Forgive Me, Father

Father Gray sat back in the ancient wooden confessional that flanked the outskirts of the more ancient church. The late morning sun beamed through stained-glass, and little flecks of colored light dusted over his face. Miss Elaine Boggins had been in the confessional for about 30 minutes, discussing the guilt she felt over her own relief over her late husband's death. He'd been a terrible father and husband, and frankly she deserved better. Father gray pondered this in the back of his mind as she rattled on. Should he stop her? Should he forgive her entirely? This type of woman was never satisfied to be told they were forgiven.

Her story finally came to an end. "My child, the lord forgives us in all of our many complicated emotions. Do 5 Hail Mary's and 5 our fathers' to help you reconnect with him in your heart." He placed his hand on his own heart in emphasis, though she could not see him through the wicker screen that separated them. The older woman beamed. "Thank you, Father, thank you. You don't know what this means to me." She gathered her clutch and her hat and exited the confessional.

This is why he'd pursued this career; helping people find their best selves in the eyes of the lord. He smiled to himself as he heard the door close behind Elaine. The smell of mahogany surrounded him, and he leaned his head back against the wooden frame. This was one of his favorite spots in the world, a place he could always come to think and reflect. A few minutes passed, then a few more. The confessional remained empty. He looked at his wrist to check the time. He always kept confessional hours after each Sunday service and besides Elaine, today was rather light.

No matter, he had some things to take care of before the evening service. He stretched his arms up in the air, so that his fingers brushed the top of the chamber, before beginning to stand. But before he could leave the confessional, the door to the other side opened and closed quietly. A woman.

Her scent entered before she had, honeyed and floral. Like spring lilacs laced with caramelized honey. She was just a shadow on the other side of the screen as she sat. His tongue flicked across his lips absently.

A smooth, velvety voice began, "Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been... many years since my last confession." There was hesitation in her voice, like she wasn't sure this was where she was meant to be.

"Fear not, child. The lord is merciful. Tell me your sins." Father Gray sat up straight. Her voice was like the softest silk, and her scent surrounded him. He refused to admit it, but her presence affected him, distracted him.

The woman shifted on the wooden bench. Silence fell between them.

After several quickened heartbeats, she began.

"I've been having impure thoughts... and..." Her voice lowered.

"And?" Father Gray folded his hands across his crossed legs. Black slacks nearly blended into the shadows of the confessional, but the white button-up shirt seemed to light up in the space. He adjusted the stiff line of his Roman collar. Was it warmer in here?

"Well... I just... I don't know how to say this to someone like you..." She nearly whispered, and her voice shook with nerves.

Father Gray exhaled with practiced patience. "Take your time. I am here when you are ready."

"Okay... Okay." Her hands fiddled with the hem of her skirt, which fell mid-thigh. Short enough so that the bottoms of her thighs could feel the cool wooden surface. She wore a red sweetheart tank-top that hardly left anything to the imagination, plenty of cleavage for people to ogle. It tucked into a black leather skirt that hugged her hips like a second skin. She crossed her ankles together, and the black strapped heels clicked against the wooden seat.

"I have been... wearing clothes that might make people... notice me. I want them to look. To see my body." Her voice had a disarming quality to it and fell husky as she admitted her sins.

Father Gray had paled. The way she spoked evoked its own type of sin in his head. A brief flash of a faceless girl with puffy lips around his.... He shook his head. That was not the purpose of this, he had to remind himself. But maybe he could probe a little further... There was no harm in that, right?

"I see. Have you stopped doing this?"

A beat of silence. "No."

Another moment. "What are you wearing now?"

The woman flushed. "I'm not wearing a bra or underwear today. I had at least 5 men stare at my nipples today during mass."

Her bluntness took him by surprise, and he couldn't help but imagine peaked nipples behind thin fabric. Firm tips to soft mounds, barely hidden. He imagined a faceless woman bending over to pick something up with a short skirt, only to reveal puffy lips of another kind glistening for all to see.

His trousers tented.

He rolled up the white sleeves of his shirt over strong forearms. It was getting awfully hot. He'd have to see about getting that air conditioner fixed... again. He pulled at the collar. Was it getting tighter?

"Oh?" He managed to say with relative ease, then cleared his throat. "And how did you feel as they looked at you?"

"Delighted. That's why I'm here, Father, something is wrong with me."

He heard her shuffle in the confessional. He could see her shadow move and adjust. If only he could peek.

She let her knees fall apart and her skirt hike up. Panties long forgotten. Fingertips skimmed over the firm peaks of her breasts, so the fainted pleasure echoed through her. The other hand fell between her open legs, caressing up one thigh.

"Tell me, Father. Do you think it's wrong to show off? To show what God has gifted me?"

Father Gray swallowed at nothing. His pants felt very tight all of a sudden. He pictured this woman showing off, pushing her silky mounds out of her blouse, wiggling her bare ass to the church. He imagined men in the pews, pants tented as they watched, drool forming at the corners of their mouths.

"Are you still there, Father?" Her voice rung like a bell in the confined space.

He cleared his throat again. "Yes, of course, I've not gone anywhere. I do not think it is wrong to display the body that the lord has granted you as long as you continue to ask for forgiveness. Is there... anything else?"

More rustling.

The woman's skirt was rolled up enough that it was completely clear and in the dim lighting of the confessional, moisture reflected off of her puffy pussy. She'd palmed one breast out of the top of her shirt and squeezed the flesh between her fingers. The hand that had begun its exploration of her own thigh began to find its way between her glistening folds. In the quiet tension that spread between them, the first sound of wetness sounded.

Father Gray stiffened. Was she... touching herself? He listened for moments more, straining to hear, desperate to look. More, there was more. His cock strained against its confines.

"My child, are you...?" His words were cut off with a wet squelch as she planted two digits deep inside her pussy. She pulled them out slowly, then thrust them back in. Arousal dripped from her lips, slowly pooling on the wooden bench. A slight gasp and a pant answered him.

For a while, he didn't know what to do. He was more turned on than he had been in perhaps his entire life, and yet he knew this was wrong. Not only was this in the church where anyone could walk in and hear... he was her priest. There was power there. He hemmed over his position as he listened to the slick sounds of her fingers entering her pussy.

His cock twitched as three little gasps left her lips in rapid succession. Fuck.

He loosened his belt, the metal clinking across the mesh barrier. With as few moves as possible, he undid his trousers and pulled his cock out into the dark confines of the confessional. He was well-endowed, and his cock was heavy. It stood proudly, with a thick curve to the right. His foreskin covered half of his head, and he took it and pulled it down with a single pump of his fist.

She heard the clinking and nearly came right there. He was enjoying her without even seeing her. Her fingers moved faster, her palm applying pressure on her clit.

"I wish this was you, Father." She moaned across the partition.

Fuck. His fist pumped his cock. He sat leaned back against the wall, legs spread. His balls felt heavy as he fisted himself. His hand traveled up two fist lengths before heading back down and repeating the process. His hand swiveled back and forth in a rotational motion as he pumped, focusing on the ruddy head that had become sticky with pre-cum.

She whimpered. Her fingers moved with abandon, pumping in an out of her entrance, rubbing against her g-spot. Her arousal squished audibly and she moaned. She could hear her holy neighbor as he added his own wet sounds to her symphony.

They followed each other's voices. His grunts followed by her whines. She traced fast circles around her clit, and after she was sure he was following her began to tense, the fire in her core growing too wild. She covered her mouth with her hand as she cried out, releasing muffled moans and bucking into her slick hand. She trembled, her heavy chest heaving with labored breaths.

That was his undoing. He leaned his head back and panted as his fist squeezed and pulled at his own length. His heavy cock twitched, and he tensed, veins bulging as he approached his crescendo. His balls squeezed, and he released his sacred seed onto the wall of the confessional in large spurts. Cum dripped down the wall in thick drops.

Their pants mingled across the partition.

It may have been minutes, it may have been hours, Father Gray wasn't sure. But at some point, her heard a small giggle and a sigh as the woman stood. "Thank you, Father. That was exactly what I needed." Then walked out of the confessional.

Father Gray stood in a panic. He never got her name or saw who she was. "Wait!" He tucked himself back in as quickly as he could and burst from the confessional.

The church was empty, save for a single flame burning at the altar.