I want to be someone’s dirty heathen whore. I want to fuck and be fucked in a chapel on an altar. I want to fuck behind a curtain; my gasps muffled by the soaring melodies of the sopranos in the choir and I want the music of the organ to fill my chest with its resonance while I get my body violated and fucked to tears until even the music can’t cover the cries of my sin.
I want the whispers to stir in the pews when I show up for the service with love bites decorating my throat and my lovers arm around my waist.
I want the shame to burn me from my crown to my feet and I want my toes to curl in embarrassment. I want to nervously adjust my skirt to make sure no one discovers I’m not wearing anything underneath. I want to be dressed in white but I want my clothes to get rumpled and maybe torn from my lover having their way with me.
I want my lover to pull my hair and hiss threats of damnation in my ear if I so much as I think about eating the sacrament while they themselves savor the taste.
I want my repentance to be found in my lovers kiss and my salvation to come from my worship of them as I go down on them until sweat, saliva, and cum runs down my chin and neck and tears drip from eyes as I take them as deep as I possibly can.
I want to be tied to an altar and have my body anointed with holy water and I want my lover to tell me I’ll only be cleansed when they are finished making me cum over and over and over.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/rsnq3v/blasphemous_confessions_stream_of_consciousness
I could get behind that