I’m a sinful MILF and I needed to “confess”. I slid into the wooden bench of the small, dimly lit church confessional. The air is thick with incense and silence. Stained glass filters the afternoon light into deep blues and reds, casting shadows like stained prayers across the floor.
As a sinful MILF I’m not here to confess.
I’m here to corrupt.
My black lace dress hugging my curves just right — tight enough to make a man swallow hard, modest enough to seem innocent. My heels click softly as I adjust my position, crossing my legs slowly, letting the hem ride up just a few inches… revealing smooth, tan thigh.
The faint creak of the panel sliding open.
A pause.
Then, his voice — low, hesitant, laced with authority he doesn’t quite feel right now.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” I begin, voice trembling just slightly — not from guilt, but from excitement. I let it waver, make it delicate. Feminine.
“I haven’t been to confession in… months.”
Hearing his breath catch. I know he sees me. The peephole between my side and his is small, but I’ve angled myself perfectly. I lean forward just enough to let my cleavage peek over the modest neckline.
I wait.
“What… what have you been doing, my dear?” he asks, voice tight.
“Oh, Father…” I sigh, letting my fingers trail up my inner thigh. “So many things I shouldn’t.”
I don’t say it loud. I whisper it — like a secret. Like a temptation.
“I’ve been touching myself… at night. Thinking of strong hands. Rough hands. Hands that punish.”
His breath hitches again.
I smile.
“I imagine a man in a collar… but not to pray. Imagining him on his knees — but not for God.”
Silence.
Then, a soft, strained swallow.
“You mustn’t speak this way in the house of the Lord,” he murmurs, but there’s no real reprimand. Only tension.
I chuckle — low, velvety. “Then maybe I don’t belong here.”
I start to rise, slowly, letting my dress pull tighter across my ass. I make sure he sees it — the curve, the sway as I turn.
“Wait.”
I freeze.
“Stay.”
Turning back, feigning surprise. “Father?”
The panel between you slides open wider — just a crack. Just enough. His eyes meet mine. Dark. Stormy. Fighting a war inside.
I don’t look away.
“You’re… not like the others,” he whispers.
“No, Father,” I purr. “You’re the one I came for.”
His chest rises. He’s breathing faster now.
Lowering my voice to a sultry whisper. “Confession isn’t just about sins, is it? It’s about desire. About secrets too hot to hold.”
Reaching up and slowly unbutton the top of my dress. Just one. Just enough to expose the edge of my red lace bra.
“You know what I desire, don’t you?”
He doesn’t answer.
But his hand — the one resting on the wooden divider — trembles.
“I desire you, Father.”
His eyes slam shut.
“No… this is wrong.”
“Then why are you hard?” I whisper.
He gasps.
I knew he wanted me.
And now, he’s trapped.
I stand, stepping toward the divider, and press my lips close to the opening.
“I want to taste your mouth,” I breathe. “Lick your tongue like it’s a sacrament. Worship you like you’re my god.”
“Stop…” he whispers, but his hips shift. You see the bulge in his pants now — unmistakable. Thick. Strained.
“You want to stop?” I tease. “Then why is your cock pushing against your pants like it’s begging to be freed?”
His breathing is ragged now.
Reaching through the opening — slowly, deliberately — and brush my fingers along the seam of his trousers.
He jerks.
“Do it, Father,” I command, voice dripping with sinful promise. “Let me give you absolution. Let me forgive you… with my lips, my tongue, my throat.”
His eyes open — full of shame… and hunger.
I don’t wait.
Dropping to my knees.
The wooden floor bites into my skin, but I don’t care. This is holy ground now. Mine.
I reach for his belt.
He grabs my wrist.
“Don’t.”
I look up — eyes wide, lips parted. “Then tell me to leave.”
Silence.
His grip loosens.
That’s all the permission needed.
Unfastening his pants with slow, deliberate movements. The zipper drags down like a confession. The sound echoes in the silence.
Then, pulled him free.
Oh, God.
Thick. Veiny. Heavy in hand. The head is already glistening with pre-cum, just like a good boy waiting for his reward.
My moan — real this time.
“Such a beautiful cock, Father,” I whisper. “Did you save it for God… or were you saving it for me?”
Leaning in and lick a slow, wet stripe from base to tip — savoring the salty-skin taste, the warmth, the power of him shuddering under my touch.
“Ah! Christ —!”
Giggling around the head, sucking just the tip between my lips. “Shhh… He’s watching,” I tease, looking up with devilish eyes.
Taking him deeper.
Inch by inch, I swallow him — my throat opening, my nose brushing the soft curls at the base. My hand strokes what my mouth can’t reach, twisting slightly at the bottom with each pull.
He groans — long, low, desperate.
“Stop… I can’t — I shouldn’t —”
I pull off with a wet pop. “Then fuck my mouth, Father. Punish me for my sins.”
His eyes blaze.
And then — he does.
His hands grip my hair — not rough, but sure. He starts to thrust, shallow at first, then deeper, losing control.
I gag — just once — and the sound drives him wild.
“Look at me,” I gasp, pulling back. “Look at what your sweet, pious hands are doing. Fucking a sinner’s mouth like an animal.”
His breath is ragged. “You’re… you’re evil.”
“No,” I whisper, stroking him slowly. “I’m salvation. You’ve been starving yourself. Denying your body. Your needs. I can give you what He never will. A sinful MILF”
Leaning in and swirling my tongue around the swollen ridge, sucking hard.
He cries out — a broken prayer.
Taking him deep again, bobbing faster, one hand between my thighs now, rubbing my pussy through my panties. Soaked. Aching.
I want him inside me.
But first — he needs to break.
I hum around his cock — low, vibrating, sending shockwaves up his spine.
“Please… I’m going to —”
I don’t stop.
I want him to lose it.
He thrusts deeper — once, twice — and then he’s coming, pulsing hot ropes, groaning my name like it’s a hymn.
I swallow every drop.
When he’s spent, trembling, I pull off with a soft kiss to the head.
Then sit back, eyes glowing.
“Feel better, Father?”
He’s breathing hard, hands on his knees, face flushed.
“You’ve… damned me.”
“No, darling. I’ve freed you.”
Standing, smoothing my dress, and step toward the door.
Then pause.
“Tomorrow. Same time. Wear nothing under your robes.”
And I leave — hips swaying, heart pounding, victorious.
The next day, he does.
And this time, I take him all the way.
I ride him in the confessional, my dress pushed up, his hands on my ass, my tits bouncing free as I grind down on his thick cock. I come with my hand over his mouth, muffling his moans like a prayer.
Afterward, he whispers, “I’ve never felt this close to God.”
I laugh. “Baby, you have no idea what heaven feels like.”
Ms. Kat
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