A Tangled Web Ch. 07

Father Logan stood, switched off his desk lamp and smoothed his soutane. Stepping forward into the hall, he led the way to the chancel and entered the central compartment of the ornate polished ebony confessional. While Isabel knelt and prefaced her sacrament, Logan spread his knees in his chair and lifted his cassock above his waist. Reaching into his drawers, he pulled his awakening penis until it stood of its own strength at its full six inches. He leaned back in his padded chair and said, "Yes, go on."

Isabel contritely raced through her venial sins of the past week, but Logan still grew tired. He was impatient for the good stuff and spurred her into more familiar delicious territory. "Do you still struggle with impure thoughts, my child?" He asked, while he wedged his scrotum and testicles firmly against his butt cheeks with the heel of his left hand.

"Yes, Father," Isabel confessed with a long sigh. "I try, every week, not to covet my daughter's husband." Her voice dropped to a nearly inaudible level. "But STILL I have thoughts... FANTASIES really." She rationalized her lie by equating action with imagination. Somehow it was easier for her to confess her adultery hypothetically. It did not seem to make a difference to Father Logan. He had never asked her, outright or by implication, if she had actually fucked Ted, whether in the past week, or ever.

"Tell me about these thoughts, child, but speak up. The screen softens your words. I hardly hear some of them," the priest cajoled his penitent.

Isabel coughed, cleared her throat and began, picking her most recent fuck session for her theme. "I dreamt Friday, that my son-in-law pulled me onto his lap in my kitchen... he held me tight and KISSED me." Logan smiled and slid his hand slowly up and down his stalk. "I didn't protest. I WANTED him carnally. I LUSTED after him and prayed he would do more."

The priest groaned and encouraged, "Yes, what else?"

"He suckled my breasts. I ached with the need of him. In my fantasy, I spilled cream on my bosom and he cleaned me with his tongue and lips." Isabel panted with the telling of the real events. Her cunny wet itself and her nipples hardened in her dress. She looked out of the confessional. Seeing no one in the church, she boldly lifted her right hand and methodically milked her swollen throbbing hidden tit.

The priest's hands moved more swiftly as Isabel continued. "I BEGGED him to TAKE me. And he DID. When I felt his hardness deep in my vagina, it filled my SOUL, too." Breathing hard, but with short breaths, Isabel's speech pattern was spastically interrupted. She cared not, now, whether anyone in the nave might have a view. She trusted to the confessional's shadows for discretion.

Pushing her left hand below her dress hem, she fingered herself while mauling her boob and pinching her fat tender nipple. "I imagined I was strapped to a machine. Its powerful piston stroked with impossible agonizing sureness; slowly, deeply, into my very center."

Gasping herself, Isabel heard none of the gnarring in Father Logan's throat, on the other side of the wall, as his right fist flashed. While his left palm flattened his swelling nuts in their shrinking sack, he extended his index finger and teased his anus. "Y-yes," he choked and asked huskily, "Did you COME out of this dream? How did it ENNNND for you?"

"That's JUST what happened, Father," Isabel confirmed, as she came around her hand while saying so. "I CAME... repeatedly, endlessly, SHAMELESSLY. My son-in-law ejaculated in my... uhm, DREAM... more profusely than was possible. And then... he was GONE." Isabel pulled her hand from her pussy and smelled herself as she licked away the drippings. "I awoke. My sheets were SOAKED and I was EXHAUSTED." She sighed a long exhale, and wept, "Oh FATHER! Forgive me. I want to be in the fold of God's grace again!"

Bryce Logan's erect prick exploded upward like a fountain as he pumped himself and listened to Isabel's climactic story. His chest heaved and his legs shook while his semen fell around his curled thumb and forefinger, then dribbled down his knuckles. His breathing slowed as he brought himself under control. While he wiped himself, and his cassock, with a towel he kept for that purpose, he gave Mrs. McGuinness the absolution she sought.

"Thank you, Father," Isabel said, weakly. She excused herself and moved from the confessional to a pew on the gospel side of the nave where she knelt and began her 'Hail Mary' penance. Logan stood, secreted away his starched rag in the cushion of his chair, and walked back to the library and his sermon text.