Message-ID: <14529eli$9808181818@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: john_dark@anon.nymserver.com Subject: {UncleMike}JDR"Father Dowling: I Am Heartily Sorry B"( mF MF F-solo )[2/2] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Note: This message was posted by a secure email service. Please report MISUSE OR ABUSE of this automated secure email service to . Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <6rb3lu$ms5$1@sparky.wolfe.net> JOHN DARK REPOST The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author make any guarantee. 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If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as well. ===================== FATHER DOWLING: I Am Heartily Sorry By Uncle Mike Section B: I must have been there for a good 10 minutes when I heard the booth door opening again. I was surprised to hear Sister Stephanie's voice coming through the grille. "Sister? Is that you?" "Hi, Father Prestwick. I mean, uh, bless me, Father, for I have ..." "But, Sister, it's after hours. I..." "Yeah, but I saw you still had the light on over your door. I was out all day helpin' out a soup kitchen they're startin' up, and I didn't have time to get back for confession, but I thought I'd just stop in for a prayer when I saw it. I'm sorry if I'm keepin' you from something. I mean, I can ..." "No, that's all right, Sister," I said with a sigh. "You just go on with it. This shouldn't take long, I presume." And it shouldn't have. Sister Stephanie -- she insists people call her Sister Steve, but I find that difficult -- is a bit, well, unusual, for a nun, but she rarely steps far enough from the true path to have much to confess. In fact, this time, she was through her list in just a couple of minutes. I suspected that with Father Dowling she'd spend more time in philosophical discussion, but she and I never had been very close. Normally, after a confession, I just hand out the penance and bless them. But I was still shaken by Carol's story. That's all I can figure out, anyway, to explain what happened next. You see, I asked Sister Stephanie if she was sure she had made a full confession. She seemed taken aback by my question, so I tried to reassure her. "I'm not suggesting that you have intentionally avoided anything, Sister," I said. "But it's my job to make sure. And certainly it is in your best interest to make sure, too?" "Yes, Father," she said, and then there was a little pause. "But I'm not sure I know what you mean. I did think over things before I came in, like always. I..." "I'm sure you did. But there is nothing wrong with a little help. I'll just ask you a few questions, and I'm sure we will get through this smoothly. Is that all right?" "Well, yeah, I guess..." "Fine. Now, Sister -- Steve, can you recall ever wishing harm to anyone -- since your last confession, of course." "Like I told you, I did have some bad thoughts about ..." "Yes, you did say that. But that was just wishing that person would be caught by the police. There is nothing wrong with wanting justice to win out. I'm talking about wishing evil about someone -- someone who had done you wrong, perhaps?" "No, Father, I don't remember..." "Not even some driver who splashed you with water at a curb? A parishioner in a bad mood? No one?" "Well, I don't remember, but that might have happened. But I'm sure if it did, I stopped thinkin' it right away." "Yes, but you see, just a few moments ago you were sure there had been nothing at all. I think we should go on." I leaned against the grille, trying to make out her outline amid the shadows. "Did you ever, just to yourself, take the Lord's name in vain?" "No way! Well, maybe -- no, that doesn't count." I tsk-tsked her in gentle remonstrance. "Now, Sister, this has to be a full confession." "Well, I may have said the D-word once or twice -- to myself, I mean -- and, you know, it might have had a 'God' in front of it -- but I didn't mean it. Father, I don't mean to be arguing, but when I confess to Father Dowling we usually talk about more, um, more -- oh, I don't know, more important stuff?" I smiled in the darkness. "Yes. I understand. Something more important than cursing the Lord's name. Well, let me think. Ah, this may work. Sister, did you at any time break your vow of chastity?" "Father!" "Now, Sister Steve, you are aware that the vow is not merely one of physical chastity. I am certainly aware of the heavy burden that vow is. Are you certain that at no time you had any impure thoughts?" "I wouldn't..." "When that plumber came to the rectory last week, you seemed to linger over your talk with Father Dowling. That wouldn't have had anything to do with the fact that the plumber was a young, rather muscular man given to working with his shirt off, would it?" I could hear Sister Stephanie draw in her breath sharply. There was a long pause. "Well, I might have admired his, um, his physique -- but there's nothing wrong with that, is there? I didn't do nothing." Her voice quavered. "Perhaps not -- but how far did your admiration go? Did you admire him as a specimen of art, or as a man?" There was a thump against the grille; a wisp of hair came through the bars and brushed against my forehead. "As a man," came the weak reply. "I see. And did you just admire him, or did you have any thoughts about going further?" "No..." Her reply was barely a whisper. "Nothing at all? You didn't imaging brushing your hands against his chest? Stroking his arms? Placing your cheek against his?" "No, no -- Yes!" She sniffed as if she were trying to hold back her tears. "Now, Sister, remember, all sins may be forgiven. All you need do is give a full and contrite confession, and I will help you do that. Gather your strength, Sister. Shall I give you a few minutes?" She asked me to go on. "Very well. Now tell me, exactly, what did you imagine yourself doing?" "I -- I -- What you said, Father. And I thought about havin' his arms around me, too. And kissing me -- he looked so strong, but gentle." "Was there any more?" "Do we really have to do this?" I let the silence be my reply. "I understand. Well, that was all, really it was -- for the afternoon, when I saw him. But later that night, when I was tryin' to get to sleep, I thought about him again. Only this time, I wondered what he looked like ..." The pause stretched into a minute before she went on. "... naked. Oh, Father, I know I shouldn't! But how can I stop? How do you do it, Father? You know how things are today -- sex is all over the place! And I'm not in any cloister -- though I hear even those nuns had their problems. But I'm out there everyday, surrounded by all those pictures and movies and stories and -- well, how do you do it?" It seemed to be getting even hotter inside my little cubicle. I wiped a thin film of sweat off my brow as I paused to think over my strategy. I was too close to mess it up now. I decided on a stern approach for now. "We are not here to discuss me, Sister. Please remember that. I am here as your confessor, not your friend. Nothing you say to me can leave this confessional, so you are to be completely open and honest. Don't hold anything back. Do you understand?" "Yeah, Father." "Now. You said you thought about what that man looked like naked. What were you doing when you had those thoughts?" "Huh?" "You were in bed, you said. Thinking of a naked man. Did you touch yourself?" I heard a faint whisper and demanded she speak louder. "Yes!" she said, the word ringing against the well-polished wood. "Yes, I did touch myself." "Where?" "Father!" I knew I was at the very edge now; too harsh and her native stubbornness would flare up; too gentle and we would back away, never to return. I couldn't decide what to say. Miraculously, silence proved to be the perfect choice. "I touched myself ..." I held my breath. "... down there. On my cu-- my vagina." "What did it feel like?" "It felt good. I was so hot, Father. I rubbed myself and it got all wet. I..." "Tell me everything." "I even put my fingers -- inside. Oh, it was so good. I knew it was the wrong thing, but I couldn't help it, I swear! Once I started rubbing I couldn't stop. My hips started bucking up and everything was just a blur. I touched my breasts, my nipples, I even put my wet fingers into my mouth and sucked them off one by one!" By now I had a raging erection. As quietly as I could, I unzipped my pants and slid them and my shorts down around my ankles. While Sister Stephanie went on, graphically describing her frenzied masturbation, I began to stroke myself. Soon I was near ejaculation, but I stopped. I had something better in mind. As she paused to take a breath, I broke in to her monologue. "That's very good, Sister. It's good that you are telling me this. There is no shame before God. Now, tell me, what you did that night: Did it satisfy your needs?" "It was good, Father. But -- no, it did not. I still think about what it would be like -- to be with a man." "That would be better, would it? To have a man? To have his penis inside you?" "Yes." "Are you thinking about what it would feel like now? To have a man's hard penis inside your vagina, filling you up, pressing into you again and again?" "Yes! Oh, yeah!" "It would be good, Sister Steve, wouldn't it? You can feel that man now, pushing up your skirt, tearing off your panties, pressing his fingers into your sex? Feel that hard penis spreading you apart, driving into you, deeper, deeper! Feel it, Sister Steve! Feel it!" There was a loud, sharp clattering noise. And then a shaft of light shot into my cubicle as the door was flung open. Almost silhouetted in the opening, I could see Sister Stephanie. She was in her usual habit, a dark dress and jacket, a white turtleneck, her veil perched high enough on her head to reveal a shock of auburn hair. As the door closed behind her I saw her peel off her jacket and kick off her flat- heeled shoes. I reached out for her in the darkness. In such close quarters I couldn't miss. I pulled her to me tightly, pressing my lips to hers. Our tongues quickly met and we grappled together, suckling each other's neck. Sister Stephanie straddled my lap. Her hands discovered my already erect and eager penis, and she grasped it and stroked it gently, using my pre-cum as a lotion. Lust was bubbling inside me stronger than any emotion before. "I -- can't -- wait," I managed to gasp, pawing underneath her dress for her simple cotton panties. "Then let's not," she whispered in my ear. She stood up just long enough to pull off her panties and then sat on my lap again, hoisting up her dress so my penis rode along her smooth, flat stomach. Faster than I had expected, a strong musky odor rose around us and I felt a hot, slick liquid oozing out as Sister Stephanie's virginal opening ground into my lap. With a wiry athleticism, she lifted herself up and placed her wet hole atop my burgeoning penis. She sank down -- agonizingly slowly -- and I felt her lips spread around my shaft and close tightly on it, gripping it in a slippery velvet vise. Partway in, I felt a sudden resistance, and from a long-ago class in the seminary I remembered a bizarrely colored anatomical diagram showing female reproductive organs, with the thin hymen guarding virginity. Even as the memory came, though, Sister Stephanie rose up and crashed down onto me, sending my penis ripping through her as she landed in my lap. A sudden, sharp pain on my shoulder startled me, until I realized that it was she, biting me in her pain. Perhaps it was the combination of that bite, the loss of my own virginity, and the long minutes of anticipation that had brought us to that moment, but scarce seconds went by before I felt a warm gush of fluid erupt within me. An orgasm! I was mortified. Sister Stephanie had just begun to recover from the opening of her hymen and I could feel the muscles of her vagina beginning to ripple against my now shrinking penis. I buried my face in her shoulder, and I believe a few tears trickled down onto the soft, dark cloth there. "Sister, forgive me," I said quietly. "I could not control it. I..." Without a word, she slipped off me. I pulled my head back, letting it drop with a thud against the wall of the confessional. I closed my eyes, expecting the lights of the church to flare against them any second as Sister Stephanie crept away. Instead of leaving, however, she did a wondrous thing. Kneeling before me, in what must have been a very awkward position in that tiny cell, she again took my penis in her hands. It was a shriveled, sorry thing, and I felt shamed to have her touch it. But then she leaned against my knees and I felt the warm wetness of her tongue sliding around the tip of my shaft. Before I knew it, my penis was responding to her ministrations, growing larger even as she opened her mouth and took me inside. Larger, ever larger my penis grew, while Sister Stephanie virtually inhaled its length, keeping her lips pressed tight around it while her tongue played up and down, around and around. So intense was the feeling that I pressed my hands onto her veil, trying to push even deeper into her hot mouth. Soon, though, she lifted her head. I groaned as my penis fell free of her mouth, but it went wanting for just a moment. There was a rustle of cloth, and then I heard Sister Stephanie's dress fall softly to the floor. A snap, and her bra followed. Dark as it was, my eyes strained to make out her form. Just a thin line of light slipped under the door of the booth, but long hours in the confessional had allowed my pupils to grow accustomed to the dimness. I could make out, though fuzzily, the slim, shapely curves of the young nun before me. Her legs waved before me as she peeled off the black stockings she always wore, and as she turned to maneuver in the cramped space I saw faintly the gentle swell of her breast -- though that may have just been my imagination drawing pictures on the shadows. As my eyes moved upward, though, I definitely saw a swatch of white across her head: she still wore the demure veil of her order as she boldly placed her hands on my shoulders, lifted herself up and once again impaled her body on my now rock-hard penis. Words cannot describe the incredible feeling as her tight, hot vagina closed around my shaft, and then almost at once lifted off and plunged down again. In an instant I took up the rhythm, thrusting upward to meet her again and again. For all the emotion of the moment, though, I could not help but ask the question that was burning in my mind. "Sister Stephanie," I said, in between thrusts, "where did you learn to do that -- with your mouth?" "I wasn't always a nun." She punctuated the statement by grinding herself down onto me; that felt even better and I moaned in appreciation. "I grew up in a rough neighborhood, remember?" "Yes, but -- but you were a virgin!" "Yeah, well, how do you think I managed that? Any halfway decent-looking girl around was gonna get hit on by some big bruiser sooner or later. So when my turn came, I talked him into letting me do him with my mouth, instead. Only I hadn't counted on him telling all his friends about it, and all of them wanting in on the deal, too. So by the time I got good enough at fighting to keep them away, I'd gotten pretty good at something else, too." She leaned against me. The sweat now pouring off our bodies in the little cubicle lubricated us as her small, but firm breasts, the nipples quite erect, rubbed against my chest. She began to tease me with her tongue, flicking it in and out of my ears, nuzzling my neck, tantalizing but never quite kissing me. After a while I fought back, driving my penis into her harder and harder until I had to hold her tightly to keep her from bouncing off. Our passion clearly wore away any remnants of clerical reserve, and I fear we uttered words never before used in that sanctuary. "Fuck me!" Sister Stephanie shouted, in fact, several times. I dare say I said as much, or even worse, if that's possible. I really don't remember clearly. Just the feel of her slick walls sliding up and down my shaft, over and over, each time sending a new shiver of ecstasy from that sensitive skin clear through my entire body. I was astounded to find that this time, my orgasm seemed ages away. Several times I thought I was on the brink, but the sensation would get so intense that I couldn't stand it and I would have to squeeze Sister Stephanie to me tightly, holding her down while i recovered. That seemed to have a delaying action, and many, many minutes went by and still I had not yet -- cum, I think they call it. But Sister Stephanie began to moan louder and louder, her profane words dissolving into incoherent grunts as she rode me faster and faster. And then, all at once, she became as rigid as a plank -- and then exploded into a quivering tremor, and stiffened again. She went on like that for a minute or two before she calmed down, and admitted under my questioning that she had indeed had an orgasm herself. I gather that is not always the case with women. In any event, she seemed to be exhausted by the process, and though my penis was still quite enlarged she lifted herself off and eased herself onto the cool tile floor. Her breathing was quite heavy -- as was my own, I admit -- and she said that she needed air. I don't know if she was thinking clearly at that point, for she opened the confessional door, crawling on her stomach out toward the cool, clear air of the church proper. The breeze that swept in as the door opened was indeed refreshing, but by now my body was under the complete thrall of my penis, which was not yet satisfied. I believe it got even harder and longer, in fact, when the church lights allowed me to see the pale, smooth skin of Sister's body, the rounded mounds of her buttocks, with the dark black stripe of her veil adding a very tantalizing touch, plastered as it was by the sweat to her back. Inexperienced as I was at such matters, I wasn't sure what I was thinking would work, but my lust drove me onto my knees and I grabbed Sister Stephanie's thighs, spreading them apart and pulling them around my waist. Startled, she clawed at the smooth tiles briefly, but as the tip of my shaft made contact with her sodden vaginal opening she relaxed and I slid in easily. Kneeling on the hard tiles was somewhat uncomfortable, but fortunately I had had much experience with that through long years in the Church. I was able to ignore the pain and concentrate on the delightful sensations as I again thrust deep into Sister's body, kneading her sides, clutching at her breasts, feasting on her sensuality. At last I felt a burning sensation within, and again the warm blast of fluid jetted through my penis and spurted into her. Twice, and once more, my penis throbbed as a gush of semen squirted out, and then I collapsed onto her. "That was great," Sister Stephanie murmured, lifting her chin onto her hands and shifting to take some of my weight off of her. I slid a hand to her breast again, giving it a grateful squeeze in response. "Are you two going to lie there all night?" The familiar voice boomed above us. We both looked straight ahead first, and noticed what must have been there for several minutes at least -- the blunt, black shoes of the pastor, Father Frank Dowling. I shuddered as my eyes lifted, knowing that I would see a hateful glare in his eyes. But before I got that far, my gaze was arrested halfway, as I saw his meaty fists fumble and at last take down his pants. But that part of the story is for Father Frank to confess. ===================== FATHER DOWLING: I Am Heartily Sorry By Uncle Mike -30- -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----