Speaker 1: It's September twenty third, and that means it's time for
Speaker 1: your daily fuck on Taboo Tuesday. The church is an
Speaker 1: echo chamber of silence and the faint, sweet smell of
Speaker 1: old incense and guilt. I'm not here for forgiveness. I'm
Speaker 1: here to free a caged creature. I've been watching him
Speaker 1: for weeks from the back pew, a wolf in goth clothing,
Speaker 1: admiring the most beautiful, tormented sheep in the flock. No,
Speaker 1: not a sheep, a fellow wolf forced to wear sheep's clothing,
Speaker 1: Father Michael. He's young for a priest, with sad, dark eyes,
Speaker 1: a jaw that's perpetually clenched, and a body that his
Speaker 1: black cassack can't completely hide. They see a man of God.
Speaker 1: I see a fucking, a hot and gorgeous man in
Speaker 1: a cage. I've seen the way he looks at the
Speaker 1: women in the parish, a thicker of desperate, repressed hunger
Speaker 1: that he quickly smothers with piety. He's drowning, and I've
Speaker 1: decided to be the sinner that finally pulls him from
Speaker 1: the water. I enter the confessional, the heavy wooden door
Speaker 1: closing behind me, with a soft thud. The darkness is absolute,
Speaker 1: save for the faint light filtering through the lattice screen
Speaker 1: that separates us. I can hear his soft, measured breathing
Speaker 1: on the other side. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.
Speaker 1: My voice is a low, deliberate purr. It has been
Speaker 1: my whole life since my last confession. He laughs, that's
Speaker 1: a long time. I smile. He's already not doing the
Speaker 1: formal priest thing. A pause and then he regains his
Speaker 1: composure and does do the priest think and what troubles you,
Speaker 1: my child? His voice, it's a deep, steady baritone that
Speaker 1: sends a shiver straight to my core. That's a voice
Speaker 1: that should not be wasted on sermons. Lust, Father, a powerful,
Speaker 1: overwhelming lust for a man I cannot have. Lust is
Speaker 1: just a simple version of love, and God's love is
Speaker 1: for everyone. He starts into his wrap, the practiced, hollow
Speaker 1: words of his trade. I cut him off. This isn't
Speaker 1: the kind of love God offers, Father. This is the
Speaker 1: kind that makes you ache. It kind of makes you
Speaker 1: want to get on your knees. For entirely different reasons.
Speaker 1: I can hear his breathing, hitch, He's listening now he's
Speaker 1: a good man, a beautiful man. But he's trapped, and
Speaker 1: all I can think about, all I dream about, is
Speaker 1: setting him free. I want to feel his repressed passion
Speaker 1: finally unleashed. I want to taste his surrender. The silence
Speaker 1: on the other side of the screen is deafening. I
Speaker 1: lean closer, my lips almost touching the rough wood. In fact, father,
Speaker 1: I have this fantasy that if that handsome, tormented man
Speaker 1: shoved his cock through the divire right now, I'd suck
Speaker 1: him until he came in my mouth, and I'd swallow
Speaker 1: every last trop as my penance. The air crackles with tension.
Speaker 1: I wait, my heart, a frantic drum against my ribs.
Speaker 1: This is it the moment of truth, my victory, or
Speaker 1: my failure. The siment stretches, and for a heart stopping second,
Speaker 1: I think I've lost. He's going to call me a
Speaker 1: Harlot or a Jezebel and throw me out of the
Speaker 1: church forever. Then I hear it a sound that makes
Speaker 1: my whole body ignite, the quiet, desperate rasp of a zipper.
Speaker 1: A moment later, the tip of his cock pushes through
Speaker 1: one of the carved clover shaped holes in the screen.
Speaker 1: It's beautiful, glistening with pre comb, a piece of forbidden
Speaker 1: flesh in this sacred space. I lean forward and gladly
Speaker 1: and hungrily take him into my mouth. A shuddering, desperate
Speaker 1: ground escapes him from the other side. He is mine.
Speaker 1: I worship him through the wood screen. My tomb swirls
Speaker 1: around his head. My lips create a perfect seal his
Speaker 1: all desperate, pent up need, and he tastes like heaven
Speaker 1: as I suck him. My free hands slips up my skirt,
Speaker 1: my fingers finding my own wet aching clit, the sheer
Speaker 1: blasphemost power of this moment. Pleasuring a man of God
Speaker 1: while pleasuring myself his holy space, becoming my personal playground
Speaker 1: is the most intense drug I've ever known. He begins
Speaker 1: to thrust against my mouth. His movement's frantic, his control shattering.
Speaker 1: I meet his rhythm, my own fingers, a blur, my
Speaker 1: arcasm building into a tidal wave of pure triumphant power.
Speaker 1: I come in a silent, shuddering convulsion, biting down on
Speaker 1: my lip to keep from screaming. My release is secret.
Speaker 1: I share only with him. My moans are what pushes
Speaker 1: away the last vestiges of whatever was stopping him from coming.
Speaker 1: He comes hard with a muffled roar. His hot comes,
Speaker 1: shooting from his throbbing cock and flooding my mouth. As promised,
Speaker 1: I swallow every last drop. He pulls back, leaving a
Speaker 1: hole in the screen empty. Once more, there's only the
Speaker 1: sound of our ragged shared breaths. I don't wait for absolution,
Speaker 1: I've already found it. I stand, smooth down my skirt
Speaker 1: and walk out of the confessional, my head hell high.
Speaker 1: He may have heard my confession, but I'm the one
Speaker 1: who just saved the soul