Confessional booths are kept dark for a reason. It gives the confessor a sense of security because between the screen separating the two rooms and the low light, it’s almost impossible to see who’s on the other side. Even so, more times than not, I know who the person is just from their voice. Many of them come to my weekly sermons. I always make it a point to get to know my congregation, so I’ve spoken to them all outside of confession. When they do come to confession, I ignore the recognition and give them advice and offer penance based solely on their transgressions.
That’s what I’m doing right now. Or I will be once the next person enters the booth and reveals their sins. I sit and wait patiently, a rosary clasped tightly in my hands. The door to the room next to mine clicks open and a pinch of light filters through the slats of the screen. I keep my eyes pointed forward, and a second later, the door clicks closed.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I’m ashamed to admit, this is my first time visiting confession.”
I recognize the voice right away, and both my mind and body reacts. Two nights ago, after I left Jersey, I spent an hour kneeling before the cross, asking God for forgiveness. The next day, I confessed my own sins to a fellow priest, and he offered penance. I lose all of my progress with just the sound of her voice. My shaft is already growing in my slacks, and my mind is conjuring up scenarios. Ones in which I’ll be once again praying to cleanse.
Why does this girl affect me so much? What is it about her that takes me off my righteous path?
I shake those thoughts away and come back to the moment. Jersey is here for a reason, and despite my sinful thoughts, my purpose here is to help people.
“What has brought you to confession for the first time?”
“Well, it’s kind of embarrassing,” Jersey says. “I’m kind of nervous to tell you.”
I look over at the screen, barely making out her shadow, and wishing I could see more. Would her cheeks be pink with embarrassment? Is she nervously twisting her hands in her lap? Is she biting her lip like she did two nights ago?”
“I’m not here to judge you. Only God has that right. I’m merely here to offer guidance and a chance to repent.”
She stays quiet for several long minutes, in which time I work at trying to calm down the appendage in my slacks.
My efforts are wasted when she begins speaking again. Not only from hearing her voice, but also by what she confesses.
“Two nights ago, there was this man. A very attractive man. He saved me from doing something I loathe. When I went home, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. In fact,” she lowers her voice, but moves closer to the screen to ensure I still hear her, “I thought about him when I went to bed. The thoughts were so vivid, I couldn’t help but touch myself.”
I realize how much trouble I’m in when I catch myself reaching for my cock. Gritting my teeth, I use the hand holding the rosary and press the heel against it, both praying for almighty strength and also wishing for her to continue talking.
“What—” I cough to clear my throat. “What kinds of thoughts?”
Hell and damnation. What am I doing? I should be discouraging this behavior, not asking her to give me details. Now that the words are out though, I can’t find it in myself to regret them.
I can hear the smile in Jersey’s voice when she answers. “I kept imagining what he would look like under his clothes. Did I mention he’s a priest? But he doesn’t look like any priest I’ve ever met before. I’ve seen the tattoos peeking out of the cuffs of his sleeves. I wonder what they look like, and how much of his body is covered in ink.”
My eyes move to my hands where a sliver of ink can be seen on my wrists. Both of my arms and chest are covered in multiple tattoos. I even have some on my thighs. I had them all done before I decided to dedicate my life to God.
“I have another confession to make, Father,” Jersey says, her voice dropping into a sexy purr. “Do you want to hear it?”
My lips are moving before my brain registers exactly what she said. “Yes.”
“This priest has caught me taking things from his church. But only things I really needed. What he doesn’t know though, is I haven’t only been taking things, but I’ve been watching this priest too.”
My cock jerks against my hand, and I sin even more when I begin rubbing my palm against it. I squint my eyes, trying my best to see behind the screen barrier.
“What do you mean you’ve been watching him?” I ask in a hoarse voice. The thought of Jersey watching me sends shockwaves of pleasure through my body.
“Sometimes I stand outside the church, out of view, and wait for him to appear. I like looking at him. I really like the way it makes my body feel.”
“And how does he make your body feel?”
Jersey giggles, and I feel it in my cock.
“Are you sure you should be asking me these questions, Father? It doesn’t seem very priestly.”
I grind my molars together. She’s right. No real priest would dare ask these kinds of questions. I should be leading her away from these thoughts, not encouraging them. But Lord help me, I’m apparently weak when it comes to this woman, because I want to know more. I want to know it all.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t be, and God will punish me later for it. But it doesn’t change the fact that I still want an answer. How does watching the priest make you feel?”
I lean closer to the screen when I hear something that sounds like a soft moan, wondering if it’s my imagination. I realize it’s not when it comes again. My cock fills the rest of the way with blood, and I’m seconds away from undoing my slacks and pulling it out.
“It makes me wet in places it shouldn’t.”
Her whispered confession has a deep groan crawling up my throat.
“It makes me want to drop to my knees in front of him and worship what he hides behind his clerical clothes.”
“Jersey.” Her name slips out with a growl.
“Then after he’s filled my mouth with his holy seed,” she continues, undeterred, “I want to lay him down and ride his mouth until I’ve covered his face with my sinful juices.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, jerking my pants open. My hard cock falls in my hand, and I begin stroking it.
I hear shuffling on the other side of the screen, and when Jersey speaks again, I know she’s moved closer.
“What are you doing over there, Father? Are you hurt? I heard a groan.”
The little minx knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s enjoying putting me in this situation. It’s not entirely her fault though. I led us here. I could have stopped her from continuing.
“There’s no need to ask questions you already know the answer to,” I tell her gruffly.
Her moan reaches my ears, tempting me to lose all control and leave my side of the booth to enter hers. I still have a fraction of common sense left to not throw away twelve years of my life by ending my celibacy. What I’m doing at this moment is bad enough, but it’s not irreversible yet.
The rosary gets tossed to the floor as I use one hand to stroke my aching cock and my other to tug on my balls. Besides cleansing myself during a shower, it’s been many years since I’ve touched myself in this manner. I do so now with visions of Jersey on her knees in front of me, her mouth opened wide as I guide my cock into the warm depths of her mouth. I’d fill both of my hands with her hair to keep her head still until I reached the back of her throat.
“Wesley,” Jersey moans. “I’m so sorry.”
She may wish she was sorry, but she’s really not, because I know she’s only feet away from me doing exactly the same thing I’m doing. And that thought brings on a whole new set of images. One of her sitting in a dark confessional booth with her hands between her legs. Her fingers sliding between her slick folds, pumping one in and out of her while she uses another to rub her clit.
I want to be sorry too. This goes against everything I’ve believed in for the past twelve years. But no matter how wrong it is, I continue to manipulate my cock.
I look over at the screen with slitted eyes. “Tell me, Jersey. What would you do right now if I were to slip inside that room?”
Her husky moans come just before she says, “The first thing I’d do is kiss you, because I’ve wondered what you taste like.” Her breath hitches. “Then I’d turn around and lift the skirt I’m wearing, showing you just how wet you make me.”
A pearl of precum forms on the tip of my cock. Using my thumb, I smear it around the head. Hissing out a breath at the sensation, I demand, “Then what?”
“I’d beg you to fuck me. Oh, God, Wesley,” she moans. “Hard. I’d beg you to fuck me hard. So hard I’ll never forget you were there.”
“Shit,” I grunt when my balls draw up and an intense sensation starts at the base of my cock. “What in the hell are you doing to me?”
It was a rhetorical question, but Jersey answers anyway. “The same thing you’re doing to me.”
Locking my lips together to hold back my shout, my orgasm hits in a ripple of euphoria I haven’t felt in longer than I remember. Even before I went celibate. Cum jets out of my cock, landing on my lower stomach. On the other side of the screen, from the low noises Jersey’s making, I know she just found her release too.
I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes as I catch my breath. I expect a surge of guilt to come at any second, but it never does. All I feel is relaxed and sated, and regretful. Not because of what I just did, but because I didn’t witness the look on Jersey’s face when she came.
I don’t know how long I sit there, but I notice the room beside me is eerily quiet. Sitting up, I look through the screen as best as I can. When I see no movement, dread drops like lead weight in my stomach.
Pulling a tissue out of my pocket, I wipe away my sins from my stomach before I shove my softening cock back in my pants. I get to my feet and stuff the tissue back in my pocket before making sure I look presentable.
Only one person is occupying the church when I leave the confessional. I’m thankful they chose to sit on a pew on the opposite side of the booths. I don’t want to think about what I would be facing if anyone heard Jersey and me.
I jog toward the doors at the back of the church and fling one open. I don’t know why I’m going after Jersey. I simply can’t stomach the thought of her leaving after what we just did. She and I need to talk.
Walking down several steps, I look around, searching for strawberry-blonde hair. My shoulders slump in disappointment when I don’t find her. Something tells me she won’t be back. To take food or to visit my confessional.
Just before I turn away to go back inside, a blur of long blonde hair grabs my attention. A woman in a sky-blue dress is jogging down the street. I don’t know for sure if it’s her or not, but something compels me to follow.