Chapter 1 - FORGIVE ME FATHER, FOR WE
“Who's a good girl?”
“I am. I'm your good girl daddy. Fuck me till my legs go numb”
“Fuck, I'm gonna cum in this pretty pussy.”
“Father Cole.” I got startled immediately as I pocketed my phone. “What are waiting for, the mass is about to start.” I immediately removed my ear pods from my ear before following Father Benedict.
I know what you're going to say. A priest watching porn in his holy vestments right before going to preach, what message am I trying to pass along.
You can't really blame me, everything had been going smoothly before she came along. It all started as a normal confessional where everyone came and spilled their darkest secrets. I'd give them a piece of advice and a scripture to read.
But she…, she was different.
I knew it right from the first day she entered the confessional, “Forgive me father for I have sinned.” she'd slur. But I knew that she wasn't really sorry.
The last time she came, we almost crossed the line. Her fingers were on my collar, her breath hot against my neck, and it took every ounce of my remaining grace to pull away and kick her out. I’ve been losing my mind ever since. So yeah, I was watching porn. I needed a distraction, a quick fix to burn off the tension before I had to face God and a hundred parishioners.
As I stepped out onto the altar, the holy water on my finger felt like ice. I cleared my throat, forced myself to look out at the congregation, and my heart stopped dead in my chest. She was sitting in the front row.
Throughout the entire Mass, she didn't look away once. When I raised the holy bread, my hands shook so badly I was terrified I’d drop it. Every time I looked down, she was watching me with a smirk that told me she knew exactly what she was doing.
It was time for Holy Communion. The parishioners formed a line down the center aisle, and my heart dropped when I saw her stand up. She stepped right into the queue, walking slowly toward me.
When she finally stood directly in front of me, she didn't look down respectfully like the others. She looked me dead in the eye as I reached out to place the holy wafer in her hands, her fingers brushed against my skin, lingering for a second before pulling back.
After the mass she was gone, for the next few days she didn't show up for mass or show up anytime I was in the confessional.
I tried to erase her from my mind. I tried to pray the temptation away, but every time I closed my eyes, all I could feel was her touch on my fingertips.
I tried my best to be the perfect priest. I skipped meals, spent hours kneeling on the hard stone floors praying for deliverance, and deleted every single piece of filth from my phone. I actually believed I had won, that I was finally clean, but I was an idiot.
It was my turn to man the confessional.
The church was empty and the inside of my wooden booth was pitch black. I sat back against the leather cushion, letting out a long, exhausted sigh finally, a sense of peace.
Then, the heavy wooden door clicked open. But it wasn't the door to the penitent's side behind the screen. It was the door to my side of the confessional. A dim lighting flooded the cramped booth before the door clicked shut, plunging us back into the dark. The faint scent of her perfume instantly filled the tiny space, suffocating my prayers.
Before I could even tell her to leave, a warm, soft hand pressed firmly against the center of my chest, sliding right over my clerical collar.
My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't see her face in the pitch black, but I could feel her body heat radiating against mine in the cramped space, our knees brushing together.
"What are you doing?" My voice cracked under the weight of the temptation.
I grabbed her wrist, intending to push her off me, but her skin was warm and my grip ended up lingering instead. "You cannot be in here. This is sacred ground. Get out."
"Forgive me, Father," she whispered, "But I didn't want to talk through a screen anymore. I wanted to see if your heart beats as fast as mine when I'm close to you."
"Leave," I begged, but the word lacked any power.
I was gripping my rosary beads in one hand so tightly the metal dug into my palm, while my other hand was still wrapped around her delicate wrist.
Outside, a sudden crack of thunder shook the wooden booth, followed by the heavy, rhythmic drumming of rain against the church roof. The storm had fully arrived, trapping us together inside the dark.
Before I could order her to leave for the second time, her lips came crashing down on mine. I tried to push her off, I really didn't but her tongue slid into my mouth driving me insane.
I should be ashamed of myself, after days of fasting and intense prayers I still folded like a piece of paper the moment she came close to me.
My hands, which were supposed to be joined in holy prayer, betrayed me completely. They moved on their own, leaving her wrist to bury themselves deep into her hair, pulling her even closer until there wasn't a single millimeter of space left between us.
I drank her like a dying man in a desert, her lips were more intoxicating than any holy wine.
She let out a soft whimper against my mouth, her body melting completely into mine as she shifted, straddling my lap right there on the narrow leather cushion of the booth. The friction of her dress against my heavy vestments made me groan the sound echoing in the cramped space.
Every single vow I had ever taken was burning to ashes around us, and I didn't care.
Suddenly, her hands tore away from my chest and reached down, her fingers gripping the bottom of my robes, pulling the heavy fabric upward to get to my trousers.
Then the heavy front doors of the church opened, the sound echoing through the back of the nave. We both froze instantly, our heavy breaths fanning against each other's lips in the dark.
"Father Cole?" a voice called from outside.
It was Father Benedict. His footsteps began to echo slowly down the marble aisle, heading straight toward the confessional area.
"Cole, are you still in here? I saw the lights were completely out, but the side gate was unlocked..." My heart stopped dead in my chest.
She was still straddling my lap, her hands tangled in my robes, her chest heaving against mine. If Father Benedict pulled back the curtain to check the booth, we were completely finished.
