Isabelle 1844-33-CANDY Ext 464
The wooden screen between us felt like a joke as I pressed my thighs together, my bare folds sticking against the smooth of the kneeler. ” Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.” I began, my voice deliberately breathy .” I have been touching myself in the chapel, imagining your hands on my body instead of god’s, a true confessional desecration.”
Father Micheal”s sharp intake was audible even through the lattice. I could almost hear his heartbeat as I continued. “Last night, as I lay in my cot with my habit pushed up in my waist, my fingers circling my clit until I was dripping. I imagine you walking in, catching me, your cassock tented with arousal.”
Confessional Desecration
I leaned in closer in screen, lowering my voice to a husky whisper. “I pictured you grabbing my wrists, forcing them above my head as you tore open my habit. Your mouth claiming mine, your other hand roughly exploring my curves, pinching my nipples until I cried out, preparing me for this Desecration.” The silence was filled only by our ragged breathing. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being slowly lowered.
“I want to feelprayerinside me, Father,” I moaned. “I want to wrap my legs around your waist as you thrust into me, hard and deep, right here on the church floor, desecrating this holy place with our lust. As the wooden door swung open, I found Father Michael flushed and his eyes dark with lust, his erection straining against his cassock. ” The lord works in mysterious ways,” I whipered. He then pulled me to my feet and guided me to the altar. I’m blessed that my prayer will come true, so thankful for my confession.
Isabelle 1844-33-CANDY Ext 464
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