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Father Dowling: I Am Heartily Sorry (m/F,M/F)
by Uncle Mike

It was late on the evening of a First Friday, and St. Michael's was almost
empty. Father Dowling says it wasn't like that in the old days, before
Vatican II, but I wouldn't know about that.

All I get in the confessional nowadays is a lot of old ladies and little
kids, and none of them have much to confess.

I'd just gotten through with two old ladies whose worst sins were gossiping
about their neighbors -- and that wasn't what they'd come to confess, it was
what they'd come to do. In the cramped, dark booth the grilles on either side
didn't provide much ventilation, so with the warmth and the boredom I was
yawning every few minutes.

I may even have nodded off for a few minutes. At least I don't remember
hearing the door to the booth on the left opening, just the sound of a
fingernail rapping on the wooden grille.

"Father? Father Prestwick? Are you there?"

I blinked a few times and stifled a yawn. Then I recognized the voice and I
was immediately awake. It was Mrs. Klimaszewski.

I should explain. Carol Klimaszewski is one of the few exceptions to the rule
about only old women and little kids coming to confession. She's in her early
30s, I'd guess -- at least I'm sure she's not an old lady. She makes a point
of getting into my line for Communion every Sunday, and the clothes she wears
make it clear she's still young and firm. I've heard some of the other women
complaining about the short skirts and high heels she wears, but Carol
doesn't seem to care. And when I look down at her to give her the Host --
she's about four inches shorter than I am -- I can't help staring right down
her blouse, so I know she doesn't wear a bra and doesn't seem to need one.

I have to be careful not to stare too long, though, because I don't want Mike
to see. That's her husband. He's a big, beefy salesmen for auto parts, away
from home a lot. Maybe it's because he has to leave Carol alone so often that
he's so jealous. All I know is I wouldn't want to cross him.

As I slid open the panel covering my side of the grille, I tried to brush
away the thoughts of Carol's body. She bears a strong resemblance to that
actress, the one -- oh, that's it. Sophia Loren. Yes. And you can imagine it
wouldn't be right to think about Sophia Loren's body in the confessional. I
knew it would be tough, though, because her confessions usually weren't much
help. The last time she came, she confessed to having sinful thoughts about
a man of the cloth. I tried to cut her off, but she couldn't help giving me
all the details of her thoughts, too. I gave her 10 Hail Marys and sent her
off, but I was sweating like crazy.

This time she started off the usual way, telling me it had been a month since
her last confession. How well I knew.

Then she started talking about her sins.

"Well, Father," she said, "I'm afraid I have a big sin to confess this time.
Not just sinful thoughts, like the last time. Oh, Father, I'm so sorry for
what I've done. I feel I must confess it in detail to cleanse myself. Don't
you agree?"

She didn't even give me a chance to reply.

"It's like this, Father. Mike -- you know Mike, my husband? He's been gone a
week now -- oh, and it seems like forever! And he won't be back for at least
another week! I don't know how I can stand it! I just -- well, we women have
needs, don't you know, Father? I mean, we do!

"Oh, let's see, where was I? I get so upset. Oh, yes. Mike's been gone, and
I've been feeling a, well, a NEED, if you know what I mean. Really bad.

"So one day -- Wednesday, it was, about 4 in the afternoon -- it got so bad
I just couldn't stand it. I just had to do it. I missed Mike so bad!

"What I did was, I went up to my bedroom. I got one of Mike's shirts out of
the closet, one he'd already worn once or twice, so it had his smell on it.
And then I got on the bed with it. And I -- I started touching myself. My
breasts, my legs, even -- even down there.

"And it felt so good, Father. Not as good as when a man -- when Mike, I mean
-- touches me, but good anyway.

"Pretty soon I started taking off my clothes. Right in the middle of the
afternoon! Before you know it, I was completely naked. Not a stitch on. Lying
right there on the bed, nude, rubbing Mike's shirt all over my body.

"I remember, I took one of the buttons and pulled it back and forth on my
breasts, right on the nipples. They got stiff and stood out, you know how
they do -- oh, that's right, you're a priest, you wouldn't know. Well,
Father, you see, it's like this. When I rub my breasts, or get excited some
way, my nipples get hard and stand out just like little pencil erasers.

"And when that happens, sometimes I get wet, down there -- you know what I
mean. And that happened this time, too. I got really wet.

"So I touched myself there. Where my hole is, I mean? You must know about
that. How women's vaginas get all wet and slippery, and then we just have to
have something inside. That's how it was then. I had to have it!

"I put one finger in me, and then two! I was stroking them in and out, in
and out so fast, and my butt was just bouncing up and down on the bed, the
springs were creaking like crazy. I even put my thumb on my clitoris, and,
oh, Father! I think I came right then!

"Had an orgasm, I mean. Right on the bed! By myself! Oh, that isn't a sin,
is it? I mean, I know some people say you shouldn't play with yourself, but
that can't be a SIN, can it? Even priest must -- oh, I shouldn't go saying
things like that, should I?

"Anyway, that's not why I'm here. To talk about masturbating. Mine, I mean.
It was what happened next.

"After I came, I just lay back on the bed for awhile, my legs spread out,
juices oozing out of my cunt. Oh! I guess I shouldn't say -- oh, well, you've
heard it all before, haven't you, Father? You don't mind.

"I was relaxing, but not completely. I mean, I felt good, but like I said,
it's not as good as when a man does it. So I still had a NEED.

"And then the doorbell rang. I don't know what I was thinking, but I just
threw on Mike's shirt and ran right down to answer it.

"Do you know who it was, Father? It was the paper boy! Little Tommy Cornelli.
Well, he isn't so little anymore, he's almost, heavens, I guess, 14 by now. I
remember when we first moved in to the parish, Tommy couldn't have been more
than 7 or 8, just the cutest little thing, always looked like an angel in his
altar boy cassock -- oh, but I'm getting away from my confession, aren't I?

"Well, where was I? Oh, Tommy. He was collecting for the Trib, you know, and
we'd missed the payment the week before, so of course I told him I'd run and
get the money.

"So I did, but I'd left the door open behind me and it was so cold outside
that you can't fault Tommy for stepping inside. That's all he did, really,
just take a step or two inside to warm up.

"I'd run into the den to get the spare change Mike keeps in the drawer there,
and I was still counting out the quarters and nickels as I walked back to the
front door. I was so startled to see Tommy standing inside I dropped the
coins and bent right down to pick them up.

"They hit the wood floor with such a clatter! And they started rolling around
just everywhere, and I had to lunge after them one by one. I must have been
such a sight!

"Actually, I know I was -- a sight, I mean -- because when I got them all
picked up and I stood up again I noticed that Tommy was just standing there
with his mouth hanging open. I asked him what was wrong and he didn't say
anything, he just stared.

"That's when I realized it. Like I said, I'd just thrown Mike's shirt on when
I ran downstairs. Well, you know Mike, so you know his shirt's big on me, and
with the tails hanging down it really covered me up pretty well when I first
answered the door. But I was in such a hurry I'd forgotten to button the
shirt up, and what with running back from the den and chasing those coins all
over the floor that shirt had fallen wide open.

"So there I was, Father. Can you imagine it? Stark naked in front of Tommy
Cornelli.

"Yes, just stark naked. My breasts just bouncing practically in his face,
even. He could see everything.

"And he was looking at everything, too. I could see his eyes take me all in,
head to toe. When he looked at my -- down there, you know -- I could feel
myself getting wet all over again.

"And all he said was, 'Wow, Mrs. Klimaszewski.' Can you believe it? Still
calling me Mrs. Klimaszewski? Isn't that so darling?"

"I guess I should have just wrapped the shirt back around myself and sent him
on home. I know that's what I should have done. But I couldn't help myself,
Father. It had been so long since I'd had a man. Tommy isn't really a man,
not yet, but I could see a bulge in the crotch of his pants so I knew he had
what I needed.

"And so here comes my sin, Father. Instead of wrapping that shirt back around
me, I just took it right off and stood right there in front of that little
boy, absolutely nude. I think he gasped.

"I could see he was a little frightened, so I took control. I walked right up
to him and kissed him, smack on the mouth. I even used my tongue. And I took
one of his hands in mine and put it right on my breast.

"He was shivering a little, but it didn't take long before he was rubbing me
all over while I pulled off his clothes.

"That Tommy is quite a fine young man, Father. Not skinny, like some his age.
He's got nice muscles, and he keeps himself clean and he's -- he's VERY
mature, if you know what I mean. Heavens, it looked like he had a flagpole!

"And was it so very wrong, what I did, Father? I mean, it's not like Tommy
didn't want to. Really, if he'd ever said no -- well, if he'd ever said
anything -- I would have stopped right there. But he didn't say no. He didn't
say anything. And so I had him lie down on the couch, on his back. And I got
right on top of him, and I put my hole right over his pole, and I let myself
ease down onto him.

"Oh, Father, it was so good! I was so wet, he slid right in! And he seemed to
know just what to do. Of course, I did most of the work at first, sliding up
and down on his pole. But he got the idea right away and started humping his
hips right back up at me, burying himself inside me. It was wonderful!

"Can you imagine it, Father? Can you see what it was like? That young,
innocent boy pushing his pole right into me, over and over and over again,
deep into my hot, wet hole? And I was bouncing up and down on top of him,
screaming and yelling I don't know what, just having the time of my life.

"Even so he was so young, his cock -- uh, I mean, his pole felt so good. It's
true what they say, Father, that size doesn't matter.

"And it was so exciting to know I was his first. I got so hot thinking about
how he was a virgin. I think that's the best sex ever, being someone's first
time. I don't think I could ever say no to a man who said I would be his
first.

"Anyway, Tommy came quickly, but that was OK. I just got off of him and
started sucking on his rod, taking it all the way into my mouth, licking it
and sucking on it hard. Before you know it, he was hard again!

"That time I got on my back and spread my legs for him, and he put it into
me. It was even better than the first time, because he lasted forever. That
little boy just about wore me out, jabbing that stiff pole of his into my
hole over and over again. Can you imagine what he must have been feeling,
Father? Here he was, a virgin, and his first time is with a woman like me.
You can bet I showed him every trick I knew before we were through, and he
looked darn glad to learn them.

"Well, that's my sin, Father, and it wasn't really such a bad one, was it? I
mean, after all, my Mike is going to be gone for a whole 'nother week, and
you just can't expect a girl to last that long without some help. Yes,
that's right, he'll be gone all next week. I'll be all by myself."

It was tough to control my breathing enough to gasp out her penance. I'm
afraid I may have told her to say 10 Male Hairies. I didn't quite know what
I was saying. Carol is such a trial.

She seemed to linger in the booth for several minutes after I blessed her.
When she finally left, I collapsed against the wall and fanned myself for
several minutes. When I flicked on the light long enough to glance at my
watch, I saw that it was past time for confessions, but to be honest, I was
afraid to leave in case she was still out there, waiting for me. I just
turned the light off and huddled there in the dark. It seemed much hotter
than before.



I must have been there for a good 10 minutes when I heard the booth door
opening again. I was surprised to hear Sister Stephanie's voice coming
through the grille.

"Sister? Is that you?"

"Hi, Father Prestwick. I mean, uh, bless me, Father, for I have..."

"But, Sister, it's after hours. I..."

"Yeah, but I saw you still had the light on over your door. I was out all day
helpin' out a soup kitchen they're startin' up, and I didn't have time to get
back for confession, but I thought I'd just stop in for a prayer when I saw
it. I'm sorry if I'm keepin' you from something. I mean, I can..."

"No, that's all right, Sister," I said with a sigh. "You just go on with it.
This shouldn't take long, I presume."

And it shouldn't have. Sister Stephanie -- she insists people call her Sister
Steve, but I find that difficult -- is a bit, well, unusual, for a nun, but
she rarely steps far enough from the true path to have much to confess.

In fact, this time, she was through her list in just a couple of minutes. I
suspected that with Father Dowling she'd spend more time in philosophical
discussion, but she and I never had been very close.

Normally, after a confession, I just hand out the penance and bless them. But
I was still shaken by Carol's story. That's all I can figure out, anyway, to
explain what happened next.

You see, I asked Sister Stephanie if she was sure she had made a full
confession. She seemed taken aback by my question, so I tried to reassure
her.

"I'm not suggesting that you have intentionally avoided anything, Sister," I
said. "But it's my job to make sure. And certainly it is in your best
interest to make sure, too?"

"Yes, Father," she said, and then there was a little pause. "But I'm not sure
I know what you mean. I did think over things before I came in, like always.
I..."

"I'm sure you did. But there is nothing wrong with a little help. I'll just
ask you a few questions, and I'm sure we will get through this smoothly. Is
that all right?"

"Well, yeah, I guess..."

"Fine. Now, Sister -- Steve, can you recall ever wishing harm to anyone --
since your last confession, of course."

"Like I told you, I did have some bad thoughts about ..."

"Yes, you did say that. But that was just wishing that person would be caught
by the police. There is nothing wrong with wanting justice to win out. I'm
talking about wishing evil about someone -- someone who had done you wrong,
perhaps?"

"No, Father, I don't remember..."

"Not even some driver who splashed you with water at a curb? A parishioner in
a bad mood? No one?"

"Well, I don't remember, but that might have happened. But I'm sure if it
did, I stopped thinkin' it right away."

"Yes, but you see, just a few moments ago you were sure there had been
nothing at all. I think we should go on." I leaned against the grille, trying
to make out her outline amid the shadows. "Did you ever, just to yourself,
take the Lord's name in vain?"

"No way! Well, maybe -- no, that doesn't count."

I tsk-tsked her in gentle remonstrance. "Now, Sister, this has to be a full
confession."

"Well, I may have said the D-word once or twice -- to myself, I mean -- and,
you know, it might have had a 'God' in front of it -- but I didn't mean it.
Father, I don't mean to be arguing, but when I confess to Father Dowling we
usually talk about more, um, more -- oh, I don't know, more important stuff?"

I smiled in the darkness. "Yes. I understand. Something more important than
cursing the Lord's name. Well, let me think. Ah, this may work. Sister, did
you at any time break your vow of chastity?"

"Father!"

"Now, Sister Steve, you are aware that the vow is not merely one of physical
chastity. I am certainly aware of the heavy burden that vow is. Are you
certain that at no time you had any impure thoughts?"

"I wouldn't..."

"When that plumber came to the rectory last week, you seemed to linger over
your talk with Father Dowling. That wouldn't have had anything to do with the
fact that the plumber was a young, rather muscular man given to working with
his shirt off, would it?"

I could hear Sister Stephanie draw in her breath sharply. There was a long
pause.

"Well, I might have admired his, um, his physique -- but there's nothing
wrong with that, is there? I didn't do nothing." Her voice quavered.

"Perhaps not -- but how far did your admiration go? Did you admire him as a
specimen of art, or as a man?"

There was a thump against the grille; a wisp of hair came through the bars
and brushed against my forehead. "As a man," came the weak reply.

"I see. And did you just admire him, or did you have any thoughts about going
further?"

"No..." Her reply was barely a whisper.

"Nothing at all? You didn't imaging brushing your hands against his chest?
Stroking his arms? Placing your cheek against his?"

"No, no -- Yes!" She sniffed as if she were trying to hold back her tears.

"Now, Sister, remember, all sins may be forgiven. All you need do is give a
full and contrite confession, and I will help you do that. Gather your
strength, Sister. Shall I give you a few minutes?" She asked me to go on.
"Very well. Now tell me, exactly, what did you imagine yourself doing?"

"I -- I -- What you said, Father. And I thought about havin' his arms around
me, too. And kissing me -- he looked so strong, but gentle."

"Was there any more?"

"Do we really have to do this?"

I let the silence be my reply.

"I understand. Well, that was all, really it was -- for the afternoon, when
I saw him. But later that night, when I was tryin' to get to sleep, I thought
about him again. Only this time, I wondered what he looked like ..."

The pause stretched into a minute before she went on.

"... naked. Oh, Father, I know I shouldn't! But how can I stop? How do you do
it, Father? You know how things are today -- sex is all over the place! And
I'm not in any cloister -- though I hear even those nuns had their problems.
But I'm out there everyday, surrounded by all those pictures and movies and
stories and -- well, how do you do it?"

It seemed to be getting even hotter inside my little cubicle. I wiped a thin
film of sweat off my brow as I paused to think over my strategy. I was too
close to mess it up now.

I decided on a stern approach for now. "We are not here to discuss me,
Sister. Please remember that. I am here as your confessor, not your friend.
Nothing you say to me can leave this confessional, so you are to be
completely open and honest. Don't hold anything back. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, Father."

"Now. You said you thought about what that man looked like naked. What were
you doing when you had those thoughts?"

"Huh?"

"You were in bed, you said. Thinking of a naked man. Did you touch yourself?"

I heard a faint whisper and demanded she speak louder.

"Yes!" she said, the word ringing against the well-polished wood. "Yes, I did
touch myself."

"Where?"

"Father!"

I knew I was at the very edge now; too harsh and her native stubbornness
would flare up; too gentle and we would back away, never to return. I
couldn't decide what to say. Miraculously, silence proved to be the perfect
choice.

"I touched myself ..."

I held my breath.

"... down there. On my cu-- my vagina."

"What did it feel like?"

"It felt good. I was so hot, Father. I rubbed myself and it got all wet.
I..."

"Tell me everything."

"I even put my fingers -- inside. Oh, it was so good. I knew it was the wrong
thing, but I couldn't help it, I swear! Once I started rubbing I couldn't
stop. My hips started bucking up and everything was just a blur. I touched my
breasts, my nipples, I even put my wet fingers into my mouth and sucked them
off one by one!"

By now I had a raging erection. As quietly as I could, I unzipped my pants
and slid them and my shorts down around my ankles. While Sister Stephanie
went on, graphically describing her frenzied masturbation, I began to stroke
myself. Soon I was near ejaculation, but I stopped. I had something better in
mind.

As she paused to take a breath, I broke in to her monologue.

"That's very good, Sister. It's good that you are telling me this. There is
no shame before God. Now, tell me, what you did that night: Did it satisfy
your needs?"

"It was good, Father. But -- no, it did not. I still think about what it
would be like -- to be with a man."

"That would be better, would it? To have a man? To have his penis inside
you?"

"Yes."

"Are you thinking about what it would feel like now? To have a man's hard
penis inside your vagina, filling you up, pressing into you again and again?"

"Yes! Oh, yeah!"

"It would be good, Sister Steve, wouldn't it? You can feel that man now,
pushing up your skirt, tearing off your panties, pressing his fingers into
your sex? Feel that hard penis spreading you apart, driving into you, deeper,
deeper! Feel it, Sister Steve! Feel it!"

There was a loud, sharp clattering noise. And then a shaft of light shot into
my cubicle as the door was flung open. Almost silhouetted in the opening, I
could see Sister Stephanie. She was in her usual habit, a dark dress and
jacket, a white turtleneck, her veil perched high enough on her head to
reveal a shock of auburn hair. As the door closed behind her I saw her peel
off her jacket and kick off her flat-heeled shoes.

I reached out for her in the darkness. In such close quarters I couldn't
miss. I pulled her to me tightly, pressing my lips to hers. Our tongues
quickly met and we grappled together, suckling each other's neck.

Sister Stephanie straddled my lap. Her hands discovered my already erect and
eager penis, and she grasped it and stroked it gently, using my pre-cum as a
lotion.

Lust was bubbling inside me stronger than any emotion before. "I -- can't --
wait," I managed to gasp, pawing underneath her dress for her simple cotton
panties.

"Then let's not," she whispered in my ear. She stood up just long enough to
pull off her panties and then sat on my lap again, hoisting up her dress so
my penis rode along her smooth, flat stomach.

Faster than I had expected, a strong musky odor rose around us and I felt a
hot, slick liquid oozing out as Sister Stephanie's virginal opening ground
into my lap. With a wiry athleticism, she lifted herself up and placed her
wet hole atop my burgeoning penis. She sank down -- agonizingly slowly -- and
I felt her lips spread around my shaft and close tightly on it, gripping it
in a slippery velvet vise. Partway in, I felt a sudden resistance, and from
a long-ago class in the seminary I remembered a bizarrely colored anatomical
diagram showing female reproductive organs, with the thin hymen guarding
virginity.

Even as the memory came, though, Sister Stephanie rose up and crashed down
onto me, sending my penis ripping through her as she landed in my lap. A
sudden, sharp pain on my shoulder startled me, until I realized that it was
she, biting me in her pain.

Perhaps it was the combination of that bite, the loss of my own virginity,
and the long minutes of anticipation that had brought us to that moment, but
scarce seconds went by before I felt a warm gush of fluid erupt within me.

An orgasm! I was mortified. Sister Stephanie had just begun to recover from
the opening of her hymen and I could feel the muscles of her vagina beginning
to ripple against my now shrinking penis. I buried my face in her shoulder,
and I believe a few tears trickled down onto the soft, dark cloth there.

"Sister, forgive me," I said quietly. "I could not control it. I..."

Without a word, she slipped off me. I pulled my head back, letting it drop
with a thud against the wall of the confessional. I closed my eyes, expecting
the lights of the church to flare against them any second as Sister Stephanie
crept away.

Instead of leaving, however, she did a wondrous thing. Kneeling before me, in
what must have been a very awkward position in that tiny cell, she again took
my penis in her hands. It was a shriveled, sorry thing, and I felt shamed to
have her touch it.

But then she leaned against my knees and I felt the warm wetness of her
tongue sliding around the tip of my shaft. Before I knew it, my penis was
responding to her ministrations, growing larger even as she opened her mouth
and took me inside.

Larger, ever larger my penis grew, while Sister Stephanie virtually inhaled
its length, keeping her lips pressed tight around it while her tongue played
up and down, around and around. So intense was the feeling that I pressed my
hands onto her veil, trying to push even deeper into her hot mouth.

Soon, though, she lifted her head. I groaned as my penis fell free of her
mouth, but it went wanting for just a moment. There was a rustle of cloth,
and then I heard Sister Stephanie's dress fall softly to the floor. A snap,
and her bra followed.

Dark as it was, my eyes strained to make out her form. Just a thin line of
light slipped under the door of the booth, but long hours in the confessional
had allowed my pupils to grow accustomed to the dimness. I could make out,
though fuzzily, the slim, shapely curves of the young nun before me. Her legs
waved before me as she peeled off the black stockings she always wore, and as
she turned to maneuver in the cramped space I saw faintly the gentle swell of
her breast -- though that may have just been my imagination drawing pictures
on the shadows. As my eyes moved upward, though, I definitely saw a swatch of
white across her head: she still wore the demure veil of her order as she
boldly placed her hands on my shoulders, lifted herself up and once again
impaled her body on my now rock-hard penis.

Words cannot describe the incredible feeling as her tight, hot vagina closed
around my shaft, and then almost at once lifted off and plunged down again.
In an instant I took up the rhythm, thrusting upward to meet her again and
again.

For all the emotion of the moment, though, I could not help but ask the
question that was burning in my mind.

"Sister Stephanie," I said, in between thrusts, "where did you learn to do
that -- with your mouth?"

"I wasn't always a nun." She punctuated the statement by grinding herself
down onto me; that felt even better and I moaned in appreciation. "I grew up
in a rough neighborhood, remember?"

"Yes, but -- but you were a virgin!"

"Yeah, well, how do you think I managed that? Any halfway decent-looking girl
around was gonna get hit on by some big bruiser sooner or later. So when my
turn came, I talked him into letting me do him with my mouth, instead. Only
I hadn't counted on him telling all his friends about it, and all of them
wanting in on the deal, too. So by the time I got good enough at fighting to
keep them away, I'd gotten pretty good at something else, too."

She leaned against me. The sweat now pouring off our bodies in the little
cubicle lubricated us as her small, but firm breasts, the nipples quite
erect, rubbed against my chest. She began to tease me with her tongue,
flicking it in and out of my ears, nuzzling my neck, tantalizing but never
quite kissing me. After a while I fought back, driving my penis into her
harder and harder until I had to hold her tightly to keep her from bouncing
off. Our passion clearly wore away any remnants of clerical reserve, and I
fear we uttered words never before used in that sanctuary.

"Fuck me!" Sister Stephanie shouted, in fact, several times. I dare say I
said as much, or even worse, if that's possible. I really don't remember
clearly. Just the feel of her slick walls sliding up and down my shaft, over
and over, each time sending a new shiver of ecstasy from that sensitive skin
clear through my entire body.

I was astounded to find that this time, my orgasm seemed ages away. Several
times I thought I was on the brink, but the sensation would get so intense
that I couldn't stand it and I would have to squeeze Sister Stephanie to me
tightly, holding her down while i recovered. That seemed to have a delaying
action, and many, many minutes went by and still I had not yet -- cum, I
think they call it.

But Sister Stephanie began to moan louder and louder, her profane words
dissolving into incoherent grunts as she rode me faster and faster. And then,
all at once, she became as rigid as a plank -- and then exploded into a
quivering tremor, and stiffened again. She went on like that for a minute or
two before she calmed down, and admitted under my questioning that she had
indeed had an orgasm herself. I gather that is not always the case with
women.

In any event, she seemed to be exhausted by the process, and though my penis
was still quite enlarged she lifted herself off and eased herself onto the
cool tile floor. Her breathing was quite heavy -- as was my own, I admit --
and she said that she needed air. I don't know if she was thinking clearly at
that point, for she opened the confessional door, crawling on her stomach out
toward the cool, clear air of the church proper.

The breeze that swept in as the door opened was indeed refreshing, but by
now my body was under the complete thrall of my penis, which was not yet
satisfied. I believe it got even harder and longer, in fact, when the church
lights allowed me to see the pale, smooth skin of Sister's body, the rounded
mounds of her buttocks, with the dark black stripe of her veil adding a very
tantalizing touch, plastered as it was by the sweat to her back.

Inexperienced as I was at such matters, I wasn't sure what I was thinking
would work, but my lust drove me onto my knees and I grabbed Sister
Stephanie's thighs, spreading them apart and pulling them around my waist.
Startled, she clawed at the smooth tiles briefly, but as the tip of my shaft
made contact with her sodden vaginal opening she relaxed and I slid in
easily.

Kneeling on the hard tiles was somewhat uncomfortable, but fortunately I had
had much experience with that through long years in the Church. I was able to
ignore the pain and concentrate on the delightful sensations as I again
thrust deep into Sister's body, kneading her sides, clutching at her breasts,
feasting on her sensuality.

At last I felt a burning sensation within, and again the warm blast of fluid
jetted through my penis and spurted into her. Twice, and once more, my penis
throbbed as a gush of semen squirted out, and then I collapsed onto her.

"That was great," Sister Stephanie murmured, lifting her chin onto her hands
and shifting to take some of my weight off of her. I slid a hand to her
breast again, giving it a grateful squeeze in response.

"Are you two going to lie there all night?"

The familiar voice boomed above us. We both looked straight ahead first, and
noticed what must have been there for several minutes at least -- the blunt,
black shoes of the pastor, Father Frank Dowling. I shuddered as my eyes
lifted, knowing that I would see a hateful glare in his eyes.

But before I got that far, my gaze was arrested halfway, as I saw his meaty
fists fumble and at last take down his pants.

But that part of the story is for Father Frank to confess.

    

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