Michaela Goes To Confession

He lay under me for a while, catching his breath. Then he said, breathlessly, "Mike, I'm so sorry!"

I raised myself a bit, looked at him in amazement. "What for?"

"I came too soon! And in your mouth! God, I'm sorry!"

"Oh, Frank, that should happen! I knew it would happen. I wanted it! I love tasting your cum. It makes me feel like a desired woman." I was a little afraid I was being too explicit, but what the heck. It was true. I always liked giving head to my unappreciative husband.

Frank was too drained to comment. He looked at me with a kind of trusting relief, like a child. And I felt a melting tenderness, like he was a child who needed my softness and comfort and protection. I snuggled into his side. We lay like that for about ten minutes, neither one of us speaking. We were both processing the strangeness of it. We were both believing Catholics, he was a celibate priest, I had confessed my sexual sins to him, he had absolved me... and then I had fellated him. And I felt as I had after making Freddie come--happy and proud.

I didn't know how Frank felt. I didn't feel right asking him.

Then he spoke, slowly. "I feel like I shouldn't have done that, Mike. But if it was OK with you, I'm not regretting it. To tell the truth, I've fantasized many times about you doing it." He rolled on his side and embraced me passionately. "Oh, Mike, it's better than I could imagine! I'm really with you! You feel so good against me!"

I looked at him. "Frank, you feel so good to me." I paused. "I'll do whatever you want. If you want to stay, oh God, please do! If you want to get dressed and leave, that's OK too."

Frank said, immediately and firmly, "I don't want to leave. I want to stay in this room with you. Naked." We snuggled again, just being together, not saying anything. Occasionally I brushed his chest or belly lightly. I wasn't trying to excite him, only to express affection.

After a while, Frank said, with a bit of embarrassment, that he had to use the bathroom. I heard his urine splashing into the bowl. I imagined him holding that long cock, directing the stream. So much came out of it--precum, semen, piss. And, above all, pleasure--his pleasure and mine. I truly did enjoy sucking him off, but I was still hoping to feel that thing inside me.

He came out, stretched with a satisfied groan, and walked around a little. I loved the sight--his burly chest, his shapely legs, his tight butt, his thick crotch hair, and his dangling cock. It was bigger than my ex's. Frank's testicles were still pulled into a snug ball. The more I looked, the more I wanted him to fuck me. I was fairly sure that was where things were going.

But Frank said, "Mike, you know this is going to be difficult? You know I have to keep this secret? At least until I know what I have to do. About my priesthood. Is secrecy wrong for you?"

"I've thought about that," I said, "and I'll agree to whatever terms you want. If you decided right now that you couldn't see me again, I'd hurt inside, Frank, but I'd accept it. I know what you have to deal with--celibacy and desire. And gossip." I paused. "If you wanted, I'd even go to another parish so you wouldn't see me."

"I'd feel guilty about that. I know our parish is kind of a home for you."

"And I'd feel guilty about making it harder for you."

We were silent, thinking about the enormity of what we had launched ourselves into.

Frank lay down beside me. We kissed and murmured little endearments--although the word "love" was avoided. Frank said, "I can't believe I haven't played with your breasts."

"Let's call them tits," I said. "Breasts are for babies. Tits are for men." ( Thinking of Freddie, I was tempted to add "and for women, too," but I didn't.)

He heaved himself onto me, his head right above my tits. "OK, your tits. They're great tits." He was feeling more confident, and to my pleasure it seemed like he wanted to be at least a bit in charge.

I pushed my tits together, arched my back and raised them to him. His big hands were on the sides of my ribcage. He began flicking his tongue over my nipples. The little waterfall between my legs resumed. Then his hands took over my tits, squeezing me and sucking. I began to squirm my hips against his belly hoping he could feel how wet I was getting. I wrapped both legs around his hips, my feet just below his butt.

He broke free and energetically pushed himself downward, perfunctorily kissing my belly a few times, then putting his face over my wet glory hole. (That's what Freddie called it.) I was doubtful Frank could give very good oral pleasure. Women are more complicated than men. And good cunnilingus isn't something you can learn from pornography. (I think only a woman can give great cunnilingus.)

He did better than I expected. He spent a lot of time licking the wrong places, but I almost shouted when he hit the right one. "God, yes! Right there!" He didn't know how to flick it lightly with the tip of his tongue, but his flat tonguing started a demanding feeling anyway. I rewarded him with a little gush. Freddie sometimes commented on how soggy I get. Frank didn't try putting his fingers in me. I had loved it when Freddie got four fingers in and rotated them, stretching me wider than any cock could. But it was all good. And Frank would learn. I would see to that.

I tugged Frank's hair gently, asking him to come up to my face. He wasn't sure what to do--my wetness was in his mouth and all over his lips and cheeks. He tried to avoid kissing me, obviously thinking that I wouldn't want to taste my own fluid. He was wrong. Tasting myself excites me. I took his head firmly and pulled it down so his mouth was on mine. I tongued his tongue and then licked his lips and cheeks. Frank's light stubble under my tongue shouted "Maleness!" I moaned and pushed against his hips, feeling his now hard cock. For sure, it was going to happen! And, since he'd already come once, he'd be able to last longer this time.

I held Frank's head, looked into his eyes, and said softly, "Frank, I'm ready." He looked doubtful for a moment, but then he raised himself on his hands and knees and squirmed into position so his cockhead prodded my opening. I gave a yearning, pleading groan. I wanted badly to pull myself onto it, but it was best to let him go at whatever pace he was comfortable with.

I assumed that, as an inexperienced man, he'd simply drive in and hump and come. Surprisingly, he prodded me several times, opening me just a little and watching the contortions of my face. My ex used to tease me that way and make me beg for it, which I both hated and loved. With Frank, I was happy he was confident enough to do it. It drove me crazy, the way he pressed about half of the swollen head into me and then swiveled back. I gasped and said, "Don't stop." He didn't, until he lifted himself a little and started rubbing me with the underside of his cock. I had now reached the time-stopping kind of passion that makes you feel you've always been in this room with this partner, excited and wet, and always will be. You crave consummation, but you also don't because you want this burgeoning desire to go on forever.

Frank decided it was time. He rested himself on one hand, took his cock in the other, and slowly and deliberately opened me, watching my face. When his head was fully in, I lost all control. I whined and whimpered. I was just two spread legs and a wet, empty cunt.

Frank eased himself deeper, with a gasp. I hooked my legs over his thighs; I couldn't help pulling him in. I had to be opened completely; there was that button deep inside that he needed to press. I couldn't see my own face, but I knew it must be grotesque, my eyes wide open, my mouth distorted gasping inarticulate syllables.

Then Frank gave a sudden hard thrust. I yelped and gurgled. He had hit the button and now I needed him to hit it over and over and over. He withdrew, slowly, and then thrusted again, and again, and again while I made a "guh guh guh!" noise. My arms were flung out to the sides and my head wobbled helplessly. I loved this part--being taken, completely under the man's control, not having to do anything, he could do whatever he wanted with me.

Frank again did the slow tease withdrawal followed by a sudden thrust maybe half a dozen times, slamming home and filling me to the max. But he didn't yet know how to pace himself. That takes experience. His need was too strong. He began ramming rapidly, hitting me hard. I almost shrieked with pleasure. Then he closed his eyes and his face took on a look like he was under severe stress. He gasped, "uh, uh, uuuh!" and released himself.

He collapsed on me. His cheek was against mine, his mouth near my ear, filling it with his heavy, hoarse breathing. I murmured what I hoped were soothing, reassuring sounds. Again, I had the mother-feeling toward him. He had fucked me hard, but now he was like a weak, helpless baby. I needed to nurture him. I hadn't come, but that wasn't the important thing right now. The important thing was that Frank had fucked me, and I knew he would fuck me again. My long man-drought was over.

He lay partly on me, one leg between mine, the front of his thigh resting right on the swamp between my legs. When he adjusted his position slightly, his leg rubbed over it, and I went into a sudden violent orgasm. I wrenched into an epileptic position, my upper body lifted off the bed by my stomach muscles, my eyes clamped shut, my face working maniacally, and both hands pressed hard on my cunt. Wave after wave of the most piercing pleasure swelled from my rippling tunnel through my whole crotch and my asshole. And then something wonderful happened. An exquisite tingling shock shot from somewhere in all that equipment, up my backbone, and out to my fingers. I was like a cartoon character being lit up by a jolt of electricity. I had never felt that before.

Frank didn't understand what was happening. His face registered alarm, and he kept asking, "Mike, are you OK?" When I was able to speak, I reassured him that he had given me an orgasm, a giant one. But I was sure I had another one in me. "Frank," I moaned, "could you do it again? Slap my pussy, then rub it hard. Don't be afraid to be rough, you won't hurt me."

Frank looked very doubtful, and he gave me a timid slap. "More, harder!" I groaned. He began to smack it fairly firmly, with a look on his face, like "If that's what she wants, then by God I'll give it to her!" I loved what he was doing, but I needed more. I grabbed his hand and forced it onto me, guiding his thumb to the right spot. "Press it, rub it!," I gasped. He did, and my second orgasm arrived like a tornado, leaving me howling, unconscious of where I was or what I was doing. There are those few moments you step completely outside yourself, yet knowing only your inside. This was one of those. My mind was far away. All I was was pleasure, heaving like the ocean. As the intensity slowly subsided, I glowed from my my clit to my asshole. I felt like I was full of warm helium.

I had to withdraw into myself for a while. I wrapped myself in a blanket and lay there, my eyes closed. I knew I should talk with Frank, reassure him, but I couldn't. I needed to recover. That took about fifteen minutes.

I knew our tryst was over. Even if Frank wanted to continue, I couldn't. Truthfully, I wanted him to leave now. I needed time to get myself back together and think. Frank drew up a chair and just sat there, not saying anything, not touching me. When I opened my eyes, he asked again, "Mike, are you OK?"

"Yes, yes," I murmured. "You did something wonderful for me and I just need time to recover from it."

We were silent for a while. Then Frank said, "Mike, I knew in a sort of theoretical way what a woman's orgasm is like. But I'd never experienced it in real life. I had no idea it could be so powerful. To tell the truth, it... sort of makes me feel inadequate, like I'm not even in your league. Yeah, I came, and it was very sweet. But it wasn't like yours. It was over pretty fast. I wish I had lasted longer."

I reached out and patted his hand. "Frank, Frank," I whispered, "you have a lot to learn, about me and about yourself. We'll learn together."

........................................................

Our affair lasted almost a year. At first it was wildly exciting. Frank did learn, and quickly. Sexually, we were compatible--we both needed more than we could get, given all the circumstances. The need for secrecy at first gave it all an extra edge. When we did meet it was explosive. We usually used my apartment, but we were worried that if he came around too much it would cause suspicion. So we also used out-of-town hotels (and cheap motels, too). In good weather we hiked some lonely trail in the mountains and did it naked in the open, feeling like wild animals.

I switched to another parish, even though it really did make Frank feel guilty. But I didn't want him to have to confront his partner in adultery every Sunday and at parish social events. I always felt guilty about the risks he was taking for me.

After a time, the secrecy got tedious and the love-making began to seem a little routine. And I began to long for a woman again. By now I easily accepted that I was bisexual. I made friends with a somewhat younger woman. She was hot and I fantasized about what I wanted to do to her. I though she might be receptive. But I didn't feel I could cheat on Frank.

I didn't have to, because he took the first step. Though it was very difficult for him, he told me that he had decided that his priesthood was the most important thing in his life, and that he had to make a choice.. At first, he had excused what he was doing with me as just a personal weakness, a temporary giving in to temptation. But now, after months of violating his vow and committing adultery with me, he felt like a hypocrite as he ministered to other people, who thought he was at least an honest priest. And he said all this wasn't fair to me--if I needed a man, at least I should have one I could see openly and, if I wished, plan a future with. Neither of us mentioned that, in the eyes of the church, I was still married to my adulterer husband.

We made love one last time. Frank fucked my brains out, giving me multiple orgasms and coming as hard as I did. When our desire died down, we dressed and said goodbye. Both of us had tears in our eyes. Then he closed my door, and it was over.

I reflected that Frank had basically followed Msgr. Frode's path--give in to the natural need, learn what it was like, then go back to your first love.

I never returned to that parish. The last I heard, Frank was still there, apparently happy. I pray for him and always will. Yes, I'm still Catholic, and devotedly so. But I've never felt the slightest guilt about Frank. Or about Kelly, the young woman, with whom I had a short, passionate affair, until it became clear we weren't going to be able to get along. Or about Robert, my current boyfriend. During my time with Frank, I decided that my sexuality was none of the church's business. It harmed no one. I still love God, the sacraments, and my prayer life. But, somehow, now my cunt is part of my spiritual life. I guess that's very Italian.