I stepped into the dimly lit confessional, the scent of old wood and incense enveloping me. The velvet curtain rustled as I parted it, revealing the figure of Father Michael on the other side, his eyes glowing with compassion in the semidarkness.
“Sister, please confess your sins and let the Lord forgive you,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to my troubled soul.
I knelt before him, my black skirt riding up to expose the creamy skin of my thighs. As I began to pour out my confession, my voice grew breathy, tinged with desire I couldn’t quite conceal. Father Michael’s eyes never left mine, his gaze smoldering with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.
“Father, I’ve been thinking impure thoughts lately,” I admitted, my heart pounding in my chest. “Dreams of a man’s touch, of forbidden pleasures…” My words trailed off as I felt his hand rest gently on my knee, sending a jolt of electricity through me.
“Rhea, my child, the Lord understands your inner turmoil,” he reassured me, his fingers inching higher up my leg. “He forgives you, and so do I. Let me help you find peace.”
As he spoke, his hand slipped underneath my skirt, caressing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I let out a soft gasp, my lips parting slightly. Father Michael leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear.
“Tell me, Rhea, what is it that you truly desire?” he whispered, his fingers finding the damp heat between my legs.
I couldn’t hold back any longer. “I want you, Father,” I breathed, my hips arching into his touch. “I need to feel your hands all over me, to have your cock deep inside me…”
His fingers stilled for a moment, then he grasped my thighs firmly, pulling me closer to the edge of the confessional bench. “My child, you shall have everything you crave,” he growled, his voice low and husky.
In one swift motion, he stood and yanked down his cassock, revealing the thick, rigid length of his manhood. I whimpered with need, reaching for him, my fingers wrapping around his shaft as I guided him to my entrance.
With a deep, guttural groan, Father Michael sheathed himself inside me, filling me completely. I cried out at the sudden intrusion, my back arching as he began to thrust, his powerful strokes driving me wild with pleasure.
The wood of the confessional shook with the force of our coupling, the scent of sex and incense mingling in the air. I clawed at the curtain, desperately trying to hold on as the wave of ecstasy crashed over me, my screams of bliss echoing off the narrow space.
Father Michael’s climax was just as intense, his hot seed spurting deep within me as he claimed me as his own, the forbidden act of sin and pleasure forever etched in the sacred space. As we collapsed, spent and gasping, the reality of our transgression washed over us, a deliciously wicked secret to keep hidden from the world outside
Rhea Stephens
888-750-4746 ext 868
https://thesincenter.com/rhea
