True Confessions

Patrick O'Connell shook his head sadly as he laid down his copy of the Irish Times. More of his fellow priests accused of immoral practices. It was a tragedy for the church that so many of these poor, tormented souls chose to take Holy Orders as a means of exercising their sinful lust. In the 25 years since he'd made his commitment at the age of 16 Patrick had rigorously honoured the vows he'd taken. Of course he was human, and a man, born of sin, and like any other man The Devil had tried to tempt him from the course of righteousness in his thoughts and dreams, but he was proud that he had never strayed from the path of The Lord. He glanced at his watch - it was almost time to take confession.

Monday lunchtime was usually a quiet session, and on a particularly warm day he sat somewhat drowsily in the small stall for perhaps ten minutes before he heard the curtain on the other side being pulled across. Sliding open the grille, Patrick rested his elbow on it and wished the penitent a good morning.

"Good morning Father. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen."

The priest recognised the slightly lispy voice of Mrs Riordan. A lady of perhaps 50 years of age, married to a rather older man who always seemed drunk and half-asleep on the occasions when O'Connell encountered him. He hadn't given confession in months, and was surely long overdue. "May The Lord help you to confess your sins." Janet Riordan was a redhead, short in stature but big in bust and behind, not exactly pretty but with something about her that caused men to cast licentious glances in her direction. If any of them had ever done more than that towards her, Patrick hadn't heard of it. Even he had experienced the odd, momentary, sinful reflection on her charms, cast into his mind by foul Lucifer of course.

Mrs Riordan cleared her throat nervously then began. "Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession. Last Wednesday I blasphemed when I burned my hand on the cooker. I have lied to my husband three times since my last confession, telling him I had a headache when I didn't. I've been rude to him on several occasions. But worst of all, Father, I...I have had impure thoughts, every day for weeks now, and I didn't confess them last time."

Behind the screen, O'Connell raised an eyebrow. "And why was that? You know you must confess all your sins on each occasion."

"Yes, I know that Father, but the reason was I was scared to, because, well, because you were the subject of them Father." She heard the rustle of clothing and a creak from the seat in the priest's stall, perhaps as he reacted in surprise at her words. Before he could speak in response she pressed on. "I have this recurring fantasy Father, and it's always exactly the same. I find myself standing outside the door of your vestry here at the church, I don't know why but I know I need to see you. I try the door and it's unlocked, but when I open it you're in the middle of changing into your vestments, and you're standing there in just your shirt and underpants." She paused. "Father? Are you..."

"Yes, I'm still here Mrs Ri...I'm still here my child, carry on with your confession." His voice sounded a little hoarse.

A small smile on her face, Janet leaned closer to the grille, her voice softer, her tone more alluring. "You just stand staring at me in surprise. My eyes locked on yours, I undo my white silk blouse, button by button, revealing my big boobies in an ivory half-cup bra, which reveals my pert nut-brown nipples." As she described the scene, Janet did unbutton the very blouse she'd described. She slipped a hand into her full bra and began squeezing a breast. The only sound in the confessional, in the entire small church, was of a zipper being slowly pulled down.

Janet continued. "As my blouse slips to the floor you ask me what I think I'm doing. Wordlessly I reach behind my back and unclip the bra. Then I step towards you take your hands in mine and place them on my meaty breasts. You try to pull away but I hold your hands there and make you squeeze my warm flesh. My nipples swell and press into your palms, and when I take my hands away yours stay where they are. We stay in that position for a few seconds then I walk you backwards until you're standing beside your table. Then I crouch before you, slip my thumbs into the waistband of your pants and pull them down. I gaze at your beautiful, erect cock, but before I service that I lean forward, take your scrotum into my mouth and suck your balls, stroking my tongue around them. You sigh with unaccustomed pleasure and rest your bum on the table."

Mrs Riordan's smile broadened as she heard the seat in Father O'Connell's booth start to squeak rhythmically, poundingly. She slid her free hand into her trousers, inside her knickers, a finger curling into the top of her pussy, pressing her clit. "As I run my tongue up your burning shaft you curl your fingers in my lush auburn hair, urging me on. With a chuckle I ease my lips over the tip of your knob and suck on it. I've left my teeth at home because I've read that oral sex with just the gums is more erotic for a man. You take my hair in your fists and push my head down to the base of your cock. I swirl my tongue around it like a lollipop, caressing your balls with my fingers." As she spoke she felt her underwear dampening with her own sweet nectar. On the other side the pace of the squeaking increased and she could hear rasping, panting breaths.

"Are you fucking my face or am I stroking my lips up and down you? I'm not sure but we settle into a steady rhythm, our deep breathing matching in synchronicity. Just as I think I'm about to taste your juice as you cum in my mouth, you push me off you. For a moment I think you're rejecting me, but you drag me roughly to my feet and push me against the table, my back to you." A gasp and a whimper emanated from the priest's stall, and the squeaking of his seat ceased. "You push my skirt up to my waist. I'm wearing string panties which emphasise the generous cheeks of my bum. You grab them and pull them down to my ankles, and I lift one foot out of them." Her face still close to the grille, Mrs O'Riordan felt warm breath passing through it. "You push my feet wide apart, you reach a hand between my legs and finger my sopping pussy for a few seconds, one finger slipping deep inside me. Then you press your thighs against mine and at last your fiery cock enters me. We thrust at each other wildly, ecstatically, your balls slapping against me, until at last I feel your release, your jizz fountaining into me as you roar with pleasure. A few seconds later my own orgasm hits me, and my labia clench around you and stars explode before my eyes as I cum gloriously, screamingly."

Janet clamped her thighs on her arm and wriggled her bum wildly on her seat, then slowly withdrew her hand from her trousers and sucked her sweetly sticky fingers. There was silence from the other side of the grille. After a few moments she said "I've finished my confession Father. I am very sorry for all my sins. Father? Are you going to give me penance Father?"

She heard Father O'Connell clear his throat, then sounding hoarse, his voice shaking a little, he replied, "Erm, I think I need to reflect on the depth of your sin and consider an appropriate penance for such sinful thoughts before I can absolve you. Come and see me later today, say eight o'clock?"

As she rebuttoned her blouse Janet asked "Here in the church Father?"

"No" he answered urgently. "Come to...come to my vestry. I'll...I'lll leave the door unlocked for you."

It was rare to see parishioners exit the confessional wearing the kind of Cheshire cat smile that was on Janet Riordan's face as she left the church. As the door banged closed, silence settled again. Then an anguished male voice rang out, initially soft but quickly rising in volume. "Oh God. Oh Jesus fucking Christ!"