In the confession booth, Ana waited for Father Murphy to hear her confession. Her yellow summer dress on her dark, Hispanic body was a pretty contrast. A slit down the center showed the swell of her breasts and no bra. She wore no panties, either, leaving her smoothly shaven pussy open to the hot air of late summer. Black, open-toed heels with rings completed her attire. She felt sexy, aroused, and sinful.
The downtown Catholic church of Immaculate Conception was a beautiful building, but the air conditioning was not working at all. She began to sweat as she waited, and spoke the words she knew so well.
"I confess to almighty God
and to you, my brothers and sisters,
that I have greatly sinned,
in my thoughts and in my words,
in what I have done and in what I have failed to do,
through my fault, through my fault,
through my most grievous fault;
therefore, I ask blessed Mary ever-Virgin,
all the Angels and Saints,
and you, my brothers and sisters,
to pray for me to the Lord our God."
Then she did it. She stood tall, and easily let the dress fall to the floor inside the booth, where it lightly fell around her high-heels. Closing her eyes, she made herself breathe, and the terror she felt abate.
She had never done anything this bold. Not in a church. Her body gleamed with fine perspiration from the heat, her perfume filling the small space.
Then she heard Father Murphy in the next booth come inside, so she sat down, still naked, and touched herself.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was last Saturday."
"Ana, my child," Murphy replied, his voice strong and reassuring, full of vigor that only one in their late 20's or early 30's could show. "What is on your mind, child?"
She could not say it at first. Her mind locked up. Then she willed her voice to work, and the words came out
"My sins are great, father. I have not told everything."
And then she proceeded to tell him everything.
"You know about the one-night stand with a co-worker. I confessed this. But what you don't know is what happened after."
She told Father Murphy about how John Paul Pyke had found the video, and blackmailed her with it. About how he had used her many times for his own pleasure, and then pimped her out one night and let his friends throw a train on her pussy and ass all night.
And then she told him about how she had stopped Pyke, giving herself to Tom Hardy.
"And now I sit naked before you now, Father. For I have done all of these things, to try and get you out of my mind. It is you I lust for more than any other."
There! She had finally confessed her darkest secrets.
"Child, please put on your clothes," he whispered, his voice sounding strained.
"I will not, Father. I will sit her until you kiss me. Just one kiss. I am yours to use as you see fit."
"Ana! You cannot!" he said hoarsely. "You must stop this behavior. Has this, Tom Hardy hurt you?"
"Yes."
"Then you must go to the police!"
"Why? I liked it. That is my shame. My confession. Save me, Father. Help me."
A long silence. She knew what she had done. She was torturing a priest, pushing him backward into the flames of hell. He was struggling. Then he left his booth and came over to hers.
Ana found she was shaking. A thrill went up her spine. What would happen? The church was empty but for the two of them, a rare occurrence.
Father Murphy pulled the black curtain to the side and stared at her.
She rose to stand tall and straight, and nude before him.
His eyes scanned her body, and she could see the primal lust of a male taking hold of his intellect. He stepped into the booth with her, letting the thick curtain fall behind him.
"Please put your clothes on," he said.
"No! I have loved you since you were an altar boy, and I but a young teenager. All my life you have been the cause of my sinful thoughts!"
He pressed his lips together, his blue eyes seeming to glow in the dim light. Or maybe she only imagined it, for they could barely see each other.
"Saint Aquinas, give me strength," he muttered.
She sensed that his mind was going to win out, that his faith in God would triumph after all. She did not know how she sensed it, but it was there. He was about to back away, but she seized him, and kissed him.
That finally broke him, and he pushed her back against the wall, pressing his body against hers. She felt his erection grow, and the thrill of triumph. His mouth engulfed hers, their tongues touched and swirling around each other.
His hands felt up and down her body. He grabbed her ass, her breasts, and then bent down and suckled on a nipple, moaning as he did so.
She had to bite her lips not to cry out moan, already on the brink of orgasm just from this playing alone. She wanted his priestly cock in her so badly, to receive his eucharist of love into her ... to have his baby.
Then he pulled away, and held her firmly back against the wall.
"We will both burn for this," he said hoarsely.
In real life, or in the afterlife, she did not know. In 2017 did they still burn witches? She felt like a witch, a bruja of the llano of New Mexico.
"I don't care. Why would we burn for love?"
"Ana! I do not love you! Romantic love is an illusion. A modern invention based on sand and mud. I could love you, of that I have no doubt. As a wife. This is lust, Ana, you know this!"
She was crushed.
"You have excommunicated yourself. Your penance will be grave. Get dressed and leave, Ana."
Numbly, her unsated passion now turning to suicidal thoughts, she trembled as she put her dress back on, and then left the booth. Tears slid down her face.
But then anger emerged for a moment, and she turned back to Father Murphy. "I would be your wife, and give up everything."
"Would you? I think not. When you have come to you senses, see me next Friday night in my office for your penance. If you wish to receive the eucharist, you will come. If not, I will file your excommunication with the diocese."
With that, he turned from her and left, as a god might turn their face from one they had created.
