to still my hips even though everything within me demanded to ride him into oblivion. The Lord knows how much I want him to fill me.
“Start again from the beginning,” he said. And then, cruelly, he thrust up into me—a sharp, punishing stroke that knocked a broken cry loose from my throat before I could think to swallow it down. “And be quiet.”
Tears of frustration welled at the corners of my eyes. I was already so close, my cunt drooling slick down onto the dark fabric of his cassock. My thighs trembled with the effort of not just taking what I knew I needed. He had to know what he was doing to me.
“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee,” I started, the words still coming fast and desperate, but with the clear effort of trying to remain measured despite the fact that I could feel him pulsing inside me, “A-And I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell—fuck—”
He’d started thrusting in earnest, a slow pace that pushed the breath from my lungs in warm, rhythmic little gasps. Up into me. Deep. So deep. And then grinding into my cervix in such a way that sent a bright bolt of pleasure-pain through me that made my legs shake.
“Language,” he chided softly, sounding almost entertained, but he didn’t stop. “Start again.”
I let out a choked-off sob, tears falling and hitting my lap.
“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell,” I babbled, tripping over each word as my orgasm started to build and ricochet through my nerves in a cresting wave I couldn’t—didn’t want to—outrun. “I f-firmly—oh God, oh God, oh God—with the h-h-help of Thy grace, to sin no more a-and avoid—”
I was so close.
Right there.
Right on the edge.
My clit throbbed and I knew if he just shifted his angle a little, if I could get just a little more friction…
“Stop,” he commanded, his hands clamped down on my hips to hold me still, buried to the hilt and not moving. I sobbed, tears spilling down my cheeks as my orgasm receded just enough to leave me quivering. “You rushed the last part. That’s not proper contrition.”
“Father, please.” I whimpered, not even sure what I was begging for anymore. Mercy? Release? More?
“Please what? Make this easier for you?” He clicked his tongue reproachfully. “Even Christ did not beg to be let down from the cross. Penance isn’t meant to be easy. Now. Start over again.”
I had gone from weeping to fully crying now, fat tears rolling down my cheeks and dripping everywhere while I leaked arousal all over his cock. My body was shaking, suspended right at the edge of too much and not enough, but somewhere beneath the frustration and humiliation, something else was unfurling in my chest—warm, golden, liquid, and terrifying.
I’d never felt so seen, and utterly at someone else’s mercy.
I drew a long, ragged breath and began again.
“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee…”
He didn’t wait this time. The moment the first word left my lips, his hips snapped up. I choked on the last word, my voice shattering into a moan as he pulled me down onto him at the same time, spearing me so deeply, I saw fireworks behind my eyelids.
“Again.” he growled against my ear.
I sobbed, my fingers scrambling for purchase anywhere that I could reach. He didn’t give me a single second to recover—his hands went from my hips to my waist, lifting me up only to slam me back down as he thrust up to meet me. The wet, obscene sound of our bodies joining filled the cramped confessional, and suddenly I found myself not able to remember a single prayer, a single word of liturgy, anything except for the thick feeling of him splitting me open, forcing himself into me over and over and over.
“O—oh—haah—m-my God, I am… h-heartily—heartily sorry—” I gasped, each word punched out of me by the rhythm he was fucking into me. It was too much too fast, my already overstimulated cunt clenching helplessly around him. The orgasm that had been threatening at the edges of my existence slammed into me suddenly and without warning, and I wailed as I arched my back, my cunt gushing slick around his cock as I came.
He didn’t stop.
“One. Start again.”
“F-Father, I can’t—p-please, I can’t—”
“You can and you will,” He rolled his hips, pressing against my cervix again and making my legs jerk uselessly. “From the beginning.”
I cried, utterly dismantled and barely able to form a coherent thought outside of fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. But still, I tried. I opened my mouth and the words began spilling out in a frantic, desperate jumble.
“O my God, I a-am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell—haah, nngh…”
He fucked into me harder and faster. The wood flooring of the confessional booth creaked in protest, the wooden screen rattling, and I heard him grunt, felt the twitch of his cock inside me. I thought he might be close too, but he didn’t slow nor falter.
“Keep going. Almost there.” he commanded, his voice nothing more than a low growl.
“I—f-firmly—firmly—f-firm—oh fuck, oh God, Father, I’m g-gonna cum—”
My second orgasm hit me like a hurricane, tearing a shriek from my throat that I just barely managed to muffle by biting my hand. My cunt clamped down on him in rhythmic, milking waves and I felt him swell even more inside me. I felt the hot gush of my own release soaking his cassock, dripping down my thighs. I slumped forward, forehead resting against the wooden wall as my body shook so violently, I thought I might float off into the sky.
“Two. You’re doing so well.” he breathed, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Again.”
“Please.” I whimpered, “P-please—n-need a minute—can’t think…”
His response was to grip my hips hard and start fucking me again. Short, sharp thrusts that kept me pinned helplessly against the wall, leaving my swollen and over-sensitive clit to throb pathetically in the air. I wailed, the sensation bordering on painful, but even now—God help me—I didn’t want him to stop. The feeling of him filling me was heroin, and I was immediately addicted.
“You don’t get a minute,” he said, and his voice was rough now as his composure frayed at the edges. “Take your penance like a good boy and pray.”
I sobbed, my mind halfway blank as I forced the words out again.
“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell—”
His thrusts grew more urgent and erratic, and I could feel the way his fingers dug into my flesh, the way his breathing had gone completely wild and ragged. He was close. So close. And the knowledge that I was bringing him to the edge even as he participated in my desecration sent a fresh, new bolt of arousal through my exhausted body.
“I firmly resolve, with the help of Th-Thy grace—grace—oh—to sin no more, and to avoid the near occasions of s-s-sin—a-ah—ah, F-Father, I-I’m—”
“Shut up and do it.” he snarled, pounding into me like his life depended on it.
My third orgasm ripped through me painfully, my cunt milking him desperately as my vision vignetted. I felt him groan, felt the deep pulsing throb of his cock as he filled me so thoroughly that my vision swam. He didn’t stop though, completely set on forcing me to finish my penance as he fucked his cum deeper into me. The thought made me sob harder.
“Three. Again.”
I couldn’t.
I couldn’t.
My legs had all but given out entirely, and I was only being held up by his hands on my hips and the press of his body against mine. Words had lost all meaning, the prayer just reduced to the shapes of sounds upon my vocal cords now, syllables I was desperately trying to string together in the correct order while my brain was short-circuiting from the overstimulation. I thought maybe this was how ascetics felt when they felt they were in the presence of God in the desert—completely hollowed out by the love and discipline of Christ and filled with something greater than themselves.
“O my God—I am—heartily—sorry—for—having—”
Each word was punctuated by a sharp thrust that sent a grunt shooting out of me. He was fucking me so deep now, I felt like every stroke was hitting the bottom of my throat. I was babbling, drooling in messy strings, eyes rolled back as my body ceased to be my own.
“Offended Thee.” he prompted, he gritted out through bared teeth.
“Offended Thee,” I echoed brainlessly. “And I—detest—all my—sins—because—because—”
“I dread the loss of Heaven,” he said, fucking into me harder till I could hear his hips slapping against mine.
“I dread—the loss—of—Heaven and—the—the—nngh—the pains of—H-Hell—”
My voice was a high, keening whine. I wasn’t trying to hold back the sounds anymore. The confessional was filled with the filthy, wet noise of him fucking me. The creak of the wood, my broken sobbing, his ragged breathing.
“Firmly resolve.” he hissed out.
“Firmly resolve—with the help—o-of Thy—Thy grace to—s-sin no—no more—and to avoid… avoid the near occasions of—s-sin—oh, fuck—”
I was going to cum again—I could feel it building, a cresting wave that would crash over and drown me, and he knew it. His hand snaked around from my hip to press down roughly against my lower belly, right where I could feel him moving inside me. The added pressure was enough to make me come completely undone.
“Four,” he grunted, my cunt fluttering and clenching so hard, I thought I might pass out. “Start again.”
I couldn’t speak.
I couldn’t think.
My mouth opened and closed, but the only sound that came out was a desperate whine. He pulled out almost entirely, then slammed me back down, and the sudden fullness after being empty made me howl.
“Pray,” he commanded, his voice cracking. “Say it. All of it. I know you can—you’ve been doing so well.”
I was beyond crying, beyond overstimulation. I was floating somewhere outside my body, anchored only by the thickness of him inside me, by the sound of his voice by the desperate need to be good, to please him, to finally get something right.
“O my God,” I hiccupped, my voice barely a hoarse whisper. “I am… h-heartily sorry for—h-having offended Thee—”
“Good boy. Keep going.”
“I detest all my sins—b-because I d-dread—dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell—”
He was fucking me slower now—deep, rolling thrusts that ground against my G-spot. It wasn’t the frantic, punishing pace from before, but something that bordered on reverent. And somehow, that was worse. Or better. I was far too lost to be able to tell anymore.
“I firmly—resolve—with the—help of Thy grace—to sin—no more—and to—avoid—the near—occasions—of sin—”
I was fully sobbing the words out now, my body shaking, lips trembling, but I hadn’t messed up yet. I was so close to finishing it, to being done, to earning whatever release, whatever penance he would grant me. Another orgasm was building—a slow, inexorable tide—and I didn’t want it to stop.
“Amen.” I gasped out, the word escaping near-formlessly from my throat just as the pleasure built and broke over me.
I came without a sound, my mouth hanging wide open, tears streaming down my face, and my cunt pulsing and throbbing around him so violently that I felt him filling me for the second time. He groaned and I felt the hot, white pulse of his release flooding and filling me. He thrust up into me once, twice, three, four more times, forcing every last drop into me before he stilled, his forehead dropping to rest against the back of my neck.
For a long couple of minutes, the only sound in the little confessional was our labored breathing, the soft dripping sounds of our combined fluids on the ruined wooden floor. I was limp against the wall, held up by only his body and his arms around me.
“That’s five,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and almost gone. “But you got through it… eventually.”
I couldn’t respond, barely able to process what he was saying. My whole body felt like a dying live wire, oversensitive, sparking at the edges, and completely spent.
His hand came up to stroke my hair, gentle now.
“You did so well,” he whispered. “Such a good boy. You took your penance perfectly.”
I made a small, broken sound that might have been something between a thank-you and a tired sob. He shifted, and I whimpered as he carefully pulled out of me, the sensation almost too much even compared to what we had just gotten up to. I could feel his release and mine dripping down my thighs, and the mess of it should have been humiliating, but all I felt was a deep sense of satisfaction.
He turned me around gently, and I found myself pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around me as I shook and cried into his cassock. The white clerical collar was right there, pressed against my cheek, and I stared at it blearily, my mind still struggling to catch up with what had just happened.
“It’s all right,” he said softly, his hand still stroking my hair. “It’s all right.”
I don’t know how long we stood there like that, him holding me while I slowly came back to myself, but eventually he helped me pull my trousers back up, his touch careful and almost reverent. He fastened his own cassock, smoothed down the front, and when he looked at me again, his eyes were dark but soft.
“Next time you feel the urge to be late to Mass,” he said, a hint of wry humor creeping into his voice, “come to me. I’ll help you… work through it.”
I flushed, my face still blotchy and tear-streaked, and nodded wordlessly. He opened the door to the confessional, glanced outside to ensure the church was empty, and then guided me out.
“Go in peace,” he said, and there was something in his voice that sounded almost like a promise. “I’ll see you next Sunday.”
I walked out of the church on shaky legs, my body still thrumming with the echoes of everything he’d done to me, and I knew with absolute certainty that I would never, ever be late to Mass again because now I had a much better reason to arrive, and to arrive early.
Maybe the next time I see him, I won’t only be receiving communion on my tongue.