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