The Confession Father Andrés Will Never Forget

Sunday Mass at Carmen Church ended promptly at noon. The parishioners of Santa Catalina rose one by one, adjusting their coats, picking up conversations they had left hanging an hour earlier. The murmur filled the central nave, and the smell of incense mingled with the fresh air pouring in through the doors standing wide open.

Elena was among the last to rise.

She was eighteen and possessed a calmness people mistook for shyness. Fair skin, long black hair that she usually wore braided, and dark brown eyes that stared with an intensity somewhat unsettling to those who did not know her well. That Sunday she wore a cream-colored long-sleeved dress, nothing eye-catching. She remained seated in the pew after everyone else had left, her hands folded in her lap and her gaze fixed on the altar.

She waited until the church was nearly empty before approaching Father Andrés, who was arranging the sermon pages on the pulpit.

“Father,” she said softly.

He looked up. He was a man of about forty, thin, with brown hair only lightly touched with gray at the temples. He was known for his patience and for being a good listener. The young people of Santa Catalina turned to him more often than to their own parents.

“Elena. What brings you here at this hour?”

“I wanted to confess, Father. If you have a moment.”

“Of course,” he said, closing the Bible. “Give me a minute.”

***

The confessional smelled of old wood and accumulated silence. Elena entered through the left-hand door and knelt. On the other side of the grille, Father Andrés’s silhouette was barely more than a familiar shadow.

“Praise be to God,” he said.

“Forever praised,” she replied.

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

“About three weeks.”

There was a pause. Elena clasped her hands in her lap.

“Father, what I have to tell you isn’t easy.”

“Take all the time you need.”

She drew a breath.

“I’ve been having thoughts I shouldn’t have. About someone who... I shouldn’t.”

“What kind of thoughts?”

“Desire,” she said, her voice barely trembling. “Physical desire. I wake up at night with my hand between my legs, touching myself while thinking about that person. I finger my pussy until I come, and afterward I can’t look at myself in the mirror. I don’t know what to do about it.”

“It’s natural, Elena. Desire exists. The question is how we handle it.”

“I know, Father. But what makes it harder is... that person is you.”

The silence on the other side of the grille lasted several seconds. Elena heard the wood creak as he shifted position.

“Elena,” he finally said, in a voice that was no longer exactly that of the confessor. “That’s something that...”

“I’m not asking you to do anything,” she interrupted. “I just wanted to tell you. I’d been carrying this for months and I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Silence.

“Since when?” he asked at last.

The question caught her by surprise. It was not what she had expected to hear.

“Since last autumn,” she replied. “Since that afternoon when you helped me with the catechism group and explained something about the Song of Songs. I don’t know why, but something changed that day. That same night I got into bed and touched myself thinking about your mouth. It was the first time I came thinking about one specific man.”

“I understand,” he said slowly.

Elena waited. She heard his breathing on the other side of the grille, slower than usual.

“I’m not going to absolve you of something that isn’t a sin,” Father Andrés said at last. “Desire isn’t a sin. What we do with it may be. But you haven’t done anything.”

“Father...”

“Go with God, Elena.”

She left the confessional with her cheeks burning. She walked toward the exit without looking back. But when she was already at the threshold, she stopped.

And turned around.

***

Father Andrés did not go up to the sacristy immediately. He remained seated for several minutes with his head resting in his hand, staring at the dark wooden crucifix hanging in front of him. Beneath his cassock, his cock had hardened halfway through the confession and was still stiff, taut against the black fabric, impossible to ignore.

He had been a priest for twelve years. He had heard confessions of every kind. Nothing usually affected him in a way he could not channel.

But this was different.

When he finally climbed the stairs to the sacristy, Elena was waiting for him in the hallway. There was a clarity in her posture, a quiet firmness that unsettled him more than any provocation could have.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I don’t want to leave yet,” she said. She did not say it coquettishly. She said it with the same direct calm with which she did everything.

Father Andrés looked at her for a moment. Then he opened the sacristy door and let her in.

The room was small: a cupboard with the liturgical vestments, a dark wooden desk, two chairs, and a window looking out onto the back courtyard. Midday light entered at an angle, drawing a golden rectangle across the stone floor.

“Sit down,” he said, closing the door behind him. He slid the bolt.

Instead of sitting in the chair, Elena chose to lean against the edge of the desk. She looked at him with those dark eyes that did not blink often enough.

“I haven’t been able to sleep properly for months,” she said. “Is that natural too?”

“It could be many things.”

“You know what it is.”

Father Andrés remained standing beside the door, his hands behind his back. A yard and a half separated them.

“Elena, what you told me in the confessional...”

“I meant it. Every word. And there’s more I didn’t say.”

“I know.”

“And?”

“And I can’t act as though I didn’t hear it,” he admitted. “But I can’t...”

“I’m not asking you to break any vows,” she said slowly. “I just want to understand what I’m feeling. And you’re the only person I can talk to about this.”

The priest crossed the room and sat in the chair facing her. Up close, Elena could see the fine lines around his eyes, the gray at his temples, the way he clenched his jaw.

“What is it you don’t understand?” he asked quietly.

“Everything. How you can want something so badly when you know you shouldn’t want it. How the body decides on its own, without consulting you. I’m wet right now, Father. It’s running down my thighs and I can’t stop it.”

He nodded slowly. He swallowed.

“I understand that,” he said. “Believe me, I understand.”

Elena was the first to move closer. Just a little. Enough for their knees almost to touch.

“I’ve thought about this so many times,” she said. “What it would be like. I can’t help it. I think about your cock inside me. Your mouth. Your tongue. I touch myself every night thinking about you.”

“Elena.”

“I’ve never been with anyone, Father. Never. And you’re the only person I’ve imagined it with.”

Father Andrés closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, she was looking at him with an expression that was neither innocent nor provocative, simply honest. And that was the hardest thing to resist.

He was the first to move his hand. He placed it over hers on the desk. That was all.

But Elena turned her palm upward and laced her fingers through his. Then she caught his wrist and guided his hand beneath her dress, between her legs, until he could feel with his fingers how soaked the fabric of her underwear was.

“See?” she whispered. “I’m not lying.”

He left his fingers there for one long second. When he pulled them away, the tip of his thumb was glistening.

***

What happened next was slow. Unhurried, without awkwardness. Father Andrés rose from the chair and stood in front of her, while she remained leaning against the edge of the desk. He looked at her as though he were still making a decision, but his hands had already decided: they brushed over her arms, rose to her shoulders, and came to rest at her neck.

Elena breathed with her lips slightly parted.

He leaned down and kissed her. A brief kiss at first, almost a question. Then she responded, and the kiss lengthened. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she sucked it hungrily, as if she had been practicing for months.

It was the first time Elena had kissed someone like that. She had not imagined it would be so different from everything she had seen or read. Warmer. More present. She felt his lips with a clarity that almost hurt, and his tongue moving against hers made her squeeze her thighs together.

Father Andrés’s hands moved down her back and drew her closer. Elena placed her palms against his chest, over the cassock, and felt the heat of his body through the fabric. Then she lowered one hand and grasped his cock through the cloth. She felt it hard, thick, swollen beneath the cassock. He let out a short moan against her mouth.

“Are you sure?” he asked against her cheek.

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Fuck me, Father.”

He closed his eyes when he heard her. As if those two words shattered his last resistance. He undid the top buttons of her dress with fingers that were no longer entirely steady and lowered the fabric to her waist. Elena was not wearing a bra. Her tits were small and white, with pink nipples standing hard from the cold and from whatever was happening inside her.

Father Andrés stared at them for a second. Then he lowered his mouth and sucked one nipple. Elena threw her head back and moaned. He bit it gently, licked the entire nipple, took it into his mouth up to the areola, and sucked as if he were thirsty. With his other hand he squeezed her other tit, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Father,” she moaned. “My God.”

“Don’t invoke Him now,” he said, his mouth still pressed to her skin.

He helped her climb fully onto the desk. Elena reclined on the wood while he remained standing in front of her. He brushed her hair away from her face with one hand. He looked at her in silence.

“If at any point you want to stop,” he said.

“I’m not going to want to stop,” she replied.

He slowly lifted her dress to her waist. Elena felt the cool air on her thighs, followed by the warmth of his palms as he slid them along her legs. Her skin was sensitive, and every touch sent a shiver through her that was not unpleasant.

Father Andrés took his time. He stroked the insides of her thighs with his thumbs, unhurriedly, watching her reaction. Elena tensed a little, then relaxed. She let her head fall back and closed her eyes.

When he pulled her panties down her legs and left them hanging from one ankle, she did not stop him. He stared at her pussy for a moment. It was shaved at the edges, with a strip of dark hair above, and its lips glistened with moisture. He could see it throbbing.

“My God,” he murmured. “Elena.”

“Eat me, Father. Please.”

He knelt between her legs. He placed his hands beneath her buttocks and drew her toward the edge of the desk until she was right at the level of his mouth. Elena felt the first contact of his tongue against her pussy, and her entire body tensed at once. A hot lash shot from her groin to her throat.

Father Andrés licked her slowly, from bottom to top, along the entire length of her pussy, then lingered over her clitoris. After that he sucked it. He took it between his lips and sucked gently while making small circles with his tongue. Elena made a sound she had not known she could make.

“Oh God, Father, oh God.”

He continued. He licked her with his whole tongue spread wide, then with the tip, then sucked her clitoris again. He slowly inserted one finger, halfway in. Elena was so wet that the finger entered without resistance. Then he pushed it all the way in, followed by a second. He moved them inside her while continuing to suck her clitoris. He curled his fingers upward, searching for the spot that made her moan the loudest.

Elena clung to the edge of the desk with both hands. Then she grabbed his head, buried her fingers in his hair, and pressed his mouth against her pussy. She no longer cared about anything. She felt as though her body did not entirely belong to her, as though something was building at a point she did not know how to name but instinctively recognized. The heat rose from her legs to the nape of her neck.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Don’t stop, Father, please, don’t stop.”

He did not stop. He sucked her faster, his fingers moving inside her in a firm rhythm, and Elena began to lift her hips against his mouth, unable to control herself. Her breathing became ragged. High, sharp, obscene moans escaped her into the silence of the sacristy.

When she climaxed, her eyes were closed and her body arched over the wood, her breathing shattered and her fingers white from gripping the desk’s edge. She felt her pussy contracting around his fingers in waves while his tongue continued working her clitoris until she began to pull away because it was too much. Father Andrés slowly straightened, his mouth and chin glistening, and let her recover.

“Are you all right?” he asked, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“Yes,” she said, her voice still trembling. “Yes, I’m fine. I’ve never come like that before.”

Elena sat up and looked at him from the edge of the desk. His eyes were bright and his breathing somewhat faster than normal. His cassock was slightly rumpled. Beneath it, his cock made an obscene bulge against the fabric.

“I want more,” she said. “I want to feel it inside me.”

It was not a question. Father Andrés looked at her for one long second, then undid his belt. He lifted his cassock and pulled his trousers and underwear down to mid-thigh. His cock sprang free, hard and long, the reddened tip already glistening at the head. Elena looked at it and swallowed.

“Come here,” she said, beckoning him. “Let me see it up close.”

He came closer. Elena climbed down from the desk, knelt on the stone floor in front of him, and grasped his cock with one hand. It was hot and heavy. She ran her tongue over the tip, timidly at first, tasting the salty drop glistening in the opening. Then she opened her mouth and took it all the way in, as far as she could. He let out a rough moan and placed one hand on the back of her neck without pressing.

“Elena,” he panted. “You don’t have to...”

But she continued. She sucked slowly, drawing his cock almost all the way out and taking it back in, her lips tight around the shaft. Saliva ran down her chin. She licked his balls underneath, ran her tongue along his entire length, and took him into her mouth again. She looked up at him as she did it, her dark eyes fixed on his, and that image was what he could no longer endure.

“Stop,” he told her, gently tugging her hair. “Stop or I’ll come in your mouth.”

She slowly withdrew his cock from her mouth with a wet pop and smiled.

“Another day,” she said. “Now I want it inside me.”

***

It happened slowly, carefully. He lifted her and sat her back on the edge of the desk. He kissed her again, and she tasted herself in his mouth. He kissed her while positioning himself in front of her, his cock resting against her belly, and she pulled him toward her impatiently. She grasped his cock and guided it to the entrance of her pussy. She felt the first contact, the hot head parting her wet lips, and she pressed her own lips together.

He entered little by little, stopping whenever her expression changed. Elena felt herself widening, felt his cock opening her from within, millimeter by millimeter. It was thicker than she had imagined.

There was a moment of discomfort when he pressed against her hymen. Elena frowned and dug her fingers into his shoulders. He stopped.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“A little. Keep going. Put it all the way in.”

He pushed firmly, in one single, decisive movement, and his cock slid all the way in. Elena let out a muffled moan, her eyes wide. She felt the sting, the pressure, the weight of having him fully inside her. And then, when he remained still against her, his cock buried to the base, she felt something else: the way her pussy settled around him, the way the pain became something different.

“Stay like that for a moment,” she whispered.

He stayed. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her neck. He stroked her back beneath the dress. When Elena began to move, very slightly at first, a gentle rocking of her hips, he answered with short, soft thrusts.

Little by little, he went deeper. More rhythmically. Elena began moving with him instead of simply waiting. She wrapped her legs around his waist and made him enter her farther each time. The small room filled with their entwined breathing, the soft creak of the old wooden desk, and the wet, obscene sound of his cock entering and leaving her.

“Harder,” Elena told him in his ear. “I’m not going to break.”

Father Andrés gripped her hips with both hands and began fucking her in earnest. His thrusts grew deeper, faster. Elena clutched his black cassock to keep from falling backward. Every stroke tore a moan from her. She could hear her own sounds as if they were coming from someone else.

“Oh, Father. Oh, Father, like that.”

“God, Elena. You’re so tight.”

He stopped for a moment and made her turn around. Elena understood, turning on the desk and bracing her elbows against the wood, her ass raised toward him. Her dress was bunched at her waist. Father Andrés caressed her buttocks for a second, squeezed them in both hands, and thrust his cock into her again from behind. In one full stroke.

Elena cried out and bit her forearm to keep from making more noise. From that angle, he reached deeper inside her. Every thrust pushed her against the desk. He gripped her hips and penetrated her deeply, the sound of his thighs striking her ass filling the sacristy.

“Father, I’m going to come again.”

“Come,” he panted. “Come on my cock.”

He reached beneath her with one hand and found her clitoris with his fingers while continuing to fuck her from behind. Elena felt a second orgasm coming, deeper and longer. Her pussy tightened around his cock in spasms, and she collapsed onto the wood, her face pressed against the desk, moaning into her arm.

Elena looked at him over her shoulder while he continued moving inside her. She did not close her eyes. She wanted to remember every detail: the oblique light entering through the courtyard window, his hands on her hips, his fingers digging into her, the black cassock pushed up, the weight of something that had finally become real after months of imagining it.

“I’m going to come,” he panted. “Elena.”

“Inside,” she said. “Come inside me.”

He gripped her more tightly and gave her a few final thrusts, each one faster than the last, until he buried himself to the hilt and went still. Elena felt the spasms of his cock inside her, felt it throb as he filled her, the hot stream spurting against her walls. He let out a long, muffled moan, his forehead resting on her shoulder, his fingers tight around her waist.

He remained inside her for a while longer, breathing heavily against her nape, before slowly pulling out. Elena felt the hot strand of semen sliding down the inside of her thigh.

***

Afterward they remained still for a while. Elena slowly straightened, her legs somewhat shaky, and adjusted her dress. She buttoned the top buttons with clumsy fingers. She picked up her panties from the floor, looked at them for a second, and put them in her purse. Father Andrés pulled up his trousers, fastened his belt, and smoothed his cassock. He moved toward the window and looked out at the empty courtyard without saying anything. The light had changed angle. More than two hours had passed since Mass.

“Father,” she said.

“Yes?”

“I don’t regret it.”

He took a while to answer. He was still looking at the courtyard.

“Neither do I,” he said at last, quietly.

Elena picked up her purse from the floor and walked toward the door. Before leaving, she stopped, just as she had earlier that same day.

“Is there Mass at noon next week?” she asked.

Father Andrés looked at her from the window. There was something in his expression that was no longer exactly that of the priest she had known.

“As always,” he replied.

She nodded and left.