========
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Mike36 Father Dowling mF MF
From: fr582@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Max S. Wojtylak)
Date: 19 Aug 1996 02:37:29 GMT



FATHER DOWLING: I Am Heartily Sorry

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.



