
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.”









