My Sister's Wedding Pt. 03

It was the day of my sister's wedding, and my priest was giving me trouble. I really didn't know what was going on. Too much had already happened today, but the general gist of it was that everyone who had something important to do up front had to be there, including my sister and the groom and her best-woman and everything. We all got some instructions.

"You should all be enjoying yourselves," she said at the end. "This isn't a funeral. A wedding should be a place for mishaps and adventures. Laugh."

We all laughed with her, me distractedly so. I wanted to speak to my sister on our way back to the main building, a heritage foundation style brick thing. The church stood on a small hill a hundred yards away, a lovely piece of architecture. We weren't catholic, but the church had been, and it had all the telltale signs, including the confessional booth. It even had a plaque in front of it, explaining Catholics and their medieval ways.

My sister inched towards me, smiling happily. I loved seeing her like this. I hadn't gotten a chance to speak to her today. My mother and I turned up late. She had insisted on stopping at a rest area, instructed me where to park hidden between a row of trucks. She unbuckled herself, but interrupted me when I tried to do the same. Right there in the parking lot she had sucked my cock again, this time without pretense. Meanwhile she had hiked up her pretty blue dress to pleasure herself until the whole car was filled with her full-bodied scent. A grown woman smelled different. I had to pretend that it was all a dream. I closed my eyes, imagining some milf stranger. It didn't help that she kissed me on the cheek afterwards.

She was all normal after we arrived, with other people around. She even told me to hurry up, but with a mischievous glint in her eyes, a smile that warned me about what was to come.

Now, with my sister in front of me, I started to say something when I felt a soft hand slide between my fingers before letting them go.

My sister looked over my shoulder. I turned, and saw that our priest was following me. Strangely, I hadn't noticed. Must be the wedding, I thought, because she was the single most important ten-year older reason that I regularly went to church nowadays. She was impressively stunning, inches taller than me, broad of hip and everything, but not with muscles and not really with fat, at least not in a chubby sort of way. She was not so simply tall and she knew it, in the holiest of ways. She had a complete sense of confidence in herself, in God, in everything. I didn't know where her parents were from, but she looked vaguely Indian or middle-eastern, with shiny black locks of hair tumbling with every step she took. The collar and clergy suited her like a tailored suit.

She always smelled good too. Today she smelled of chai. She held a cup in her other hand. She had been sipping from it with her naturally full lips since before we arrived. Cinnamon and cardamon, sweet milk and tea. Maybe she'd had a rough day too. I tried to be sympathetic.

"Could I speak to you for a moment?" she asked.

I looked at my sister again. She shrugged her shoulders. What can you do? I simply smiled at that and let her stroll away, interlinked with her groom, a very handsome woman too.

"Of course," I said.

She sat down on the front pew, patted it for me to do the same. I hesitated, afraid of my bodily reactions. But after a while I accepted. Nothing more would happen down there today, not after the wringing my mother put it through.

Ups. I shouldn't have thought that, I realized. The memories, the closeness to my object of adoration, made me forget the wear and tear. I placed my hands strategically.

As the others left the church, she spoke to me of my important job. She didn't want to stress me out, but it was a sad fact that I replaced my father today. I would be giving my sister away. She just wanted to have a quick chat about it. It was really sweet actually, especially since she obviously had a headache. When they shut the heavy doors with a bang she rubbed at her temple, a strange expression on her face.

"I understand," I said. "This day is for my sister, and I want what's best for her."

"You're a good kid," she said, looking at me with her dark brown eyes. They were glowing. She was breathing with her mouth slightly open, as if she had been running. Every exhalation filled me with the spicy sweetness of her mouth. She licked her lips. "But it must have been a long time since you last spoke to me?"

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Your confession?"

I laughed, but she looked deadly serious. "But ... We don't do confessions?"

"Not by that name, no, but almost everyone else speak to me about their problems. You are the only one who don't."

I didn't believe that, but couldn't say it. I simply stared at this beautiful woman. She hadn't moved but seemed much closer. I swallowed. "I don't have anything to confess."

"Are you really sure about that?" she asked me with a tinge of disappointment.

I hickuped. I felt ten years old. "No ..." I whispered.

"Come with me," she said and stood up. She turned, and I had never gotten a better look as she walked away. Her ass was barely put in its place by a thin layer of sculpted black pants.

I hurried after her, didn't want to be left alone. But I hesitated as she opened one of the doors to the confessional booth. For a brief moment I was deadly afraid that she would rape me within. It was a cramped space, even for one person. But she smiled and I believed her. She was my priest after all. And when she closed the door around me, I felt myself relax. After a while I could hear her on the other side of the spotted wall between us.

"You can start now," she said.

I couldn't say what came over me. Maybe I was afraid of what was happening, what my mother had done today. It hadn't been so bad when she wrapped her soft lips around my cock, but now I felt the terrible weight of sin on me. The mumbling approval from the other side hastened my tongue, and after a while I started to confess stuff that I never would have spoken about under any other circumstance. I even told her about what I think happened when my girlfriend fucked me at the bachelorette party.

"I think my sister joined her," I whispered, a terrible thing in the darkness.

When I was done, I put my head against the partition and closed my eyes. I heard heavy breathing from the other side, shuffling motions and cloth moving about. And also, something else. Something wet and slippery.

The sounds stopped suddenly. "Continue," she said, her voice hoarse.

"That's everything," I said.

"Tell me something else about what your mother did to you in the car."

"What?" I asked.

The sounds had started to come to my ears again. I recognized the smell, carried on cinnamon and cardamon. The last time had been in the car with my mother. It was different but oh so familiar.

"Anything, just tell me something," she said.

I shuddered. "As she came for the second time, she whispered my name ..."

"O ..." A clamped hand over her mouth. That's what it sounded like.

After that I sat in silence, listening to her heavy breathing, the shuffling sounds. I lifted my eyes, I was prepared, when she walked outside and opened my door. She stood in front of me, naked from the waist down. I could see her glisten. Her bare feet were cold against the stone floor. Before I even got a glimpse of her face the was inside with me, blocking the light before she shut the door. I slumped against the back wall as she groped at my pants. I was already hard. I hadn't even realized before. I was so tired. She didn't say anything, just placed her hot and ready pussy against the head of my cock and lowered herself. I still wore my pants, I realized as she started to grind against me. She was ruining me. I could already feel her juices slipping through them, wetting the top of my legs.

On either side were her smooth thighs, squeezing tight. I wanted to touch that silky brown flesh, but I didn't dare.

Meanwhile she placed her arms around my head, holding me tight, drowning me in her smell and hair. She forced my face against her breasts, two heaving forms constricted by black cloth. I started to panic but she was stronger and more willing than me so I gave up and started to moan in synch with her. She was so hot. I was sweating.

Then, someone opened the church doors. They came inside!

"Please ..." I started to say, and she pressed the sweaty palm of her hand over my mouth. She didn't stop, but continued more slowly, heavier, almost hurting me when her cervix caressed me. As a gasped I licked her palm, tasting heavy spices and her dripping cunt.

I was afraid that whoever it was would hear the creaking of the wooden walls as the supported herself, her hand slipping.

A lot of people walked through. I could hear their voices. If something happened, she would lose her job, the day would be ruined. She didn't stop though. She wasn't out there with them, she was inside with me, with me inside of her, and she started to shiver, barely keeping her sounds between us. She had her lips by my ear, threatening to deafen me with every gasp.

A squishing sound as she came against me. She rasped my cheek with her fingernails. I could barely breathe in my excitement. I wasn't close, I was too spent for that, but I had never felt anything like it. She clenched me like a fist in oil. I felt her smile as she continued, making me a piece of her.

She threw the back of my head against the wall when we heard the church doors close again. I didn't know how she could tell that everybody had left. Maybe she didn't care. She sat straight on top of me, twerking, supporting herself against my shoulders. Her collar shone in the darkness, her face too, full of divine inspiration. She spurted against me again, slamming her hands on either side of my head, filling my small prison with her screams of pleasure.

She was so wet I held out for a couple of minutes more, and as she gyrated on top of me, she kissed my neck and ears, whispering sounds of lingering pleasure. I screamed against her hand, both in pain and pleasure. Afterwards, she could barely stand up. I had to help her. When she opened the door, I blinked against the harsh light. When I could look down at myself, I saw that my pants were completely destroyed, wrinkled and wet and white with something.

"Come," she said to me. "I think one of the boys left a spare somewhere."

I thanked her, wiped my face clean. I shivered as I followed her. She had collected her things from the other booth, but hadn't put them on, so I had a free view of her ass and smooth legs as she walked in front of me, swinging her hips in a way that seemed obscene from a priest in a church on the day of my sister's wedding.

On our way I heard something dripping on the stone floor. It was my load leaking out of her.

In her office I had to wait while she cleaned herself, not really noticing me. She smiled at herself in the mirror when she was ready. In a wardrobe, large enough for me, she found a pair of old but serviceable pants. She stood around waiting while I did the best I could to clean myself and my underwear. They were drenched in front. I could feel them sticking to my skin.

She placed herself in front of me, commanding me to sit down, the pants still in her hand. I looked up at her perfection. She told me that I could use the back entrance.

"But you," she said as she stood in front of me, me still in my dirty underwear. "You have a lot of confession to do. Sinful boy."

"Yes," I said. I knew it wholly in my heart. And the day wasn't over yet.

What the fuck was happening to me?