Forgive me father, for I have sinned… It’s been four years since my last confession, and a lot has changed in my life, Father. When I last confessed, I was still a good girl – obeying the catechism, daily prayers, helping the needy and sick. But Father, I am weak, and a sinner. I sin nightly, in thought and in deed. I pleasure myself with sins of the flesh, Father. All the time. In bed, in the shower, at school…
Yes, at school. Two days ago I began thinking about my teacher as she lectured us on politics. She’s beautiful, Father. I know it’s a sin to think of a woman as I thought of her, but I couldn’t stop staring at her breasts, her hips. I began to picture her naked, Father. To imagine her slipping the straps of her bra off her shoulders, the curve of her bosom revealed as she tugs the cups away from her chest… The feel of her flesh under my fingernails as my hands roam her pretty white flesh. Father, is it a sin that I’m getting aroused as I confess this to you? Oh, I left her class with very damp panties, and I went straight to the loo and touched myself. I couldn’t help it – I’ve felt other girls’ faces down there before, and I imagined my pretty young teacher’s tongue stroking me, searching my womanhood as I sat there in the stall, my fingers caressing and prodding my silken wet kitty, Father. I imagined her licking me, rubbing her fingers in and out of my sex, and I had to bite my lower lip down just so no one would hear me when I came, Father. Do you think anyone saw me? Any of the other girls catching a peek of me with my skirt hiked up on my hips, my white cotton panties stretched between my knees, my fingers sliding in and out of my young womanhood? I felt so dirty, imagining her switching places with me, letting me kneel between her thighs, tasting her, my tongue rolling up and down her crack, Father. I could almost feel her hairs tickling my face as I loved her. I think she’s blonde down there too, Father. I’m almost certain of it. Father, I’m so very wet right now. I know you shouldn’t know of such things, but I have to tell them.
To whom do you confess, Father? Surely you have carnal thoughts. Do you fantasize about young girls touching your manhood, Father? About pretty, ruby red lips wrapping around the head of your untouched cock, suckling you? Oh, I enjoy that sin. The taste of a man’s sweat, his seed – the way he moans and trembles when I take him deep into my mouth and hold him there, my tongue caressing him, lips gliding wet and soft around and over his hard pole. Letting him hold my head down and thrusting his hips against my cheeks. Oh, and Father, when he fills my mouth with his spend, or coats my face with it… Surely such bliss cannot be a hell-worthy offense? Father, I adore it so. Every new man I taste, every flavor of skin, and sweat, and salt… Is it sinful that I have had my hand between my thighs as I confess, Father? And will I go to Hell? For imagining you sitting across this wall, sweating, trying so hard not to commit your own sins in God’s house? I know you are, Father. I can hear how hard you breathe. Are you pulling on your cock right now? Listening to me confess my darkest, most heinous desires, Father? I know you shouldn’t know of such things, but I have to tell them.
I can imagine you picturing my tight little bottom, striped red from your cane’s whacks, bounding and rebounding against your hips as you fuck me hard, my breasts crushed against the altar, my eyes upon the crucified Lord above us, our cries of agony and bliss echoing in the hall of God? Do it, Father – empty your seed in this whore. Fill her, use her, leave nothing left of value. FUCK me, your Grace. Finish me as I finish you – we share in the sin, Father…
Are you going to explode now? Will you finish for me? Father, I’m burning, my sex is scorched and soaking as I rub it – ohhhhh, the exquisiteness of it, oh Father here it comes…
Oh, your Grace… I heard you. I heard you trying so hard to fight it, and I heard you succumb. Did you finish inside your robes, Father? Is there a hot, sticky mess in your lap right now? I have soaked the bench, Father. Should I use my panties to clean it up? Use them to soak up all of my mess from the seat? Oh, Father, I tasted my fingers – my nectar is so sweet. I cannot possibly put these back on. They are coated in my sex, and everyone will be able to smell them as I walk past. Shall I leave them here on the bench? A token of our damnation? You may keep them, Father – I want you to use them to remember me when you next take yourself in hand and service Satan himself. No, Father, I need no penance, no absolution. Your grace cannot free me of this burden. I do not want to be saved of it. I’ll gladly go to Hell for this crime, Father – for my Heaven is at my fingertips…