Time To Confess, for Fetish Friday
Religious Confession Themed Erotica by Cara Sutra
The cathedral was awe-inspiring. We’d held back from the tourist party that day, had only tagged along with the crowd to enter surreptitiously. Confession booths were such convenient places for two girls to snuggle down, confess secrets of their own and await the time when darkness within the ancient, religious building matched that of the outdoors.
By the time dusk came and the sunlight faded through the stained glass, arched windows, I was twisting the delicate silver cross around my neck with frustrated impatience. Surely everyone must have left for the day now, the caretaking Father and his helpers plus any day visitors to the famous cathedral. She smiled at me in the rapidly fading light.
“Soon, my darling. It will be playtime soon.”
I tingled afresh from throat to crotch and I felt my white cotton good girl knickers dampening all the way through at the central apex of my thighs, where it stretched tight across suddenly flushed labia and a hardening clit.
I’d wanted to be a naughty girl for such a long time and surely this was the naughtiest thing ever. At 16 I hadn’t done as much as many of the more worldly girls out there, but since meeting her at Sunday school she’d brought me somewhat up to speed. She had been placed there to help ‘mend her ways’. ‘They’ thought she needed help to change. She thought she needed something else.
The things she’d told me about had almost melted my cross pendant into my flesh, with sizzling wanton desire. So sinful. But so good. She was older than me by a few years, had been with other girls.
She’d told me she loved the innocence of my lips, when she had first kissed me, a couple of weeks ago. She told me she was wondering if my other places tasted as innocent. She said she wanted to be the one to corrupt me. I’d shivered and stood rooted to the spot, turning from my usual pale to blood red with her words. She had a way of making everything sound so… dirty. But I wanted it all, and she knew it too.
My thoughts were brought abruptly back to the now with her fingers curling around mine, which were tight around my cross. Holding my hand in hers, she moved them both upwards to tilt my chin upwards, so I had no choice but to look at her. She leaned over and kissed me, remaining slightly too long on my lower lip and sucking it, hard. A squeak escaped my throat, and she giggled.
“Time to play, my darling. I hope you’re ready.”
I nodded, trying to appear confident, while my insides shook with nerves. We clambered up from where we were huddled together in a girly mass on the cold floor, one warm spot the sign of sin that had sat there for the afternoon.
Pulling me up with her, we opened the booth into the low lit, massive space filled with wooden pews, tall candles – a couple of which were lit – and down the far end, the altar with an enormous cross and our Saviour behind, looking down on proceedings with His expression perfectly combining mercy and sorrow for humanity. I wondered at what He would think soon. At what His eyes would soon catch sight of.
We removed our coats and laid them over one of the pews at the back of the cathedral, before making our way down the side towards the front. She led me with a firm tug of the hand, her hand in mine, making sure I didn’t follow my steadily increasing second thoughts and dash back to the comparative safety of the confession booth.
She was dressed all in black. Tight black trousers perfectly showing off her hourglass silhouette, deep V front black sweater proudly boasting developed breasts unlike my tiny peaks. I’d dressed like she’d told me to; my soft cup training bra under a freshly ironed white shirt, tucked into my short pleated plaid skirt, over the knee white socks teamed with shined, flat black Mary Janes.
Without the safety of the long black woollen coat, I felt so exposed. My thighs were showing, in a church of all places! I was so definitely going to hell. At least I’d be going in style. I shocked myself with the rebellious inner voice that piped up. She was such a bad influence. I was hooked.
We reached the altar and she grasped me by the shoulders, turning me and pushing me backwards until I could feel the cool stone against my calves and back. She didn’t even have to say anything. I somehow knew what she wanted and I was glad she didn’t say anything beyond that look, it made it somehow ok, it meant this could all be a dream. It wasn’t my fault. She was doing it to me. It wasn’t my fault. I kept repeating it like a mantra in my head, a new hail Mary for this wanton Catholic schoolgirl that was falling from grace without so much as a look heavenwards.
The mantra was overlaid with another, seeping in from the vaults of my mind; take me, take me, take me…
Grabbing the backs of my thighs, she leaned in to crash her lips against mine and kissed me violently. I squeezed my eyes closed, grateful for the sudden darkness behind my eyelids, removing the sight of Mary behind, cradling her boy child and disgusted at my behaviour. She smiled against my lips, like she knew what I was doing. She was enjoying it; enjoying corrupting this innocent girl. I was enjoying it too. The late night fantasies all coming to life. I’d been fighting against it for so long. How can something that feels this good be wrong? It didn’t make sense.
Her cool hands moved up the backs of my thighs, against my hot yet goosepimpled flesh to hitch me up on the altar. I looked up and He looked down on me. I would surely soon need His sacrifice, His forgiveness.
She took a moment to look me up and down, admiring her prey.
“Very nice, my darling. I approve. You did well.”
“Thank you…” I squeaked, before she shocked me again with her fingers to my cross pendant, tracing the T outline, pressing it into my flesh.
She let her finger trace slowly downwards, unbuttoning my top button and slipping her fingers inside the shirt folds to feel the edge of the soft white bra underneath. She let out a sound half delight, half need – all passion.
I had my hands clasped to my sides… not daring to move in case this was real. She unbuttoned the shirt front slowly, one by one, then once all undone, slipping the two sides apart to expose my tummy and embarrassingly flat bra and chest.
Her fingers took their time travelling up around my navel and teased by feeling under the bottom hem of the soft bra, sliding from side to side, before her hands moved gently over the surface just skimming my nipples with the cotton barrier between. If they weren’t stood to attention before, they were diamond hard, rose coloured pellets now.
She moved away from my small breasts and turned her attention to the edge of my pleated skirt, beneath which my thighs pressed together fearfully, nervous of her intentions and nervous I would cause a small puddle to form beneath me on the altar if I relaxed for even a second.
She wasn’t having any of it. Lifting the hem by a couple of centimetres exposed even more of my down covered, soft, cream coloured thighs, which she then proceeded to loosen from each other by way of one finger stroking up through the centre and finishing with a firm finger tip on the moist white cotton found at the top. She grinned.
“You’re nothing but a horny little slut, aren’t you. You want this as much as I do. Say it. Say how much you want it!”
“I… I do. Want it I mean. I’m just scared. I do want you, though.”
“Shh… baby. It’s fine. Nothing to be scared about. I won’t hurt you. Unless you want that too.”
She smiled wickedly again, her white teeth flashing at me in the candlelit, silent space. She put me in mind of a big cat surveying her next meal. Her finger had moved away from my damp knickers. I missed it already. What was I turning into? What was she turning me into?
Pulling my legs apart, her face moved to my thighs, softly placing her cheek against my inner thigh and inhaling my scent. I knew she could smell my need for her; I could, from where I was. I flushed with shame.
Her deft and experienced fingers moved upwards to creep underneath the sides of the front of my white knickers, teasing the front of my most intimate area and letting her discover the soft hair there. The padded flesh seemed to rise to her touch; then I realised it was my hips lifting from the altar surface to try and draw out her contact with my skin. I couldn’t help it. She was taking her time and my body wanted it all now.
Rounded fingernails drew themselves down the thinnest part of my skin, where my thighs meet my pussy. Still underneath my knickers, which were still in place, she drew her finger around to slide up the by now, slippery slit and withdrew a glistening finger. She sucked off the juices and smiled again.
“You taste so good. Fresh, young and sweet.”
I couldn’t say anything in response, but she didn’t need me to. Her fingers hooked round both sides of my knickers and pulled them downwards, underneath my bottom and down over my thighs, down to my ankles and pulling them off with a flourish. She let them drop to the floor.
My thighs were trying to meet again, so stop the religious air being tainted by meeting my 16 year old virgin pussy directly. It was to no avail, she stopped me with a firm hand on the inside of each thigh.
I still had my shoes and long socks on. I lay there, shirt unbuttoned and white bra out to the air, silver cross flashing in the flickering candle light with Jesus looking down on me in despair, as she took her fingers, moved my lips apart and French kissed me. Down there. Her tongue… felt like nothing else. My fingers in the dark of night with unspoken fantasies didn’t even come close to this.
As quickly as she lapped up my juices, direct from the source, more came flooding afresh. One finger slipped up inside my tight entrance, while she gently sucked on my hard, pulsing clitoris. Her finger curled inside and worlds shattered inside my head. Nothing mattered anymore, time didn’t even exist. It didn’t matter where I was, I needed this. I needed it all, and now.
Another finger slipped in, both fingers curled in a beckoning gesture and cycling one then the other, together in that slippery, tight fleshy chamber. Tongue tip circling my clit now, while her other hand had travelled up to seek out a nipple above, my nipple still covered by the thin white bra material, which I was soon cursing. She didn’t go underneath though. Just moved from gentle rubs to eventually finding the small, rock hard nipple and pinching it between two fingers as I clasped both hands against my mouth to stop the noises in my head from making it out to the world.
Three fingers and she was fucking me. Fingers and tongue, tongue lashing swirls against my clit and expertly catching the juices that escaped around my battered lips. Soothing their violent penetration with tongue in flat strokes around her fingers inside me, then up again to suck hard on my clit and back down, underneath, teasing and fucking and licking and sucking, while my nipples were ravaged one at a time and I almost burst from the screams being kept within my chest.
I saw the light. Quite a few times over the course of the night. I found a new Saviour in her and she took me under her wing and showed me another way.
It was only when finally we scurried home in the light of early morning, back to our own beds, that I remembered my soiled knickers still on the floor beside the altar.
I knew I would be seeing the inside of that confession booth again very soon.
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