The Confession Father Andrés Would Never Forget

The Sunday mass at the Church of Carmen ended promptly at noon. The parishioners of Santa Catalina began getting to their feet one by one, straightening 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 coming in through the doors thrown wide open.

Among the last to rise was Elena.

She was eighteen, with a calm people mistook for shyness. Fair skin, long black hair she usually wore in a braid, and dark brown eyes that held a certain fixedness that made strangers uncomfortable. That Sunday she wore a plain cream long-sleeved dress, nothing showy. She stayed seated on the pew while the others were already leaving, hands folded in her lap and her gaze on the altar.

She waited until the church was almost 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 about forty, slender, with brown hair just lightly streaked with gray at the temples. He had a reputation for patience and for listening well. The young people of Santa Catalina came 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 gathered silence. Elena entered through the left-hand door and knelt. On the other side of the lattice, Father Andrés’s silhouette was little 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 over her lap.

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

—Take all the time you need.

She drew in a breath.

—I’ve been having thoughts I shouldn’t have. About someone I... shouldn’t.

—What kind of thoughts?

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

—That’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 lattice lasted several seconds. Elena heard the creak of wood as he shifted position.

—Elena —he finally said, with a voice that was no longer quite 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 off guard. It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear.

—Since last fall —she answered—. Since that afternoon you helped me with the catechism group and explained something to me 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 a specific man.

—I see —he said slowly.

Elena waited. She listened to his breathing on the other side of the lattice, more measured than usual.

—I’m not going to absolve you of something that isn’t a sin —Father Andrés said at last—. Desire is not a sin. What we do with it can be. But you’ve done nothing.

—Father...

—Go with God, Elena.

She left the confessional with flushed cheeks. 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 sat for a few minutes with his head resting on one hand, staring at the dark wooden crucifix hanging in front of him. Beneath his cassock, his cock had gone hard halfway through the confession and remained hard, tense against the black fabric, impossible to ignore.

He had been a priest for twelve years. He had heard all kinds of confessions. Nothing usually affected him in a way he couldn’t 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.

—What are you doing here? —he asked.

—I don’t want to leave yet —she said. She didn’t say it coyly. 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 cabinet with the liturgical vestments, a dark wooden desk, two chairs, a window facing the back courtyard. Noon light came in at an angle and drew a golden rectangle on the stone floor.

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

Elena chose to perch on the edge of the desk instead of sitting in the chair. She looked at him with those dark eyes that didn’t 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 stood by the door, hands clasped behind his back. There was a meter and a half between 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 if I didn’t hear it —he admitted—. But I also 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 his jaw tightened.

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

—Everything. How you can want something so much when you know you shouldn’t want it. How the body decides on its own, without asking you. Right now I’m wet, Father. It’s running down my thighs and I can’t stop it.

He nodded slowly. Swallowed.

—I understand that —he said—. Believe me, I understand it.

It was Elena who moved first. Only a little. Enough for their knees to almost touch.

—I’ve thought about this many times —she said—. About what it would be like. I can’t stop myself. I think about your cock inside me. About your mouth. About your tongue. I touch myself every night thinking about you.

—Elena.

—I’ve never been with anyone, Father. Never. And the only person I’ve ever imagined it with is you.

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, but simply honest. And that was the hardest thing to resist.

He moved his hand first. He laid it over hers on the desk. That was all.

But Elena turned her palm upward and laced her fingers with his. Then she grabbed his wrist and took his hand under her dress, between her legs, until he felt through his fingers how soaked the fabric of her panties was.

—See? —she whispered—. I’m not lying.

He left his fingers there for a long second. When he pulled them away, his thumb was shining wet.

***

What happened after that was slow. Unhurried, without awkwardness. Father Andrés got up from the chair and stood in front of her, who was still perched on the edge of the desk. He looked at her as if he were still making a decision, but his hands had already decided: they brushed her arms, slid up to her shoulders, and paused at her neck.

Elena was breathing with her mouth slightly open.

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

It was the first time Elena had kissed anyone like that. She hadn’t imagined it would be so different from everything she had seen or read. Hotter. More immediate. She felt his lips with an almost painful clarity, and the movement of his tongue against hers made her squeeze her thighs together.

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

—Are you sure? —he asked against her cheek.

—Yes —she said without hesitation—. Fuck me, Father.

He closed his eyes at the sound of it. As if those two words broke the last of his resistance. He unbuttoned the first buttons of her dress with fingers that were no longer entirely steady and lowered the fabric to her waist. Elena wasn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts were small, white, with pink nipples erect 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 gasped. He nipped it softly, licked the whole nipple, took it into his mouth to the areola and sucked as if thirsty. With his other hand he squeezed the other breast, pinching the nipple between thumb and forefinger.

—Father —she moaned—. My God.

—Don’t call on him now —he said, his mouth still against her skin.

He helped her climb fully onto the desk. Elena reclined on the wood while he stood in front of her. He brushed her hair out of 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 lifted her dress slowly to her waist. Elena felt the cold air on her thighs, then the warmth of his palms as he slid them over 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, unhurried, watching her reaction. Elena tensed slightly, 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 didn’t stop him. He stared at her cunt for a moment. It was shaved at the edges, with a strip of dark hair above, and the lips gleamed with moisture. You could see it throbbing.

—My God —he murmured—. Elena.

—Eat me out, Father. Please.

He knelt between her legs. He slid his hands under her ass and drew her to the edge of the desk until she was right at his mouth. Elena felt the first contact of his tongue against her cunt and her whole body went rigid at once. A hot jolt shot from her groin to her throat.

Father Andrés licked her slowly, bottom to top, the full length of her cunt, and paused a long moment over her clit. Then he sucked it. He took it between his lips and sucked softly, while his tongue drew small circles. Elena made a sound she hadn’t known she could make.

—Oh God, Father, oh God.

He kept going. He licked her with his tongue spread wide, then with the tip, then sucked her clit again. He slipped a finger into her slowly, halfway. Elena was so wet that the finger went in with no resistance. Then he pushed it all the way in, and then a second. He moved them inside her while still sucking her clit. He curled his fingers upward, searching for the spot that made her moan harder.

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 to her cunt. Nothing mattered anymore. She felt as if her body didn’t entirely belong to her, as if something was gathering at a point she didn’t know how to name but recognized instinctively. 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 didn’t stop. He sucked her faster, his fingers moving inside her with a firm rhythm, and Elena began lifting her hips against his mouth without being able to control herself. Her breathing came in broken bursts. High, sharp moans escaped her, obscene in the sacristy’s silence.

When she came, it was with her eyes closed and her body arched over the wood, breath torn apart and fingers white from gripping the desk’s edge. She felt her cunt clenching around his fingers in waves while his tongue kept working her clit until she had to pull away because it was too much. Father Andrés rose slowly, his mouth and chin shining, 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 a little faster than normal. His cassock slightly rumpled. Beneath it, his cock made an obscene bulge against the fabric.

—I want more —she said—. I want to feel it inside.

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

—Come here —she said, gesturing—. 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 took his cock in one hand. It was hot and heavy. She ran her tongue over the tip, shyly at first, tasting the salty drop shining at the opening. Then she opened her mouth and took it in as far as she could. He let out a rough groan and rested one hand on the back of her neck, without pressing.

—Elena —he panted—. You don’t have to...

But she kept going. She sucked slowly, drawing the cock almost all the way out and taking it in again, her lips tight around the shaft. Saliva ran down her chin. She licked his balls underneath, ran her tongue along the full length, and took him back into her mouth. She looked up at him while doing it, dark eyes locked on his, and that was the image he could no longer bear.

—Stop —he told her, tugging gently at her hair—. Stop or I’m going to come in your mouth.

She drew his cock out of her mouth slowly, with a soft pop, and smiled.

—Another day —she said—. Right now I want it inside.

***

It was slow, careful. He lifted her and set her back on the edge of the desk. He kissed her again, and she tasted herself in his mouth. He kissed her while he positioned himself in front of her, his cock resting against her belly, and she drew him toward her impatiently. She grabbed his cock and guided it to the entrance of her cunt. She felt the first contact, the hot head parting her wet lips, and bit her own lip.

He entered little by little, pausing every time her expression changed. Elena felt the widening, how his cock opened her from within, millimeter by millimeter. It was thicker than she had imagined.

There was a moment of discomfort when he pushed against the 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, a single decisive movement, and the cock went all the way in. Elena let out a muffled cry, eyes wide. She felt the sting, the pressure, the weight of having him inside all the way. And then, when he stayed still against her, his cock buried to the base, she felt something else: how her cunt adjusted around him, how the pain turned into something else.

—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 started moving, very slightly at first, a light sway of her hips, he answered with short, soft thrusts.

Little by little it got deeper. More rhythmic. Elena began moving with him instead of simply waiting. She wrapped her legs around his waist and made him go deeper each time. The small room filled with their intertwined breathing, the soft creak of the desk’s old wood, the wet, obscene sound of his cock sliding in and out of her.

—Harder —Elena told him in his ear—. I’m not going to break.

Father Andrés gripped her hips with both hands and started fucking her for real. The thrusts grew deeper, faster. Elena clutched at the black cassock to keep from falling backward. Each удар tore a moan from her. She could hear her own sounds as if they belonged to someone else.

—Oh Father. Oh Father, like that.

—God, Elena. You’re so tight.

He stopped for a moment and turned her around. Elena understood, turned on the desk, and braced her elbows on the wood, her ass lifted toward him. Her dress bunched at her waist. Father Andrés stroked her buttocks for a second, squeezed them with both hands, and drove 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 went deeper. Each thrust shoved her against the desk. He held her by the hips and penetrated her hard, the sound of his thighs slapping against her ass filling the sacristy.

—Father, I’m going to come again.

—Come —he panted—. Come on my cock.

He reached under her with one hand and found her clit with his fingers while still fucking her from behind. Elena felt a second orgasm coming, deeper, longer. Her cunt tightened around his cock in spasms and she let herself collapse against the wood, face pressed to the desk, moaning into her arm.

Elena looked over her shoulder while he kept moving inside her. She didn’t close her eyes. She wanted to remember every detail: the slanted light coming in through the courtyard window, his hands on her hips digging in with his fingers, the black cassock lifted up, the weight of something that was finally real after months of imagining it.

—I’m going to finish —he panted—. Elena.

—Inside —she said—. Come inside.

He gripped her harder and gave a few last thrusts, each one faster than the last, until he buried himself to the hilt and stayed there, still. Elena felt the spasms of his cock inside her, felt it throb as he filled her, the hot spurt splashing against her walls. He let out a long, muffled groan, forehead pressed to her shoulder, fingers tightened in her waist.

He stayed inside a little longer, breathing heavily against the back of her neck, before pulling out slowly. Elena felt the hot thread of semen sliding down the inner side of her thigh.

***

Afterward they stayed still for a while. Elena straightened slowly, her legs a little shaky, and fixed her dress. She fumbled with the top buttons. She picked her panties up from the floor, looked at them for a second, and put them in her bag. Father Andrés pulled up his pants, fastened his belt, smoothed his cassock. He walked to the window and stared 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, softly.

Elena picked up her bag from the floor and walked to the door. Before leaving, she stopped, as she had already done 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 no longer belonged exactly to the priest she had known.

—As always —he replied.

She nodded and left.