Absolution

Note: This story may be offensive to Catholics. It messes with convention and blatantly contradicts and challenges the Catholic Church. It also presents a Priest as a masochist and a sinner. If any of these things offend you I urge you not to read this story

Special Thanks to SimonBrooke (found through the volunteer editor program) for being my editor on this story.

I couldn't help it. I wanted to just let him be my friend. We have good conversations about intellectually engaging topics. But I have a need for confession and punishment, and I find myself so often wanting to tell him my sins. I'm paranoid he'll find out, so I monitor myself. If I start talking about bad things I've done I stop myself as soon as I realize it. It comes out of me so easily; my subconscious mind does what it thinks will earn me his merciful correction.

I long to go down on my knees and unburden my heart, that's part of why I'm not Catholic: because I know I'd use confession to avoid facing the severity of my sins. He says I could be Catholic because I guilt well. I guilt well; I'm a guilt magnet, so I know how to dish it. I suspect he is a guilt magnet too, and a bit of a masochist as well. He continued to apologize to me for a minor slight even after I told him I forgave him: gave a full acknowledgment of missing the mark, a confession. When I said again that it was ok he said "good," but I knew it was flat. I think he wanted to suffer first. And I so want to give him what he wants.

Does he long to go down on his knees too? And if so, for another Priest? For another man? For his eroticized God? Or maybe for me?

I would gladly hear his confession and offer him absolution. Does he objectify me too? Size me up, figure I like giving pain to people who truly want it?

Objectification: a huge sin. I committed it against him. He's sinned against me. ...Lord help us to forgive those who have trespassed before us.

"Bless me father": my trembling voice, humbled by the power I've just handed over to him. It's a guilt that can only be cleansed by his stern voice and his punishment: by a gift of pain I long to receive from him. Drink my blood, father, scorch my flesh with the Lord's justice. Please--I beg of you!

And if you would be so kind as to unburden your heart to me--to let me help you feel forgiven--let me give you pleasure that you've denied yourself--bless you with my sin. Let me hurt you; hear you moan in pain and pleasure and gratitude, absolved or somewhere closer to it. In this way, am I still Catholic? Still beating the pagans? Still longing for a perverse experience of the confession? Still needed the blood of the lamb and to give and know the base pleasure of punishment? Still longing to suck the Priest's cock? Still laying down for the patriarchy to trample all over me?

This is another of my sins. My body is not a temple. I am so ready to have it tortured. I am so ready to give it to you, knowing it's just for a moment; knowing it's a sin against my self-image, and committing it anyway, turning my back on the Lord. Can you save me? Or offer me a way by which to achieve salvation: right now?

Bless me Father, I have sinned, I will sin again. I long to sin and I love to sin. Bless me Father, for you have sinned, you will sin again. You long to sin, I can see that quite clearly just now. Bless me father, I am about to sin. I am about to unzip your pants, and you are not going to stop me. I know you won't. I've always known.

His knees aching from the floor I make him kneel and wait on until needles shoot through those knees. He is not allowed to look at me: must keep his eyes downcast.

"Bless me father." He's trying to conceal the fact that he's shaking, but I can hear it in his voice. I can feel those words have come from all throughout his body and mind. He gasps at the shock of my hand hitting his face. Did he not imagine I'd hit a Priest? Well he's not a Priest. He's a scared little boy in need of correction.

"Bless me Mother," he quickly corrects himself, "for I have sinned." This last word so low I can hardly hear it.

"What?"

"I've sinned." "Louder!"

"Bless me, Mother," he trembles, "for I have sinned." He's practically had to shout to obey me. He hears himself say it loud and clear, and it shames him. I'm going to make him face his own words.

"It's been--"

"I don't care how long it's been since your last confession," I cut him off abruptly. "Don't be in your last confession, be here before me."

"Yes Mother."

"Tell me your sins, child" This command is meant to humiliate him, he's older than I am, and he's a man: he's supposed to have power over me in the church, though we both know that's wrong; he knows he is not above me.

"I lust in my heart," he says, finally. "I know I am...am so close...oh God, I'm so weak."

"We're all weak," I answer. "None of us is without sin."

"Then why?" he asks. "Why confess to you, Mother? I'll just sin again." He knows I'm just mirroring back the words he's used with me. He just wants someone else to say it.

"To let your sin go. So that you don't repeat the sin in your mind."

"But...please Mother. I don't want to let it go. It's just been too long. I can only stand so much!" Finally the real confession: not just wandering thoughts of sin, but intentions, knowledge of the sin. He's fighting to hold on to that part of him that doesn't want to break his vows but his grip is slipping and he knows it. This is why we're here. This is what he hopes I can give him: faith in himself, faith in his faith and faith in his God.

What I know and he doesn't is that he is going to commit this sin. He is going to be back in confession. He is going to lose his faith. And God and I are going to bring him back, as he's done for so many others.

"I know", this is where he's asking me to take control and be strong and sure in the face of his doubt, "but your sin is still wrong in the eyes of the Lord." "You have to serve penance. Lie down on the floor on your stomach."

He does as commanded so quickly I feel like he must have said goodbye to his last Mistress 10 minutes before I got there. Or maybe he just needs this too much. I'm going to use a wooden ruler and a cane, as he would do on me if this were Catholic school a generation ago. I doubt he's old enough to have used one himself, unless he did so recreationally before entering the priesthood.

First, though, he needs to be taught some humility. I step in front of his face. "Turn towards me," my controlled tone instructs him, "and open your eyes." He does so. My 4-inch heels are right in his face.

"I'm going to walk all over you like you have walked all over the Lord's will." He cringes and betrays his fear with a low moan. He must have thought the heels were just for effect: the click on the hard tile floor meant to establish the authority he's handed over to me. But when I get up on top of him, his moans aren't apprehensive or fearful: they come from that mixture of pain and pleasure stirring in his belly. I know this because I've moaned this way, when I've been lucky enough.

"Get up" I say, "Kneel over the alter." That's where he dishes out Jesus every Sunday. That's his pedestal, and I'm transforming it into a piece of profane punishment furniture. I pick up the cane and swing it thorough the air a few time, while I slowly circle his body.

Smack mmph!

Suddenly I bring it down hard across his ass. He represses his moan as well as he can, but a small squeal still escapes his lips.

After a few seconds the next will land on his upper thighs, and the next his shoulder blades. He's good at controlling his reaction, but I know it will only take a little while to get him screaming and trying so hard not to move to avoid the blows. This will happen in his body, but his mind will fight against it. I know: I've done it myself. "Do you like that?" I ask; knowing full well his cock is so hard it hurts.

"I...mmph...I'm grateful, Mother Superior." This infuriates me.

"Turn over," I say this lazily, not letting myself betray my anger. He does and I see the hard-on I knew was there. "I am not your Mother Superior." I sit on his face and slap his nipples with the ruler as I say it. His tongue flirts with my cunt: is it breaking his vows? "Lick it," I command him, "This is my flesh. Take it and eat it." His tongue is a soft serpent. He's so good I have to wonder if he hasn't been practicing.

"I am" smack

MMPH

"not a" smack " fucking nun" SMACK!

He moans as he licks my clit, having to control his reaction and concentrate his pain inside if he is to avoid hurting me. He is not going to hurt me: he won't let himself.

"I am" SMACK "a woman-Priest" SMACK "ordained by" SMACK "the church" SMACK "that's finally" SMACK "seen the" SMACK "error of" SMACK "leaving women" SMACK "out of" SMACK "the priesthood" SMACK, "you women hating" SMACK pig" SMACK!

He moans whenever I insult him. I think he's learned his lesson but his tongue feels so good I need to cum, so I kiss and lick his nipples while he finishes. His strokes betray his submission: sweet, not sharp and not as quick and light as if he were taking control of this. His tongue comes down decisively over my clit, making love to it, like it was Jesus' clit or something. Maybe it is: this is my blood. He laps up all my juices until I cum hard, thrusting against his mouth.

I lick and suck on his nipples so they'll stay sore for a while. That last line must have hurt him. "I'm so sorry," he says as soon as I climb off of him. "I am so sorry! I don't hate women, I just slipped up, please Mother..."

"Turn over again." Is all I say. No I will not forgive him just now.

"I asked if you liked it." I continue to cane him. "I could see when I had you flip over that you do."

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Do not be sorry for that," I answer. "Being sorry for that is a sin! Don't you think your sins hurt the Lord?" He struggles to answer, now he trying so hard not to scream as I bring the cane down in five successive strokes, concentrating on his ass now.

"Yes, Mother. I know that they do."

"Then why does it turn you on when I punish you for them?"

"Because my urges don't obey the Lord, only my mind struggles to do so against them. I can't stop myself from wanting it, only acting on it...and because I need it so badly," he answers, defeated. He needs it badly: this punishment, and his tension released in orgasm, through the human-touch he won't let himself have.

"And now tell me why you've commit these sins?"

"I'm weak," he repeats.

"Human weakness is reason, not an excuse. You've earned this."

"I know." His humble tone tells me this is true.

I can tell from the way he says this that he's softly crying now. From the pain? From having to face the sin? I'm not sure but I think he has what he needs for it to be undesirable for him to sin again.

"This isn't anything like the pain you've caused the God you claim to love so much," I add, continuing my ministrations.

" I know," he repeats.

"Thank you," he starts to say. "Thank you, thank you," and I can hear his gratitude, and I know it's genuine, because I've felt it too. He's screaming; he is struggling to submit. He held out much longer than I thought.

He breaks out in fresh tears, that final acceptance. So I stop and make him sit up, so I can hold him and stroke his cock until he calms down.

"No," he says, "don't." But it's a weak "don't." I can tell he doesn't want it to stop. He sighs and lets me touch him like he hasn't been touched in a long time. I don't know how long. I lay him back down and lick his frenulum a little at first, then move to take him in my mouth.

"Stop," he sighs. "I can't." But he doesn't move to stop me or repeat himself. He sighs. He accepts this absolution and lets me make love to him.

He starts to moan as he entwines his hands in my hair. He's not rude, not selfish, doesn't thrust or hold me down. I touch him lightly with my tongue and the walls of my mouth. I suck him gently, creating a vacuum. He cums violently—crying out and clenching his fingers at his sides—and it's the most cum I've ever swallowed. He tastes sweet like he takes care of himself: like his body is a temple.

When I return in the morning, he places the wafer on my tongue. "Take this bread and eat it..." he tells me, risking a moment's grin.