The air was cold and dark. Soaring high stone walls met 100 feet above the floor to form a ceiling. Stones, so hard and so unmovable that they hadn’t been moved in 500 years. A few pale beams of light entered through the mosaic windows high above. The long benches were from wood darkened to a black from the years. A sole candle flicked its flame with the drafts of the room to light up the tormented, barely naked, bleeding body on the cross.

A sound of dull shoes and a heavy body carried through the cavernous, empty interior. The sound echoed back around the loud bearing pillars. And the dragging sound of a robe muted out the little sounds of echo after their eights reverberation. A burden loosened itself in a sigh from a big belly. The rings of the confession booth curtain rubbed against the wooden rod as they were pulled apart.

“Aye!” a sharp scream pierced through the dignified, timeless space. “That was sharp! It burns. Oh, it burns! What was that?”

“It must have been an old nail, father,” said a sensuous, female voice. There was a little snicker in her tone like it was a jest.

“Hoo! You are early dear! Usually, nobody comes at all to confession. You must have been waiting,” said the father searching for the nail in his seat.

“Do you know why that is?” asked the unknown woman pointedly.

“Religion is fading. The TV corrupts the youth,” answered the father ready to go into a fist-shaking outbreak.

“No, father. This church was never meant to be popular. Who would build such a huge church next to a hamlet of fifty people in a swampland? Even if all the people within fifty miles at the time of its building would have huddled in here, it would be empty,” lectured the female voice with an icily steady rhythm.

“That’s true,” said the father dumbfounded.

“This church was built over one of the seven gates of hell. Its purpose is to seal hell closed. If you knew, you would take your vows more seriously,” continued the unknown woman.

“My dear, what brings you here?” asked the father trying to assert himself with a stern voice.

“I will have sinned, father,” said the woman in a hushed and moist voice.

“What is your sin, child?” asked the priest, falling into his routine.

“Adultery,” said the unknown woman.

“With whom did you commit adultery?” asked the priest.

“I will have committed adultery with you,” said the woman matter of fact.

“Child, that’s a sin you will never have to worry about because it won’t happen. Why do you keep speaking of the future? Sins can only be forgiven for the past.” The father’s voice was irritable and annoyed, yet his body made no sounds of moving at all.

“Have you taken a look at whom you are talking to?” asked the woman.

The window that divided them did not open. “I cannot move my hands,” gasped the father.

“Good. I was getting tired of all the talking,” said the unknown woman.

The dry knock of a hard leather stiletto heal stepping onto the bare stone rushed energy into the room. The tight leather skirt gave a reluctant growl of the strong fabric rubbing against each other. With a white shirt, blood red lips, and eye sockets so dark that no light escapes escaped for the sparkle of vibrant blue, she strutted out of the confession booth and ripped open the father’s side. Night had fallen. The church was pitch black except for the lone candle flickering on the altar. A relaxed, slumped body and eyes widened to bare the white so deep that one can tell the roundness of his eye balls. The golden cross on the black rope was quivering.

“Why? Why can’t I move?” yelped the father with spit flying from that mouth that had it creases pulled down deeply in terror.

“The burn, your highness, do you remember the burn of the prick? Isn’t it like your dentist says? It’ll sting a little, but don’t worry. Relax! It’ll all be fine. Isn’t that how he says it? And you belief him each time?” said the unknown woman toying with her prey in a self-assured stance of a hunter’s certain kill.

“The donation jar is under the table. You can help yourself!” begged the father.

“Oh, you think I want your little money? No, no, I want your cock!” said the unknown woman with a triumphant smile in your voice.

“See, your cock is so pretty,” she cooed while she pulled up his robe and dragged the tighty whities down to his ankles. The little worm with its uncircumcised mushroom flap was nestled in the center of a curly brown bush.

“You mustn’t be scared, or it won’t want to come out and play!” instructed the unknown woman with the patience of a first grade teacher. Her white shirt was unbuttoned below the bottom of her bra. The sides of the shirt opening up revealed a delicate sliver of center boob. She reach in to lift them out. The pink full nipples were on display to the father a mere inches from his face. She lifted one of the right to his lips and pressed it against the lips that were fighting to stay pursed. And then a little tongue slipped out to taste to nubby pearls, the delicate smooth skin and the squishiness of a good gummy bear – candy – such seductive candy – such delicious mouthfeel.

“Taste, father, this is all yours!” She reached for his penis to test the blood rushing into it, to see that little mushroom head rise above its wild forest into a towering spear to impale anything and anyone.

Now, it was the father’s hard panting that filled the cathedral with a quiet yet ever-reaching insistence. He struggled to calm his breathing, yet it burst out of him uncontrollably in hard bursts. He begged, “Please, please,” and neither was sure if he begged for mercy or for her to lower her pussy on this towering mushroom, the king of the wild forest.

The sound of a sharp zipper rushed through the cavernous hall. The black leather dress fell to the side to reveal her fleshy, pale ass and that flowery cunt, like curtains of a flesh eating plant, ready to devour. With a long plunge, she rode her cunt all the way down the mushroom spear until the head was behind her belly button. The wetness, moisture, and goo enveloped his priestly penis. The both fought the breath hard that all the sexual tension had brought up. Two hearts were pounding. For a moment, there was a pause like the world came to a standstill. They were taking in the act that they were committing.

“Please, please, don’t stop,” begged the father in a high pitched sound.

With gentle softness, the unknown woman rose her body and lowered to create the soothing rhythm of a lover rowing a boat across a romantic lake with vines hanging from the boathouse. With each thrust down, the father felt a joy that was as unbelievable and beyond his imagination as it could be. Tears started running down his cheeks for all the precious joy that he was feeling. A joy that he had believed, he’d never have his life, a gift that he was so willing to give anything for, including his life. With another quiver of his eyelid, another pearl of a tear dropped down on his cheek to start that path down the cheek.

The unknown woman paused with her pussy fully down on his rod, her pubic bone pressing against his. She got a little vial out of her shirt pocket. It had an elaborate and decorative silver lid. She undid it. There was a dropper inside. She let a drop of the clear liquid fall onto the back of her hand. She carefully sensed to how it felt and rubbed it in.

“Your holy water has lost its holiness for you have sinned. It won’t be long now,” said the unknown woman calmly.

The father paid little attention as he was absorbed by all the details of her cunt around his forest king, the anticipation of those delicious feelings on her ride down, and then the anticipation coming to reality. And her smell, that feminine smell was so delicious. Though, he couldn’t deny that slowly building sound that increasingly disturbed him. It was two steps as heavy as that of an elephant followed by a long drag of a very heavy stone across the ground. Such a laborious sound.

“What is that? Do you hear that?” asked the father alarmed trying to fight his way out of the fog of the boudoir.

“That is Gorgor, the arch demon. I told you this cathedral was there to seal one of the seven gates of hell. And downsizing has left only you imbecile to guard it. For five hundred years, we’ve waited to break through. You might as well enjoy the fuck because it’s too late,” said the unknown woman with a condescending laugh.

She rode him harder, slamming down her body to hit their pubic bones together like two goats crushing their antlers during mating season. Her whole spine undulated to rush the most delicious feeling on their chase towards the orgasm. The priest could feel an orange light rising behind the unknown woman. There was an intense heat like standing in front of a fire. His mind numbed from the erotic throws, and all he could do was moan in surrender to all that is delicious in this world.

She pressed his head against her chest, really pressed his nose so hard that it almost broke. Her kegel muscle squeezed hard around her. He squeezed his penis so hard that it almost burst with the blood squeezed into it to become that hard-hard ball. All that tension gave way to his seed shooting into her belly in pulses, one pulse after the next. And after that was over another tormented pulse like the contraction of his entire being surrendered to her to lay down in your womb.

The orange, flaming light behind her ebbed. So, did the sound of the footsteps, and the drag. The hit lifted its gentle fingers of his skin to let the cool stone air surge back.

She lifted her body of his already declining penis. When she did, a big splotch of cum fell out of her and onto the ground. She tidied up her attire. With decorum, she stepped back into her side of the confession booth.

“Father, I must confess adultery,” she said matter of business as if nothing had happened.

“The lord forgives you,” said father with a subdued voice.

“Now, that our little affair is bound to your vow of silence, you mustn’t tell anyone about what had happened,” the unknown woman got up. She removed the syringe from the father’s upholstery. And walked out of the church with a smile.

The father still couldn’t move. He was left in silence to contemplate what happened while he listened to his own cum that had pooled at his feet as it slowly dripped out of the confession booth onto the stone floor – dip, dip, dip.

THE END