The delightful Marie Rebel asked us to revisit an old blog post this week for Wicked Wednesday. I decided to try to turn a story around and tell it from the point of view of the other person involved.
If you’d like to read the original story, entitled Confession, its right here!
I listened to her leave the confessional, the door sliding shut, the clicking of her heels fading on the tiles. My head reeled from the experience, complete disbelief that it had happened.
Realising that another penitent could arrive at any second, I quickly adjusted my robes, red-faced at the sticky mess I had created and hastily left the booth. I hurried to the sacristy, desperate to avoid contact with anyone until I had cleaned myself up.
Keeping my eyes lowered as I passed the tabernacle behind the altar, overwhelmed with shame and unable to show my face to the sacred vessel, I locked the door of the sacristy, shed my soutane and used the sink to wash myself off.
How had I allowed myself to be swept along in such a way? How had I allowed that girl to tempt me so? Corrupt me? In the house of God?
Hot tears threatened to spill from my eyes and I bit my lip to stop them.
With a troubled mind I left the Church and sought the sanctuary of my house next door.
Waking with a start, drenched in sweat, I bolted upright in my bed.
Memories of my dream lingered; her firm breasts sitting high on her chest, hard erect pink nipples, her long hair draped to partially hide one breast from view as she spread her legs wide for my inspection of her bare, smooth pussy.
Between my legs, I throbbed and ached, blood pulsating against my taut skin.
In the dream she had smiled as her eyes locked onto mine. Her dark burgundy fingernails traced a line from her throat, over her breasts, pinching her nipples hard before continuing down to spread her lips wide for me. Her folds glistened, wet and swollen, deep dark pink. I longed to know what it felt like to put my lips on her there, to inhale her scent, to taste her flavor. Her fingers slid inside herself and she arched her back in pleasure.
“Father, would you like to do this? Would you like to touch me?” she whispered, taunting me.
My dream self nodded drunkenly and watched as she reached out her hand to guide mine, her fingers warm and slippery. My breath caught as my fingertips brushed against her heat for the first time; her skin as soft as gossamer and silk against my rough digits. Dipping my fingers inside her, my mouth agape with desire, stroking her velvety lining, I knew I wanted her.
“Oh! Father!” she sighed and grabbed my free hand to grasp her breast with it, forcing me to squeeze it. Before I knew what I was doing, my mouth was on her nipple, sucking it and rolling it between my teeth as she squirmed and moaned. Her scent was intoxicating to me, a mixture of vanilla and honey with a hint of muskiness that I inhaled deeply, as if addicted.
Feeling the hardening increase at my groin, slightly lightheaded and giddy, I pulled back to look at her. Her eyes were dark with desire, her lips wet and parted, cheeks flushed. She was beautiful. I kissed her mouth, pushing my tongue into meet hers as my fingers played with her pussy. She grew wetter and rubbed herself against me as she breathed into my ear, “I want to suck you Father. I want your cock in my mouth.”
As it happens in dreams, I was magically naked, with her on her knees before me, throwing her hair over her shoulder, a teasing glint in her eyes as she lowered her face and began to lick me from base to tip. The sensations were uniquely intense as I felt her wet tongue lap against my stretched skin. When she took me into her mouth and began to suck, I feared I would explode and knew I had to have her fully.
I wanted to possess her, claim her.
I wanted to fuck her.
Shaking my head to snap myself out of the sinful memory of the dream, I knew I must repent. I must quell these wicked thoughts and fantasies and seek forgiveness for my transgressions.
I went to the drawer of my chest and retrieved the cat o nine tails. Kneeling naked before the crucifix on the wall I began to whip the skin on my back, relishing the sting of the knotted leather. As the knots bit into my skin, without willing them to, more images from my dream came to mind again; her playing with herself for me, head thrown back as she writhed and moaned, bringing herself to her climax. Watching the flush of blood blossom from her heaving chest, up her throat and explode on her cheeks while her face contorted, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, her orgasm sweeping her away, I flogged myself harder and harder. Picturing her as she was in my confessional yesterday, her pants pushed down as she let me watch her come, I groaned aloud as I felt the tightening and contraction in my groin before my hot sticky cum erupted in an arc before me.
Lying prone on the floor, a mess of blood, semen and sweat I knew I had failed again.
I was a sinner.
I also knew I wanted her to visit my confession booth again.
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