Sins of the Confessional

"You've seduced me," he chided in a whisper, "caught me in your trap. Like a bee caught in honey, or a fly in the web... You know it's a sin to seduce a priest, make him brake his vows, right?"

I slid my mouth down his shaft slowly, taking him in until he tickled my tonsils. As I slowly pulled back, without opening my mouth or pulling entirely off of him, I answered. "Hmm...mmm..."

"You know you must perform penance...?"

At the tip of the head, I opened my mouth wide, and barely touching him, I slide back down to where he touched the back of my throat again. Then I closed my mouth tightly. I sucked, hard, forming a cup with my tongue on the underside of his shaft, and undulated my tongue there. I could feel his pre-cum pooling at the back of my throat. I responded the same as last time, "Hmm... mmm..."

"Smear your filth on me," he commands. I pause, and look up at him, with his member still in my mouth. I stare up at him, into where I think his eyes might be in the shadow beyond the screen. I don't want to do this. Beyond all the rest, this is the most disgusting he's asked me to do. My heart pounds, and I honestly don't know if I'll comply. I realize that my mouth has frozen on his member, as I contemplate what he's asked of me. More than just being disgusting, what he's asking me to do is difficult and messy. It makes it a lot more likely we'll get caught. Honestly, what would you think if you saw a woman walk out of the confessional with shit smeared around her mouth?

His cock twitches in my mouth in obvious excitement at what he wants me to do. Each twitch literally causes my heart and breath to catch. He usually twitches like that in my mouth as he cums. I want his cum. It turns me on to have him cum, especially in my mouth. I love satisfying him. It's almost enough to just satisfy him without regard to my own yearning. It sustains me through the week every time when I think back and remember his hot, acrid seed spraying into me.

I pull off of him. In the dim light, he looks red, swollen, and veiny. His member is glimmering with my mouth's moisture, and pre-cum, like drool, dangles down from the tip as it seeks my mouth below. Almost hypnotized, I stare up at him, and reach a slender fingered hand beneath my skirt. I hike the skirt up once more, tucking it around behind me, near my feet.

I reach for my crotch. Before reaching where it should be, I encounter my satin panties. The material is smooth, slick beneath my fingers. They feel slightly damp, and beneath them I feel the irregular lumps of my cooling bowl movement. My panties are sticking way out away from my body, holding the filth against me. It's like a diaper, but one for adults, smooth and sexy instead of white and bulky. I run my fingertips up and down the log in my panties, unable to feel the slight touch at all in my crotch. I can smell the earthy and unpleasant stench of my shit.

More practiced at this than I'd want to admit, I try to imagine the color and flavor of it judging only by the smell. I imagine it being bitter, like black coffee, with that gag inducing aftertaste at the back of the throat, almost like skunked and hoppy beer, but a hundred times more pungent. I wish I had some milk chocolate to go with the filth. It was always easier to eat and hold down when paired with something sweet, and chocolate was one of the few flavors I'd found that was strong enough to partially hide the taste. It was how the Father first introduced me into eating my own shit, with chocolate. He'd used Ghirardelli, dark and sweet, and I can't smell it now without thinking about eating shit. Being this close to the factory, I considered going down to the pier and picking some up before heading back to campus. The smell turns me on and makes me think of naughty things. It makes it so much easier to get off when I masturbate during the week.

Thinking of chocolate with shit smeared on top, of trying to sneak that naughty treat while my roomie was away, the risk of her catching me in the dorm room with a freshly passed turd made me light headed. I could feel my whole body pulse with each heartbeat, rocking slightly back and forth. I slid my fingers past the gusset of my panties, carefully so I didn't dump shit between my knees. I felt the moist and slick feel of my turd with my fingertips. I pressed just hard enough to deform the log a little, and could feel a muted feeling of pressure against my sex.

I pulled my hand away from my crotch, and up to my nose. I smelled my fingertips. I could smell a vague aroma of shit on them. It was a light enough aroma to almost smell good. Like Pavlov's dog, conditioned to salivate to a bell, I salivated at the aroma of shit deep in my nose. I lowered my hand slightly, and carefully tasted each of my fingertips delicately. The taste wasn't bad. Like chocolate or coffee. I shuddered with lust and the idea of submitting to the perverted priest's wishes. Of course, I knew that the taste wouldn't be too bad, it was only bad when the taste hit the back of the throat.

"I can't give you absolution until you do this..." he whispered.

I whimpered, and dropped my hand back to my crotch. I slid in through the side again, and slid my fingers between the shit and my panties. I got my fingers around the log, and curled them. It put pressure on my sex, and I could feel shit smearing across my clit, being driven down into the little folds of flesh. I shuddered as the filth rubbed against my hard, pulsing clit. As I pulled the tip of the log away from my body, and out the side of my panties near my leg, my finger nails scraped against my clit slightly, driving shit beneath my nails, and giving a slightly painful rasp of nails against still overly sensitive flesh. I wondered again if I was bruised down there. I probably wouldn't know until tomorrow.

I lifted the small, deformed log up. It was just the hard tip that had emerged first from my ass, and had scrapped across my sex and against my panties. It was growing tacky and lukewarm as it started to dry a little. I could see by the slight light that it was composed of nuggets or curds, each a different shape, all pressed together irregularly. Yellowish mucus was pressed into the folds and creases of the log, and slick against it's surface. With my other hand, I pealed a single curd off from the rest. I knew I could do this with the whole log, and end up with something that looked like gravel in my hand, but smelled far worse. I took the curd, and brought it to my nose, and smelled deeply, pulling the aroma deeply into myself. Oh how this priest had corrupted me. The smell made me want to reach down into my panties again, and rub myself until I came again.

I put the curd in my mouth, and tasted it. As before, not bad. I was pretty sure that I could swallow and keep this down. There was never a guarantee with shit. Some days it was far more disgusting than others, and sometimes even a bit on the front of the tongue was enough of leave me retching. I supposed it all had to do with what I had eaten. I pressed the curd against the roof of my mouth, and found that it deformed easily, bursting and smearing in my mouth. That was good... sometimes it would be too hard to be able to play with like what the Father wanted.

I left the shit plastered to the roof of my watering mouth, high with the smell and taste of shit deep in me, and I pealed a second curd away from the log. It was threatening to smash between my fingers, but I got it to his pulsing glans in time. I squished it against the head of his cock, and smeared it over it, all the way around the head. I heard him moan, and his cock kept twitching against my fingertips, as if he was going to cum.

I held the log away from me so I wouldn't mar my sweater by accident with a brown smear, and lowered my mouth once more to his member. I teased him again, this time by licking at his shit smeared cock head. He moaned more, barely loud enough to where I could hear it. Then I took him into my mouth. I opened wide, so he wouldn't touch my lips first, and then once the whole head was in, I closed my lips and then sucked as I moved my head away. Shit and spit swam in my mouth, cloying like rancid beans or something. I swallowed and managed not to puke.

There's something after swallowing that first shit, where the flavor deepens, and gets worse. It's like that Vick's vapo rub stuff, where it seems to penetrate so deep into you that you can't get rid of the smell. I knew that I'd have at least a vague sense of the taste in my mouth for hours. Long after the lust and heady feelings wore off, there'd be that unpleasant taste in my mouth. He asked so much of me, and yet here I was on my knees, doing anything he told me. Not for the first time, I wish I could run away with him, we could live in sin together, a fallen priest and his degraded slut. I moaned, and took another taste like before, sucking forward to avoid smearing shit on around my lips.

"How do you taste?" he asked.

"Good." I responded after the second swallow. It was even sort of true. Everything is relative, and compared to how it could have been, this wasn't bad at all.

"I'm incomplete..." he whispered. "I've taken in only your wine. I need your wafer to be complete."

I paused, staring up at his shadow, trying to visualize the young, attractive priest behind the shadow. His black hair, pale skin. His strong jaw, cleft chin, high cheekbones and his dark, piercing eyes. He had the looks to be a leading man in Hollywood, today, or in any past age. But he was a priest, my priest, and I'd do anything for him, just to have him once in a while. I could feel his smoldering stare as he looked down on me.

His hand appeared next to his throbbing, twitching cock. His large, strong hand was cupped. I stared up at him, questioning with my eyes, but obeying. I pulled a curd away from the log, and gingerly put it into his strong but manicured hand. I watched the shadow of his hand rise up to his mouth. I had never seen him do anything like this before, and I was sure that he wasn't accustomed to it. He maybe didn't know that savoring the smell, carefully sampling the taste, weren't just my rituals, but that they had a purpose; they steeled me for the taste, prepared me to accept that which my body would otherwise try to reject. But he just raised the hand to his mouth, and quickly took it in. His hand dropped away then, and I heard him moan. It was a deeper moan than before, different somehow in tenor. Was it disgust, a different type of enjoyment, or something in between. I couldn't tell. But his body didn't pull away from the small window, and I bent again to my task, hoping that he didn't vomit onto and through the screen. If he did, we'd both be found out.

With the fear that he might get sick in me, I stopped teasing, and started to suck him in earnest, pausing only occasionally to anoint a little more shit on his head. He didn't get sick, and soon enough his muffled moans started coming quicker. Then he wasn't muffled any longer, and I could hear his ragged whisper.

"I'm going to cum soon."

I didn't change, knowing my priest well enough to keep the rhythm and motion the same after the warning. I continued to piston my head on him, mimicking the motion of simple fucking as well as I could. My jaw and neck were sore, and the hand that held the last few remaining lumps of shit trembled as I couldn't put the hand down. I just pistoned, and felt the occasional twitch.

Then his breathing changed, and I felt him swell. He pushed harder against the partition, trying to plunge as deeply into my mouth as I could take him, and with a ragged exhale, his first spurt of cum splattered against the back of my throat. I pulled nearly off of him, and struggled to swallow as spurt after spurt squirted into my mouth. It threatened to gag me, to wash down into my lungs, and my eyes watered as some pushed up into my nose. But I kept swallowing, convulsively, and got it all down, without spilling a drop.

My nose burned from the salty and acrid cum in the back, and threatened to run, but I snorted it down. His flavor wasn't bad, but the acridness always caught in my throat a bit. It was unpleasant, and I could taste him despite a mouth brown with my own shit.

"Ah... oh God, Rosa, you're an angle," he whispered. He was always so sweet after he'd cum. I knew that if he could, that he'd want nothing more to hold me and cuddle after what we'd done. It was something I too wanted, almost above anything else, but it was the rarest contact we had. If it weren't for this little door in the confessional, we'd hardly get to have any physical contact whatsoever. It would be easier if he were gay and I was a guy; no one takes much notice of that. But it's unseemly for priests to spend much time with young college girls like myself. Fate was cruel.

"We must clean up... we've been at this too long," he whispered. I stayed on my knees, and continued to suck his cock, not trying to keep him hard, but to clean as much of my shit off of it as I could. Once I had it reasonably clean, he put it away, and I sprayed his dark and aromatic briefs with a small bottle out of my purse that claimed to be eyeglass cleaner. In actuality, I'd replaced the contents with Febreze.

The last small couple of lumps of shit, I quickly tossed into my mouth, and swallowed whole. The taste was always less cloying if you just swallowed without squishing it around. I carefully licked my hands clean, and stood, letting my skirt fall back into place. Touching myself as little as possible, in case I'd missed some shit smears in the gloom, I refastened my bra. My nipples are still hard, and they hurt against the smooth satin of my bra that matches my panties. I tug my sweater back into place, and I stand. I pull a pen light from my large purse, and look around. I see a little shit smeared on the seat, and some brown drool around the hatch and on the floor beneath it. Getting back onto my knees, I lick my shit up, so I don't leave the confessional dirty.

I liberally spray the booth with Febreze, and, give my panties and legs a quick squirt too. I think I can still smell the distinctive smell of human waste, but it's probably just the smell in my nose. I pop a couple of Altoids into my mouth, and grimace at what tastes like shit on a candy cane. The mints should be enough to cover my breath though, if anyone gets close enough. I check my mouth with the mirror on a compact, and then spend a few moments, cleaning some shitty smears from around my mouth.

I should be presentable, but it's hard to know for certain. I could have overlooked something, or forgotten about something. The familiar fear and panic start to rise, and with it my arousal. It's almost time to where I'll have to walk out of here and perhaps be caught. For all I know, there could be some battleaxe of a nun standing right outside of the door. I can't help but visualize Sister Clara, the cruel nun from my Catholic schoolgirl days that was so cruel with her switch from the nectarine tree. She liked the switches from it the best, since they were covered in hard little knobs that would impart blood blisters. I shudder at the thought of those switches.

Father Micheal closes the little door, and the hatch almost seems invisible against the partition wall. Standing, I put my forehead against the screen again, and whisper, "I love you my devilish priest," in my native Spanish.

"I love you too, Rosa." I love it when he uses my name. So often it's Daughter this, or Daughter that. When he uses my name, it makes me feel like we're a couple, if just for a moment.

"Before you go... I had a question."

"Aye Papi?"

He chuckles, and says, "I had a naught fantasy, but it's something we'd have to plan carefully. I was thinking that I'd like it very much if I could use you like a urinal, here in the confessional one day. I could drink a lot of coffee and water. I would really have to go by the time you get here, and hope that I didn't have an accident. Then when you get here, you'd take me in your mouth, and I'd empty my bladder before we did anything else. You know, instead of maybe going a little bit in your mouth like we sometimes do, going a lot. The idea really appeals to me. What do you think?"

"Anything for you. You'd just have to be careful not to pee too fast. If you peed all over me, I couldn't hide it."

"I can do that."

"Do you want to try that next week?"

"Yes..." he hissed, "Very much. I'm already hard again thinking about it. Thinking about using you as a toilet."

The thought frightened me. It would be easy for him to pee too much, and then we'd be found out. Everyone would know what a dirty girl I was. My heart pounded at the idea, and my clit, next to my cold, moist shit, throbbed.

"Don't... don't forget. I know you sometimes can't or don't make it here... but if you miss next week..."

"Don't worry. I'll be here. I'm already excited by the idea. But I should go. I've been in here for so long..."

In the way of starstruck lovers, we take too long to say our goodbyes, but in time I finally manage to walk out of the Confessional. Of course, there's a short line waiting to go in and be absolved of their sins. I walk slowly, carefully, and deliberately. My instinct is to walk bow legged, waddling away, like a baby with a full diaper. I have to force myself to walk as normally as I can, despite the mess between my legs. I head straight to a restroom. There's one over near the classrooms that's usually unoccupied, that locks from the inside. I have baby wipes, and a reusable douche in my purse. I dump my full panties into the toilet, and then scrape off the remaining shit with some toilet paper. The panties still reek of course, and are dirty. I seal them into a zip-lock, finish washing up, brush my teeth, and then walk out of the restroom wearing no panties. On the way, I spot a suspicious brown lump on the tile floor. Probably a lump of shit that got away from me, unnoticed. I ignore it and keep walking. There's something deliciously sinful about walking through church without any panties on, with the breeze whipping around my shaved pussy. I almost hope that God really is watching.