Feature Writer: datura48

Feature Title: Beneath the Cassock 1 — Confession

Published: 17.10.2020

Story Codes: Erotic Horror

Synopsis: The new priest is more than he appears

Author’s Notes: Warning — this story contains a religious setting and rituals the use of which some may find offensive

Beneath the Cassock 1 — Confession

Theresa entered the church and paused as she saw the tall form of Father Nicolo Curiel-Borromeo walking toward the confessional. His long, black cassock flowed behind him gracefully as he moved purposefully toward his destination. The irregular ripples and folds of the heavy fabric mimicked the thick, wavy, shoulder-length locks of his raven hair. Though he was across the sanctuary, the clicking of his shoes on the tile floor carried to her with each of his steady steps. She had come to confess her sins but he was not the person with whom she wanted to share her shame.

Many of the older parishioners resisted the new, younger priest’s presence for replacing Father Stephens—despite the older priest’s increasing senility—but she did not share their general hesitation to speak with him. Her reluctance stemmed from something else, something more personal. However, with communion happening the next day, she had to do it or explain to her husband why she could not partake in the sacrament.

After taking a few steadying breaths, she hesitantly made her way to the booth. Another surge of shame and embarrassment hit her just before she entered making her pause. Behind the door where the priest sat, she heard the hard soles of his shoes slide on and tap against the wooden floor as he got comfortable. Seizing on the fact that he was not yet settled, she turned away telling herself that she’d return later though she already knew that once she left, she wouldn’t.

“Do not be afraid,” she heard his voice say softly. “If you need help, I will guide you. I am here for you.”

Despite the deep tone of his voice, it was melodic due to its heavy Italian accent and Theresa found herself calming, though she still did not move toward the empty booth.

“If it helps, I remind you that I am bound to keep anything said just between us. No one else will know. Even I will not know who you are unless you tell me. Let me ease whatever guilt it is you are carrying.”

Hearing the father’s gentle, encouraging words helped strengthen the pull she felt on her soul toward the empty booth. With a pained sigh, she entered and sat. Both an instant and an eternity passed before he opened the small door between them to begin.

“Tell me what is wrong. What do you need to confess today?”

She relaxed slightly at the sound of his gentle, soothing voice. With her own voice trembling, she answered, “I have sinned, Father.”

“What have you done? What is so terrible that you hesitate even to confess it?”

“I have had impure thoughts.”

“That is not so bad,” he said kindly. “I am not saying that it is okay and that you should do it often, but it happens.”

“No. You don’t understand. I’m married and the thoughts—” Theresa took a breath thinking she’d be able to give voice to it but she still could not utter the words.

“Were of another man?”

A tear fell from her eye. “Yes.”

“Again, while it is important to respect the vows of marriage, a single fantasy—”

“It was more than one,” she interrupted.

Suddenly, the wall holding back the guilt gave way and a rush of words left her.

“I had many thoughts and…and dreams in the night. Some to the point where I…I…climaxed.” The whispered the word was full of her guilt. After heaving a breath full of her embarrassment, she added, “With your image in my head.”

“My image?” Father Borromeo asked with shock in his voice. “That is surprising, but not so much if you are a regular and attend some of my counseling or outreach sessions. People going through trials or pain in their lives often find comfort in those who help them. Again, I am not saying it is acceptable, but it is understandable.

“So these fantasies, to what do you need to confess besides their existence?”

Theresa did not answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was childlike with its shame. “That you touched me as only my husband should. And I liked it.”

“What did you imagine? What did I do? What did you do? You must admit it all.”

Quiet tears began to fall down her face. It was difficult enough for her to make the confession at all, but having to share the details of her sins with the man she had been fantasizing about made it even worse. However, she knew she had to do it for the safety of her soul. “It started with a…a…a kiss.”

When nothing else followed, Father Borromeo urged gently, “Is that all? It will help if you close your eyes. Close your eyes and tell me. Tell me what you see.”

Lulled by his soothing tone, Theresa allowed her eyelids to fall as she sat back on the wooden seat then slouched down in resignation in order to lay herself bare. “I was lying on my marital bed, my husband was sleeping next to me and you…you climbed onto the bed and laid on top of me as if it were your place. And I welcomed you. You kissed me deeply in a way that no man—not even my husband—ever has as you began to undress me. Once we were naked, your hands lightly ran up and down the sides of my body. I could even feel the drag of your nails against my skin.”

“I’m sorry if they hurt,” his amused voice seemed to purr in her ear. “I do prefer to keep them long.”

Theresa blushed. “They were fine. I liked it. Especially when you began to pull at my nipples. I could feel them digging into my flesh, but the pain only seemed to heighten my arousal. It made me want more.”

“Was there more?”

“Yes,” she said, ignoring the almost expectant tone in his voice. “You kissed your way down my neck and across my chest to my left breast, then took it into your mouth and began to suckle on it. I could feel your tongue rapidly flick over the nipple as you held it in your teeth.”

Hearing her gasp suddenly, Father Borromeo asked, “What? What is it? Keep your eyes closed and tell me.”

“Your hand. The one that your mouth replaced, it is…was between my legs. Touching, rubbing me.”


Theresa shivered. It felt like she could feel his hand lightly graze her stiffening clit. “I looked down, and…and…”


“You had changed.”

“Changed how?”

“You were no longer human.”

“Had I become an animal of some sort?”

“Horns,” she blurted out, completely embarrassed by what she was about to admit. “You had horns, sharp and long, curving upward and circling your head like a ram. Your legs, they looked like those of a goat but were covered in scales and you had cloven hooves instead of feet. There was a pair of reddish-black, leathery wings attached to your back. They were folded closed but looked huge and were capped with thick, pointed claws. Your eyes had become black. I can still see how dark they were, like twin black holes or bottomless pits that not even the brightest light could illuminate. They were empty of everything. I couldn’t even see the wetness of life shining in them. But at the same time, in the middle of them, there were small, pinpoint flickers of fire. They looked so far away, like campfires in the distance, but at the same time I knew—knew in my soul—that it was the eternal, expansive fires of Hell I was seeing. I knew I should have been afraid of the beast, of the demon I was seeing, the creature that you had become, but I wasn’t.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because you were so gentle, so tender,” she said fondly. “The way you touched me and kissed me. Heaven help me, I liked it.”

“You did? Even though I had become a demon?”

“I did. Even seeing your tail.”


Theresa shivered from the memory. “Yes. Oh, the tail. It was terrifying but at the same time arousing. It didn’t end with a sharp arrow like we have been taught a demon’s appears to be. Instead, it looked like a giant phallus with the uncircumcised tip of a penis at the end. I could even see the outline of the pointed crown through the thin skin. It was a phallus more than six feet long that swayed back and forth and scented the air with its musky scent. Oh, I was so afraid you would use it.”

“Did I? Did I use it?”

“No.” Theresa didn’t try to suppress the soft moan that escaped as she felt the stretching pain of penetration. “You mounted me as a man, as my husband normally would.”

“Sounds like I hurt you,” he said breathlessly.

“A little, but not intentionally or violently. It was so thick,” she said around another moan. “Your penis filled me. It pressed against my walls, spreading me so. I can feel it moving inside me even now.”

“Eyes closed,” Father Borromeo whispered as her eyelids began to flutter. “Tell me, did you like it? My cock inside you? Did it feel good?”

“Yes,” Theresa responded immediately and without shame, finding the priest’s words arousing despite the fact that she recognized she shouldn’t, that she should be offended and outraged by them. “I’d never felt anything like it. All the ripples and ridges, the thick crown, they all massaged me in waves as you moved it back and forth. And you were so deep inside me. I remember looking down and… It felt like… I thought…”

“How deep was I? How did it feel?” The priest inhaled slowly and deeply then let it out as a sustained sigh of satisfaction.

Involuntarily, Theresa’s back arched as she felt the long, hard cock push fully inside her and hold still. “Oh! I know it’s not possible, but… It felt like it was in my chest but when I looked down, there was still so much outside of me and it seemed to fill the narrow space between my legs. Yet, you were so deep, it was so thick. I feel it there. I feel it.”

“But you’re holding back. You want to enjoy it but don’t want to surrender to the temptation.”

“I don’t. I can’t.” She agreed but was thankful when she felt his hips resume moving. Sounding more like she needed to convince herself, she mumbled, “I love my husband. I love my husband. I should not have these thoughts.”

“But you do,” Father Borromeo whispered. “You do have these thoughts. And, yes, you love your husband but you want more.”

“Yes.” Theresa shuddered as she felt a tongue slowly move up the side of her neck and play at her ear.

“Eyes closed,” he reminded her gently. “That is the only way this will work. You have done well so far remembering and admitting, but we are not yet finished.”

Theresa moaned as she felt his sharp teeth latch onto one of her nipples and start to worry it. A hand massaged the other and she squirmed at the feeling of his nails digging into the soft flesh surrounding it. When the stiff nub was pinched between his thumb and forefinger then not too gently rolled between them, a quiet, but piercing squeal left her. The sound turned to a sigh when she felt his other hand slide between them to play with her clit as he continued to thrust into her. She felt him use the pad of his fingers to rub and slap it gently but she tensed with expectation feeling his long nails scrape against her flesh dangerously close to the sensitive protrusion.

“How many times did you think of me this way?”

Even though it seemed like his mouth was occupied with her breast, Theresa heard Father Borromeo’s velvety voice in her ear as clearly as if he had whispered into it. “Five times. Five times you appeared like this. Two times I used my memory and…”

“Brought yourself to climax?”

“Yes,” she whispered with renewed shame.

He matched the volume of her voice but his tone was conspiratorial and almost mocking. “Was it enjoyable? Was it the same as the other times?”

“No. And I cried afterward each time.”

“Because of your degradation?”

“No. Because I wanted to feel you again. I missed your touch and the feel of you inside me.”

“You missed me fucking you?”

Theresa flinched as if struck upon hearing the coarse word come from Father Borromeo. After a moment, she bit her lips and nodded slowly in answer.

“You need to say it. Confess.”

“I missed you inside me.”

“No,” the priest said harshly. “You must be honest.”

“I missed you fucking me,” Theresa said meekly, embarrassed to use such a word in front of the priest despite the fact that he had uttered it first. “I wanted you to fuck me again.”

“You missed my big, hard cock inside you pleasuring you like no man can?”

She moaned feeling him drive his hardness fully into her before he pulled back only to return it with more force. “Please forgive me, Father. I did. I missed your cock. I know they were just dreams and fantasies, but I’ve never felt such pleasure in my life and my husband has not satisfied me since. I continue to do my wifely duties as expected but I don’t enjoy it. I feel so empty without you inside me.”

“Would you succumb to me now? Even after admitting that it is wrong?”

“I would. Heaven help me, I would.”

“Would you give in to the temptation you feel and allow your body the pleasure you feel from me fucking you?”

She let her hips begin to roll, matching the determined thrusts she felt. After letting out another moan, she said, “I would.”

“And if I ordered you to come for me, would you do it? Would you share that forbidden pleasure with me?”

“Yes.” Theresa continued to breathe deeply as she felt the heat of arousal grow strong and become focused. Her hands flailed about for something to steady herself. She felt them land on a head of thick hair and, as they moved to grip the locks, she encountered the wide bases of a pair of horns and grasped them tightly. At the same time, her feet anchored themselves on the thighs of the figure thrusting into her, driving her phantom partner deeper.

“Open your eyes. Face your shame head on.”

Theresa did as ordered and let out a surprised squeal upon seeing the demonic form of Father Borromeo thrusting into her with purpose. With his lips latched onto her breast, he was as naked as she was. Against him, her hips moved just as resolutely but not under her control. It wasn’t that she was possessed, though she might claim that if asked. She had simply passed the point where she could stop her body from enjoying the encounter even if she wanted to.

Not breaking his stride, the priest pulled his mouth off her tit and smiled down at her as her hands moved from his horns to grasp at his back beneath his folded wings. “This is what you wanted, no?”

Theresa looked up and met the bottomless blackness and points of fire that had replaced the ice blue eyes with which she was familiar. His square face was just as handsome as ever with its thick eyebrows, strong jaw and high cheekbones, and his thin lips shone with wetness from sucking on her breast. Almost used to the demon’s appearance, her eyes moved across the bronze, rippled abs flexing regularly and his well-defined pecs wishing her husband had the same fitness model form. “I shouldn’t. I can’t.”

“No, you should not. But you do. Confess it to me. Tell me your truth.”

She had not seen his lips move but heard the faint whisper of his words ghost across her ear. A gasp left her as he thrust into her sharply. “I do. I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me.”

“Good. Release to me the burden that you carry. Come for me.”

Submitting to the order, her body stiffened then convulsed as she was wracked by an orgasm more intense than any of the others she had confessed to. Reflexively, her eyes closed against the sensation and she struggled to maintain the regular rhythm of her breath.

Nicolo felt Theresa’s pussy begin to convulse around his now stationary cock. His hard length swelled within her, filling whatever remaining space there was as it absorbed her erotic energy. Intense in its relative purity, a soft, slightly pained moan escaped him as his body dealt with the shock of it. A number of deep, steadying breaths followed as he rode the wave that fed him until it ebbed and was no longer nourishing.

Breathing deeply, Theresa opened her eyes and blinked in confusion upon seeing that she was alone in the booth. Her clothes were in place and even the sweat that had covered her was gone. Though she still felt breathless, it seemed it was a result of the memory of her sins more than because of what she had obviously imagined happened just moments ago.

“Admitting your sins and facing them helps you conquer their hold over you,” Father Borromeo said through the small door. “They are your weaknesses. Once you accept them and admit them you can move on. They no longer hold you back.”

As he spoke, Theresa could hear the priest shifting on the other side of the wall. His shoes clicked softly and erratically as he shuffled around surely trying to get comfortable in the face of her overtly sexual desire for him. She felt even more embarrassed now than she had before for having to admit to him her sin of lust with him as the object. And not him, but a demon that possessed his handsome visage. The fact that his voice remained steady and unbothered by her confession filled her with greater respect for him while also increasing her shame.

Father Borromeo continued, “I cannot remove the shame you feel, but I can help cleanse you.”

As he gave Theresa her penance, Father Nicolo Curiel-Borromeo folded his wings around his body and they melted and molded themselves to form his cassock. With the garment in place, he sat on his wooden bench and shifted his hooves on the wooden floor finding the way he had to place his legs awkward. While he situated his legs, he felt his tail flail about as it guided itself around his body. It fell along the outside of a leg under the robe, traveled down behind the ankle, then extended between his hooves onto the floor. Though the large, penile tip swayed lazily as it extended out from beneath his costume and his hooves were visible in the space where the garment didn’t touch the floor, he remained unconcerned about his true nature being discovered. Having just fed, he could easily deal with anyone who might come across him at the moment, however unlikely, though his horns had disappeared in case Theresa or someone else glanced through the partition. Beneath the robe, his cock remained hard and swollen from the lingering pleasure of feeding. The inhuman length extended from his crotch at a low angle with part of his shaft coming to rest against the edge of the seat below as it continued out into the space between his legs under the loose fabric. Glancing down, he could see the tip conspicuously tenting the heavy fabric just below the level of his knees. He suppressed a contented sigh as he settled in, satiated and as comfortable as he could be in the confined space.

While she still felt bad for what she had confessed to the priest, Theresa felt a weight lift from her shoulders upon receiving her penance. “Thank you, Father. And I’m sorry.”

“Do not worry, dear. Think nothing of it. It is already forgotten. Do not hesitate to seek me out if you need counseling or advice. And do return if you have more incidences of weakness. In my experience, this confession will not be the end of the immoral thoughts, however unbidden they might be. Remember, you are not alone. I am here to help you.”

As he heard Theresa leave the booth, Father Borromeo smiled to himself then checked his nails for any dirt. Upon hearing the soft footfalls of another young woman approaching the confessional, he smiled in anticipation. Being a priest was definitely going to have its benefits and might be worth all the work it took to possess this body. While being an incubus was pleasurable in itself, preying on the devout and taking advantage of them when they came in for counsel and repentance took the experience of feeding to a new level.