The Christmas Confession That Ended in Submission

—Hail Mary, most pure.

—Conceived without sin —the deep voice replied from the other side of the screen.

The woman took a few seconds to continue. She was breathing badly, as though she had spent half an hour gathering the courage to sit in there. When she finally spoke, her voice came out low and broken, heavy with shame.

—Father, bless me, for I have sinned. It’s been more than a week since my last confession, but what I did these past few days... what I let them do to me... won’t let me sleep.

Her name was Verónica. She was an adult woman, over thirty, married, a mother, and a cleaner in a shopping arcade in the south of the city. She had not gone to her usual parish because she couldn’t bear the thought of looking her parish priest in the face after telling him that. For months, she had been stretching their money past the breaking point while her husband strung together sporadic jobs without anything ever quite being enough to keep the household afloat.

—My children wanted a Christmas present, Father. Nothing luxurious, but something I knew I couldn’t afford without splitting in two what little we had. I found a secondhand game console on an app. Cheap. Too cheap. The seller was using a joke name, something Christmas-related, and I thought he was just some eccentric old man trying to be funny.

There was a measured silence on the other side.

—Go on, my child. Tell me everything.

—I arranged to meet him when I got off work. I wore my uniform under my coat. Gray skirt, dark stockings, white blouse. Nothing eye-catching. I only wanted to see if the device worked and then hurry home.

When she reached the entrance, she saw him waiting beside the door. He was an older, burly man, with an unkempt white beard, a heavy belly, thick fingers, and the expression of someone who believed he had a right to everything. He wore a ridiculous red hat that did nothing to make him seem likable; on the contrary, it gave him an even dirtier, more unpleasant air. He smelled of stale tobacco and old sweat even before he came near her.

—He told me to come upstairs to test the console. I hesitated, Father. I really hesitated. But I thought of my children, of their faces when they saw that there would be nothing for them that year either. I went up.

The elevator was small. He pressed himself too close. He didn’t actually touch her, but he invaded her space with his belly and his breath, as if he wanted to get her used to feeling trapped right from the start. Verónica kept her eyes down the whole way.

The apartment was a wreck. Clothes strewn everywhere, overflowing ashtrays, unwashed dishes, the smell of stale air. The console was there, connected to an old television. It worked. That was the worst part: seeing that it was real, that she could take it home, that she was one step away from solving something important for her family.

—He asked me if I had the money. I only had half. I told him, ashamed, trying to appeal to his compassion. I explained my situation. He laughed in my face.

Verónica swallowed.

—What did he say to you? —the confessor asked, almost immediately.

—He said he didn’t do charity. That if I wanted to take it for that price, I would have to compensate him another way.

The woman clasped her hands in her lap, remembering.

—First he touched my shoulder. Then he let his hand drift slowly down to my breast, as if testing how much I would let him do. I knocked his hand away at once. I told him no, that I was married, that I hadn’t come there for that. He stood in front of the door.

—Did he threaten you?

—Yes. He didn’t shout. That frightened me more. He spoke like someone who already knew he was going to get his way.

***

—He told me I wasn’t leaving with the console, or without it, until I made him happy. That if I made a scene, he would say I had gone upstairs willingly to fuck for money. I froze. I thought of my children, my husband, the neighborhood, my job. I thought about how easy it would be to ruin my life with a single lie told by a man like that.

He tried to kiss her. Verónica turned her face away, but he caught her chin between two fingers and forced his tongue between her lips. He tasted of alcohol and tobacco. She pushed against his chest, but he barely moved. There was too much weight behind him, and he had a terrifying calmness, as though he had done it many times before.

—I kept telling him no. I swear to you, Father. I never stopped telling him no.

—I know, my child. Go on.

—Then he opened my coat. He didn’t ask. He pulled it aside with his hands and looked me up and down. He told me that with a body like mine, I didn’t look nearly as respectable as I wanted to make myself out to be.

He unbuttoned her blouse slowly, one button at a time, taking more pleasure in the humiliation than in haste. Verónica had large, heavy breasts, outlined by her bra. When he pulled the fabric down and left her tits bare, a wave of shame so strong swept over her that her face burned.

—He grabbed them carelessly. He squeezed. Weighed each one in his hand as if they belonged to him. He pinched my nipples until they stood hard and told me not to act offended, that my body was reacting all by itself.

The confessor remained silent. She continued.

—And it was true. That’s what disgusts me most. I was afraid, furious, desperate to run, but I could also feel my nipples hardening and myself starting to get wet. I felt like I had betrayed myself.

He lowered his mouth to one of her breasts and sucked greedily, slobbering and biting now and then. His rough beard scraped her skin. With one hand he kneaded her other tit roughly, drawing moans from her that she tried to bite back to keep them from escaping. The harder she tried to remain still, the more her body betrayed her.

—He told me to kneel.

—And what did you do?

—He shoved me. I fell onto my knees. The floor was filthy. I remember that stupid detail with terrifying clarity: my knees getting wet with something sticky while I stared at his belt.

He opened his fly and pulled out his cock. It was thick, reddened, heavy, with a strong smell. Verónica turned her face away on pure reflex. He grabbed her hair and placed the tip against her lips.

—I told him I couldn’t do that. That please, he shouldn’t force me. And he answered that I was already there, on my knees, with my tits out, and that I’d better learn to obey if I wanted the gift and the money.

The first time he pushed it into her mouth, she closed her eyes. Not out of desire: so she wouldn’t have to see him. The sour taste, the pressure, the disgust of feeling that flesh pushing against her tongue overwhelmed her. He gave her no time to adjust. He held the back of her head and began setting the rhythm with his hips.

—It wasn’t just that he wanted me to suck him. He wanted to dominate me. Humiliate me. Every time I tried to pull away, he gripped my head harder and shoved it deeper.

Verónica’s chin filled with saliva. It ran down her neck, fell over her open cleavage, and soaked her blouse. She coughed, choked, tried to breathe through her nose while he pushed his cock in and out of her throat with a wet, obscene, relentless sound.

—That’s it, good girl —he told her—. Swallow and work. If you can clean toilets, you can suck cock.

Verónica let out a muffled sob at the memory.

—At one point I vomited a little. I thought that would make him stop. It didn’t. He called me a slut and told me to keep going.

***

—How long did it last? —the priest asked, too quickly.

—I don’t know. A long time. Or at least it felt that way. I lost track of time.

When he finally let her go, Verónica’s mouth hurt and her knees were trembling. He barely gave her a second before yanking her up by the arm and taking her to the sofa. He bent her over the backrest, leaving her leaning forward, her breasts crushed against the fabric and her ass raised.

—He yanked my skirt up and pulled my panties down to my thighs. He said that since I wanted to play the saint, he wanted to see whether I prayed underneath too.

Shame pierced her again when she felt the air against her exposed pussy. Even more so when he ran his fingers between her lips and found her wet. He didn’t have to pretend to be surprised; he used it as a weapon.

—Look at you —he told her, rubbing her slowly—. You say no and you’re dripping anyway. If you like it, you like it.

Verónica squeezed her legs together, but he forced them apart with his knee. He opened her pussy with two fingers, looking at her from behind as if he were inspecting merchandise. Then he spat into his palm and grabbed his cock.

—He went in all at once. With hardly any preparation. It hurt so much.

The first thrust shoved her against the sofa. Verónica let out a hoarse cry, a mixture of pain and surprise. He didn’t stop to see if she was all right. He gripped her hips and began fucking her with hard, heavy strokes that made the furniture creak.

—I could feel his whole belly hitting my ass, his breath over me, his hands fondling my tits over my open blouse. He said horrible things to me. That I was a cheap whore. That I spread my legs for a console. That who knew how badly I’d already wanted a stranger to wreck my pussy.

She shook her head inside the confessional.

—And I kept saying no, telling him to stop, but my body... my body began moving with his. I didn’t want to give him that satisfaction, and yet I caught myself pushing my hips back to take him better.

The old man noticed at once. He squeezed harder. He gave her a sharp slap that left her skin burning.

—That’s it —he growled—. Stop praying and fuck.

He penetrated her for several minutes at an uneven rhythm, alternating slow, deep thrusts with short, brutal ones that drew involuntary moans from her. Every time Verónica tried to stay quiet, he pulled her hair back to force her to hear herself.

—Say it —he demanded—. Say you like my cock.

—No —she answered, crying.

Then she received another slap, another thrust all the way in, another tug on her hair.

—Say you like it.

—I... I like it —she finally said in shame, because she understood that at least that made him ease up for a second.

But he didn’t ease up. He laughed.

—That’s what I thought.

Verónica grew wetter. She hated remembering it, but it was the truth. The constant friction, the controlled violence of that domination, the way he used her without asking and without the slightest doubt, melted her body’s resistance even as her mind continued screaming something else.

—I had my first orgasm like that, Father. Against my will, but I had it. My legs clenched, I trembled, and he held me open so he could keep fucking me while I came.

From the other side of the screen, the confessor’s breathing sounded denser.

***

—Afterward he put his fingers between my ass cheeks —she continued—. I tensed immediately.

The man spat between her buttocks and spread her ass with his thumbs. First he ran his tongue over her, wet, filthy, insistent, drawing a mixture of disgust and shudders from her. Then he inserted one finger, then two, working her without gentleness, with the sole intention of opening her.

—I told him no, not there. I really did tell him.

—I understand.

—But he answered that if I wanted the whole package, he wanted the whole package too.

When she felt the tip of his cock pushing against her ass, Verónica gripped the sofa with both hands. The pressure was slow only at first. Then he overcame her resistance with a dry shove. Pain shot up her back and cut off her breath.

—I thought he was splitting me in two. I went rigid. He ordered me to breathe and relax my ass if I didn’t want to suffer more. He said it like he was giving practical instructions, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

And she, terrified, obeyed. She panted, spread her legs farther, and tried to yield a little. As soon as he felt her relax, he began fucking her ass with a heavy, deep rocking motion, looser each time. The sound of the thrusts changed. Everything became cruder, more animal.

—That was when I truly understood what he wanted from me. Not just for me to let him touch me. He wanted to break my shame. He wanted to hear me obey.

He grabbed her tits like reins, pulling on them as he thrust. He ordered her to count. To say how many times he had gone in. To repeat that she belonged to him while she was in that apartment. Verónica resisted for a while, until another hot slap on her ass made her release a moan far too loud.

—Say you’re a good submissive.

—I’m not.

He thrust all the way in again, driving into her from behind with such force that she screamed.

—Say it.

—I’m... I’m a good submissive —she murmured.

—Louder.

—I’m a good submissive.

That seemed to arouse him even more. He fucked her ass faster, pulling almost all the way out before burying himself in a single thrust. Verónica, caught between pain and pleasure, began responding with her body, pushing back to receive every blow. Tears ran down her face, but she could also feel another orgasm rising, dirtier and more shameful.

—I came again like that. With his cock in my ass and his hand between my legs, rubbing my clit as if he wanted to tear it off. I couldn’t help it. Moans came out of me; I told him to stop, and at the same time I came all over his hand.

—And him?

—He called me a whore. But not like an ordinary insult. As if he liked hearing himself say it.

***

When he felt himself about to come, the man pulled out abruptly and put her on her knees again. Verónica barely had time to react. His cock brushed her mouth and he grabbed her head once more.

—If you want to finish the deal, swallow —he told her.

She opened her mouth without arguing. That was what tormented her afterward: not that he had forced her, but the final docility with which she obeyed. She took him all the way in again, drooling, her throat irritated, while he used her with short, quick, desperate thrusts.

—He told me to stick out my tongue. He wanted to see me properly open and obedient. I did it.

His come filled her mouth in several thick spurts. Verónica swallowed reflexively, coughing a little, while he continued gripping her hair and releasing dirty moans over her. When he finished, he slapped her cheek a few times with his softening cock and stepped away, satisfied.

—Then he threw the console and some bills onto the sofa. As if it really had been a negotiation.

She straightened her clothes with trembling hands. She cleaned herself as best she could in the bathroom, pulled her damp panties back up, buttoned her blouse, put on her coat, and left with her body aching and her mind blank. Even so, when she got home, she hugged the box to her chest as though that could justify everything.

—My children were so happy when they saw it hidden away for Christmas. And I felt like the worst mother in the world for having bought that happiness that way.

—You were the victim of abuse, my child.

Verónica took a while to answer.

—Yes... but that isn’t the whole truth.

***

Two days later, she went back to see him. She had just finished her shift at the shopping arcade and went to the staff changing room to get changed. She was still wearing her uniform, her hair tied back, exhaustion clinging to her back. She was alone in front of the lockers when the door opened.

He walked in.

He was wearing the mall’s Santa Claus suit, the jacket not completely open, his fake beard half removed, and that same disgusting smile of someone who knows one of your secrets. When he saw her, he locked the door.

—So this is where you work —he said—. I already knew you were good with your hands, but I didn’t imagine I’d see you again so soon.

Verónica felt a jolt of panic and something worse: a wet lash between her legs.

—He told me that if I didn’t want someone to find out about our “transaction,” I’d better behave. I knew he was playing with me. I knew he might be lying, that maybe he wouldn’t dare do anything. But he saw my face. He knew he had me again.

He cornered her against the lockers. At first he didn’t even have to touch her. His body blocking her way and his low, confident voice were enough.

—On your knees —he ordered.

This time Verónica took barely a few seconds. That was the unbearable thing to admit. She didn’t do it solely out of fear. She also did it because she had spent two nights remembering how he had positioned her, how he had made her come, how her body had responded beneath the humiliation. She hated herself for it, but she could no longer deny it.

—I knelt down on my own, Father.

The priest fell silent.

—I lowered his zipper. I pulled his cock out myself. I even grabbed it before he ordered me to. That was when I understood that it wasn’t just blackmail anymore. There was desire too.

She began sucking him with more ease than the first time. There was still disgust, yes, but also familiarity. She knew how to open her mouth, how to position her tongue, how to match the movement of her hand. He noticed at once.

—Well, you learn fast. Put you under pressure and you obey beautifully.

Verónica moaned around his cock when she heard him. That filthy approval lit something deep inside her. He stroked her head almost tenderly, and the gesture aroused her more than his earlier brutality had.

—In the changing room he treated me as if I already belonged to him. He spat in my mouth. Made me swallow. Ordered me to open my blouse and take out my tits while I sucked him, and I obeyed.

One of his hands occupied itself with Verónica’s breasts, kneading them, pinching her nipples, playing with them until they were taut and sore. With the other, he moved aside her underwear and pushed two fingers into her pussy while continuing to fuck her mouth.

—I was soaked. I already was before he even penetrated me. That filled me with shame.

—Did he penetrate you there?

—Yes.

***

He sat her on a bench in the changing room, spread her legs, and knelt in front of her. He licked her pussy with obscene hunger, parting her lips with his thumbs, pushing his tongue deep inside, sucking her clitoris until she writhed. Verónica covered her mouth with her hand to keep from screaming.

—It didn’t feel like punishment. It felt as though he was genuinely enjoying having me like that, legs spread and uniform half on, trembling over his face.

He pulled her hand away from her mouth.

—No keeping quiet. I want to hear when you come.

He made her come with his tongue and two fingers inside her. Verónica arched her back, squeezed her thighs against his shoulders, and finally moaned without being able to hold it back. As soon as the orgasm subsided, he turned her around, pressed her chest against the bench, and lifted her skirt.

—He told me that today he didn’t have to convince me of anything. That the little whore already came trained.

He penetrated her pussy from behind with cold confidence, without pointless violence, like someone who already knew the body he was going to use. Every thrust found the exact spot that made her gasp. He pinned her wrists behind her back with one hand, immobilizing her, while with the other he rubbed her clitoris between thrusts.

—That was when I told him I wanted more. I said it myself, without him forcing me.

The rhythm grew faster. The lockers vibrated. The bench creaked. He fucked her hard, but with control, mastering every change of angle, every pause that left her almost empty before filling her again with a single blow. Verónica felt used and, at the same time, scandalously catered to in her pleasure.

—I asked him to take me from behind again. I don’t know how I managed to say it.

He laughed, pleased, and did not judge her; he simply obeyed the order born of submission. He spat between her buttocks, opened her with his fingers, and prepared her while pushing two fingers into her pussy to keep her dripping. Then he positioned his cock at her ass and entered slowly, savoring every inch.

Verónica rested her forehead against the bench and let him do it, breathing deeply, relaxing her body exactly as he had taught her the first time. Once he had taken her completely, he began moving with a firm, deep rhythm, brutal only in appearance: he knew exactly how much he could give her without breaking her.

—He called me his good submissive. He told me that a woman like me needed to be ordered around. And I... I came when I heard him say it.

The orgasm came long and filthy, dismantling her. He continued fucking her ass while she trembled, his fingers working her clitoris until they drew another spasm from her. Then he pulled out, turned her onto her back, and gripped her jaw.

—Open.

Verónica opened. She received his come on her tongue and swallowed without looking away.

***

Silence returned to the confessional. The only sounds were their breathing and, far away, a bench creaking in the body of the church.

—I haven’t seen him since then —she said at last—, but I can’t stop thinking about him. Not only with fear. With desire too. That’s what’s breaking me inside. Because it’s one thing for him to have forced me the first time. It’s something entirely different that now, when I have sex with my husband, I close my eyes and remember that voice giving me orders, that hand at the back of my neck, the way he humiliated me until I came.

The priest took a while to answer.

—And what do you feel right now as you tell me this?

Verónica rested her forehead against the wood of the confessional.

—Shame. Guilt. And heat between my legs. I feel all of it at once. That’s why I came. Because I no longer know whether I’m looking for forgiveness or permission to fall again.

From the other side, the deep voice sounded lower, rougher.

—The flesh causes a great deal of confusion when it touches a deep wound.

She closed her eyes.

—Tell me what to do, Father.

There was a long pause.

—Start by telling me one more thing. If that man called you again... if he ordered you to kneel again... would you obey?

Verónica felt a shiver run through her entire body. She did not answer immediately. When she finally did, the truth came out as a surrendered whisper.

—Yes. I think I would.

The breathing on the other side of the screen grew even heavier.

—Then pray with me —the priest said.

Verónica clasped her hands, trembling.

—In the name of the Father...

The man’s voice interrupted her with a low, hoarse, unmistakable laugh.

—Ho, ho, ho.