Sin

*She had waited sometime, lingering at the back of the church cleaning the pews with a soft cloth and lemon wax.

Why did she come here every Friday night when her friends were out at the bars, having fun and living life the way most women her age did.

Closing her eyes she let her head dip as the priest slipped from the confessional and moved out of the hall of worship. Such a good devout girl she was. Making sure the church gleamed for all of Gods worshipers.

The truth was, when the last person left for the night and she was here, alone. It was then she could commune with God.

"Good night Father."

The doors clicked, and after a few breathless minutes her supplies were put away, and her hands were scrubbed clean.

Alone..

Over to the confessional she moved, her lips bitten with the thrill of anticipation.

*Pulling open the door, she smiled. A rich lush grin that bared perfect teeth as the smell of the sacred place seeped out to greet her. Its air of sin atoned for reaching out for her. Moving as if unseen hands were drawing her in the door clicked shut behind her.

Alone.

She didn't sit down quickly. Not at first. Out she reached to touch the ornate scroll work. How many people touched that panel, with a life of sin on their lips so eager to spill out and fill the ears of their priest?

In here, these four walls were witness to the dirty little secrets people poured out in hopes of absolution.

Between her long stocking covered legs she felt the first twinge. The little spike of desire that began to throb between her legs.

Then there was the tingle that rolled through her belly and across her breasts. Heat flooded each orb, and as they grew taut with desire her nipples pressed against the lace of her bra commandingly.

Tonight, she didn't tell herself it was wrong. Instead with a kiss pressed to that sliding panel she sat down on the leather bench to pray..*

"Bless me Father, for I am Sin. It has been 24 hours since my last confession. In that time, I haven't been able to take my mind off you."

*Out she reached, her fingers stroking the well seasoned oak walls. Down across the surface she imagined the anguish of the confessors. Their guilt, their shame, their self loathing and disgust. Did they know their weakness turned her on?

On the seat, moisture began to drip form her neat cunny, lust vibrating in her mind from the walls and traveling down her fingertips. She could almost hear them whispering their dirty little secrets.*

"I wonder Father, does it turn you on? I watch you ever Sunday.. delivering Mass and I don't hear. Instead.. I sit with legs parted.. and allow the vibration of the faithful to travel through the wooden benches and tease me. Allow you to tease me through them."

*Heavy breaths sweep over her lip and back her golden head is pressed against the confessional. There is no need to be quiet. She is Alone, with her spirituality. So hot and she hasn't even touched herself.*

*She doesn't need to hurry, but across her belly she lets her hands wander, reaching up to cup each breast and test their weight in the bowl of her hand.

A firm squeeze is made at the right then left. Inside the box, her moans begin to spill through the open slide panel. They will linger there for the priest when he arrives tomorrow. To bathe him in her sin and only she will know.

Aching need, it seems connected. Both nipples are pierced with a little cross dangling from each one. When at last she touches them.. her body convulses just with the threat cumming far to soon. *

"No, no, bad girl.. that would be far to soon."

*Unable to touch her large, over sensitive breasts for the time being. She lets her feet come to rest against the wall. Stockings, garters... short skirt and no panties. She reaches down to stroke her legs.. how good the silk feels on her skin. If it were his hands, with a rosary wrapped around them.. she would gladly do anything he wanted. Small scratches are made at pale flesh just above the lace tops of her stockings.. and then palms press flat to slide up to the hem of her skirt. Teasing it backward. It lets the cold air of the night tease at her pussy lips. Allows the memory of those confessing whispers to nibble and lick at her sweet cunt.

Writhing and she hasn't touched her clit yet.. no fingers have sunk inside her quim to take the place of her imagined frocked lover.

Alone.

The back of her knuckles sweep over the folds of her pretty lips and pleasure shoots through her. The vision.. the idea of the Priest kneeling between her legs draws another moan. Her hand twists and slowly she spreads those petals with two fingers forming a peace sign atop her pussy. Already dripping, she listens for the echo of those confessions.*

"Do they ask you to forgive their affairs? Their lustful thoughts about their daughters, sons, co workers, teachers.. you?

Do you ever reach below your cassock and take your cock out Father? Maybe you use holy oil to make your palm slick and your fingers glide over the head of your cock smoothly?"

*Up comes one hand, this time to undo her shirt and set her breasts free atop the cups of a pink bra. One nipple is played with, rolled between her fingers and tugged at gently by the ring.

Oh, to feel his lips suckling, his tongue probing the soft nipple. Again her moans grow louder.. and she giggles. After all, she is Alone.*

*Arching her spine presses her body forward and she imagines the Priest sitting on the other side of the confessional watching her. Fist curling in his robes as he tries not to part his robe. Fights the urge to wrap his strong hand around his meat and begin to stroke.*

"Its okay Father, I won't tell, go ahead and rub it. You make me so hot Father. I can't go out with men my age. I can't look at them and feel lust. You have ruined me. I only want your blessed cock, your sacred hands and holy mouth touching me. Do you feel it too Father? After a day of listening to others sins, who listens to yours? Story after story of housewives sucking their post mans cum down their throats, of soccer moms going down on one another. Business men getting blow jobs in the backs of cabs and sleazy motels. Don't you want to reach out and fuck a young thing?"

*Two fingers worked to slide up and down her slit, creating a froth of naughty juices right there on the confessional bench.

Out she reached for a candle, taken from the alter right next to the place where the Priest gave his sermons each Sunday. It would be put back, and next Sunday when it was lit, her scent would fill him like incense.

At first she teased her tight opening... slowly slipping the head of the cock inside and then waiting. Her cunt slowly gripping, pulling it deeper and deeper in.

So wet, and you didn't even know you did it to her did you Father?

More sultry moans filled the small confessional as she let her hips roll and began to fuck herself with the candle in slow long strokes.*

"Oh Father.. fuck this sinner.. use me as a vessel to mop up your need. A gift from God. Yes, harder Father."

*With another tug at her nipple ring, she let her lips part and turned her head toward the open panel. Pretending that his cock was there, pressed through like a sacred glory hole. Eyes closed and mouth open she nursed at the invisible cock knowing that it was wrong. Desperate for his hot Cum to splash on her chest and at the back of her mouth.*

"Forgive me Father, mayhaps I say to much."

*All day, he listened, and all day she hungered to sit knelt before him suckling, easing his suffering praying for forgiveness. Just like he did for others.*

*No. She couldn't cum. Drawing herself back from the edge a soft sob escaped from between her lips. From betwixt her legs the candle was drawn and cleaned off on the hem of her blouse.

It took a minute, but soon she was pulled back together. Alone here in the confessional, wishing she were brave enough to confess to him, to her Priest the love, the lust, and admiration felt for him. The dark needs he alone stirred.

While she basked in the sins of others, and savored how they must torment him. She couldn't risk being turned away by him. To suffer in silence was better then never to see him.

God would forgive her, but what if he could not?

Letting her skirt fall back into place and redoing her shirt she let herself out of the confessional. Only a stain on the leather bench to bear witness to her confessions.

With the candle replaced she sighed and looked around once more. Out over the pews were the congregation would gather.

Already she could hear them whispering their confessions at his ear.