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It was the Saturday before Christmas. As the new guy in the parish, it became my duty to man the confessional, so here I was, sitting alone in the semi-dark when I heard the door click and the swish of a dress to my left. Then… nothing. “Can I help you?” I asked.

“Father Tim?” came the tentative reply.

“Father Tim has been transferred. I’m Father Edward.”

“Do you know where he went?” Her voice was deep, husky, that of a middle-aged woman.

“I’m afraid not. I can hear your confession if you’d like.”

"Well, if you really want to,” she said as she launched into a litany of sins, most of them carnal in nature. I must admit, I did find her confession titillating. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has only been a week since my last confession. I have been with a different man every night, sometimes two. I can’t help it. I love the feel of a cock sliding in and out of my cunt. ”

Being new at this, I was somewhat alarmed. I glanced through the screen and saw her skirt hiked up and her hand in her panties, fingers plunging in and out of her pussy. “He got behind me, grabbed my titties and fucked me like a bitch in heat, slamming deep and hard.” As her narrative got more and more detailed, her breathing became more and more labored. “I begged him to cum inside me, to breed me.” It was obvious that she was working herself up to an orgasm. In the silence of the confessional, I could actually hear her fingers sluicing in and out. It put thoughts in my head that should not have been there. I am ashamed to admit it, but it made me hard.

“There’s no need for this," I said, interrupting her.

“Oh, yes there is, Father. If I don’t cum, I might explode. Please help me.” She pulled her hand from her panties, and I watched as she brought it to her lips. “Mmmmm!” she hummed as she sucked the pearly juices from her fingers, before plunging them back in her glistening pussy.

“There must be a better way than this, my child,” I said, approaching panic at the thought that she might loudly proclaim her orgasm to the entire church, embarrassing herself and ending my career as a priest just as it was beginning.

“Ohhh fuck, that feels so good. I think I’m gonna...gonna cum.”

Her moans got louder, longer. I bolted from my seat and opened the door to her confessional. There she was, legs splayed, fingers churning, mouth open, ready to scream. I dropped to my knees, scurried forward and kissed her, covering her mouth with mine, just as she reached the apex. Swallowing her ecstatic groans, I could feel her tremble as her orgasm rippled through her body.

She grabbed my hands, placing them on her breasts. I could feel her turgid nipples through the satin of her blouse. Pulling her tongue out of my mouth, she murmured, “Taste me.” Her dripping fingers went from her exposed pussy to my lips, painting them like lip gloss. I automatically ran my tongue across my lips. Amazing. Exotic. Delicious. I opened my mouth, capturing her fingers and sucking them clean. Never before had I tasted something so captivating, so intoxicating.

Removing her fingers, she pushed my head toward her crotch. “Want more?” she whispered.

I didn’t resist, letting her guide my face into the mass of curly red hair surrounding her cunt. Her natural musky scent hit my nose, making me giddy. I couldn’t think straight. I pushed my face into her lust dampened bush. My tongue seemed to have a mind of its own, snaking out and furrowing between her cunt lips. God, it was delicious! I rubbed my face in her, wallowing in the nastiness, reveling in her sex, drinking her up. Her hands were locked into the curls on my head, her thighs tight against my ears. I felt her tremble through another orgasm. Before I had the chance to realize exactly what I had done, she pushed my face away, stood, dropped her panties to the floor, stepped around me, and said, as she walked from the confessional, “Thank you, Father. Merry Christmas! See you next week.”

I picked up the dripping wet panties from the floor of the confessional, turned and said, “You forgot your…”

Lifting the garment to my nose, I heard her voice echoing through the empty church, “My gift to you, Father. Keep them! Something to remember me by.”

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