Chapter Three
Elena
“ B less me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been a year since my last confession.” My voice is steady, but inside, I’m anything but. My hands tremble in my lap, betraying the nerves I’m trying to suppress. This isn’t just a ritual—it’s survival. The guilt gnaws at me day and night, threatening to swallow me whole. I can’t let it. I have to be strong—for her. For my daughter.
How can I look her in the eye, knowing the lengths I’ve gone to? Knowing the choices I’ve made, the lines I’ve crossed just to keep our world intact? The thought of her seeing anything but pride when she looks at me… it’s unbearable. She’s my everything, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. Whatever it takes to keep that light in her eyes.
“Are you still with me, dear?” The priest’s voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts, grounding me. For a second, I forgot where I was. Forgot I’m here to lay bare my darkest truths.
Can God really forgive the sins of a mother driven to the brink for her child? Can He look past the things I’ve done, the things I might still do?
“I came seeking absolution, Father,” I begin, my voice tight with the weight of what I’m about to say. “But the truth is, I’m not sure I can voice my transgressions.”
The priest’s voice is calm, steady, quoting scripture like a lifeline: “John 1:9, ‘If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.’” His words should comfort me, but I hesitate. “Repent, my child,” he urges.
I take a breath. Start with the part that haunts me the least.
“I left my husband,” I say. The words come out stronger than I expect, more like a declaration than a confession. Leaving a man who only brought fear and pain into our lives isn’t something I regret. It’s not something I’ll ever ask forgiveness for.
“And why did you leave?” The priest’s voice is low, probing, but not judgmental. He’s asking for the truth, the whole truth, and suddenly it feels like too much.
I brace myself, letting the words come from a place of raw honesty. “My husband was abusive,” I admit, each word heavy with memories I try to bury. “I stayed, thinking I could shield our daughter from the worst of it. But then… I realized. I realized he might hurt her.” Saying it aloud, I feel the full weight of it, the terror that drove me.
For the first time, I’m admitting it. Not just to myself, but to the world—through this tiny, sacred confessional—the nightmare I lived through. The fierce protectiveness that took hold when I knew I couldn’t stay any longer.
“Do you regret leaving?” He asks.
“No!” The word explodes from me, fierce and immediate. Just the thought of him laying a hand on her, my sweet girl, is enough to set my blood on fire. I would walk through hell before I let anyone, especially him, hurt her.
“You acted in the best interest of you and your child,” the priest says, a note of understanding softening his tone.
I nod, even though he can’t see me. It’s not something I’ve ever questioned. But that doesn’t erase the other things. The things I’ve done since. The things I might still have to do to keep us safe.
“That’s not why I’m here, Father.” My voice is barely a whisper, heavy with unspoken truths. What I need forgiveness for runs deeper. Darker.
“And what do you seek absolution for?” His question sends a shiver through me. That deep, resonant voice makes it harder to gather the courage to confess the real sin that’s been rotting inside me.
I swallow hard. “Father, fleeing in the dead of night, leaving everything behind… it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” My voice wavers as I remember those first few days, huddled in train stations, trying to shield my daughter from the worst of it. It tore me apart. I pause, the memories pressing down on me.
“Did you seek help from shelters?” His gentle voice breaks the silence, and for a moment, I’m grateful for it. For the semblance of normalcy in this confession.
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “I tried. Shelters, government aid, all of it. But it’s a nightmare to navigate, especially when you can’t afford to stop working, even for a day. And then she got sick, and I couldn’t—”
My voice falters, the memories slamming into me with full force. Hunger. Exhaustion. Fear.
“I was desperate, Father. I did what I thought I had to do.” The words fall out like stones, heavy and unforgiving. They hang in the air between us.
He responds with a softness that feels like a lifeline. “God sees the sacrifices you’ve made for your child. None of it is in vain.”
But he doesn’t know. Not yet.
I take a breath, the confession burning in my throat. “Father, I chose a path of sin. I sold myself in the most desperate of ways.” My voice is tight, caught between defiance and despair.
He’s quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks, his voice is gentle. “What weighs on your conscience, my child?”
I close my eyes, forcing the words out. “I sold the one thing men of power seem to crave.” The silence after my admission is deafening, my heart pounding in the stillness. I wonder if even a priest can pass judgment, if he’s silently condemning me for the choice I made.
“You sold your body?” His question is soft, almost a whisper, like he’s trying to shield my confession from even God’s ears.
“They offered me security. Safety for my daughter. Now we have a home, she goes to a good school, and we’re far away from the man who haunted us.” I say it like a statement of fact, but the weight of it crushes me just the same.
There’s a long pause, one that stretches out too far, before he finally asks, “Do you intend to continue down this path?” His voice is calm, but the question catches me off guard. The way he asks… it’s unnerving.
I exhale slowly. “For now, yes. It’s the only lifeline we have. But one day…” I trail off, the truth sinking in. “One day, I hope to leave it behind.”
“Repent, and you shall be forgiven,” he says, his voice steady, as if it were that simple.
“Yes, Father. There’s… more.” The words catch in my throat, the weight of them suffocating.
“More?” His tone shifts, curious now.
“The shame of what I do to keep my daughter and myself going… it weighs on me. But what if the greater sin is that I don’t despise it?” The words slip out, barely more than a whisper, and I feel the weight of them settle over me. It’s the truth I’ve been hiding, even from myself.
There’s a shift. I can sense him leaning in closer, his presence more pronounced now. “What exactly are you saying?” His voice is low, edged with something I can’t quite place.
I hesitate, my heart pounding in my chest. “I find… satisfaction in it,” I admit, my voice just loud enough to fill the small space between us. “In those moments, I’m not just surviving. I feel powerful. Wanted.”
Silence stretches out between us, thick and heavy. I can’t read his reaction, but the weight of my admission lingers, hanging in the air.
“I like it,” I continue, the words tumbling out now. “I like the way they make me feel. The way they ravish my body, the way they pay for me like I’m a goddess—something to be worshiped. I know it’s sinful. I know I shouldn’t, but… I’ve never felt so wanted.”
His voice breaks the silence—low and dark. “You’re a sinful creature.” The tone shifts, and suddenly, he’s closer. I can feel him through the partition, feel his eyes on me, and something stirs deep inside.
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them, and my hand moves instinctively between my thighs, my body betraying me.
“How do you want me to help you repent?” His voice is rough now, his breathing harder, faster.
“Can you take my sins away?” I plead, my own breath quickening as the tension between us builds. I can hear him breathing through the partition, the sound sending a shiver down my spine.
“Oh yes,” he rasps. “Let me take it away. Let me take it all away.”
“How do I repent?” I ask, my voice trembling, knowing there’s no turning back.
“Take your skirt off.” The command is firm, cutting through the air like a knife. My heart stutters, the reality of what’s happening crashing over me in waves. I came here for forgiveness, and now I’m sinking deeper, dragging him with me.
“Yes.” My voice is barely audible as I slide my panties down, the soft fabric pooling around my ankles. My hand drifts back to where the heat is growing between my legs, my arousal slick and undeniable.
“Pull your top up,” he commands, and my hand moves automatically, sliding inside my lace bra to tease my own nipple. The sensation sends a shiver through me. I discard the shirt, then the bra—knowing he’s watching makes the need burn hotter, more urgent.
“Tell me about the men,” he demands, his voice low, rough.
“I love it when they pay just to spend time with me.”
“What do you do after they pay you?” I can hear him shifting, his breathing heavier now, and I wonder if he’s touching himself. The thought sends a jolt of heat through my core.
“I kneel, Sir. I get on my knees and let them use me—my mouth, my cunt, my ass.”
“Show me.”
His words light me on fire. The sternness in his tone only makes me ache more, makes me want to give in completely. My hand moves in circles, faster, as his breathing grows louder on the other side of the partition.
“Stop,” he orders, sharp and firm. I freeze, panting, my body trembling. “Come here.”
“In there, Sir? With you?” I ask, my pulse racing. I’m confused, but the excitement surges through me like a wave.
“Yes.” His voice is unyielding. “Now.”
My fingers are slick as I open the door, my hands trembling as I step into the darkness. The time for confession is long gone, but we’re past that now. Only a few candles flicker, their glow barely illuminating my shame as I step into his side of the confessional—completely naked, having left my clothes behind.
“Kneel,” he commands, and I sink to my knees without hesitation.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Tell me more.”
I swallow, my throat tight. “I enjoy it. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I crave their attention. I get excited, knowing I’ll see a client—knowing how they’ll look at me like I’m their entire world. I need that.”
“And what about them?” His voice is steady, probing.
“I think of them as a way out. A ticket to a better life.” I pause, my voice faltering. “But they’re more than that. I get lost in the way they touch me, the way they take me. I never thought I’d crave it like this—the way a man feels inside me. It’s like an addiction I don’t know how to fight.”
There’s a beat of silence, thick with tension.
“But you need to, my little sinner,” he says, his tone stern. The words send a thrill rushing through me, tightening every nerve. I’m caught in the push and pull—needing to repent, but wanting more.
“I know,” I whimper, my voice barely holding steady. “I don’t want to be a sinner, but the pleasure… it’s too good. I want to be worshipped like that forever.”
I lift my gaze to his, and God, he’s handsome. Younger than I expected—a priest shouldn’t look this young. He’s not in a robe, just a black long-sleeve shirt with the white collar, and jeans. The way he looks so normal, so… unholy, almost makes it easier to kneel naked before him.
“Show me what you do to them,” he orders, rising as much as the small space allows to unzip his jeans, freeing his erection. It’s long, thick, the tip pink and glistening. He wants me to take him into my mouth, and the thought sends heat coursing through me.
“Yes, Sir.”
I lean forward, my tongue darting out to taste him, a hint of salt meeting my lips.
“You like when they put their cocks in your mouth?” His voice is low, rough.
“Yes,” I murmur against him.
“Do it again.”
His command slices through the air, and I obey, sucking the head of his cock into my mouth. The deep groan that escapes him fills the small confessional booth, making me ache even more.
“More,” he demands, his voice tight with need.
I open wider, taking him deeper, as far as I can. His hips buck, driving his length farther down my throat. I gag, choking as he fills my mouth completely.
“Does it make you feel powerful?” His words are a dark growl, his hips rocking up to meet my lips, his cock hitting the back of my throat again.
I can’t answer—my mouth is too full, but I know he won’t let up until I respond.
“Tell me,” he insists, his words firm.
I pull back just enough to gasp out, “Yes.”
“That’s why you like it, isn’t it? Why you can’t resist.”
“Yes,” I pant, my lips sliding up and down his shaft, his tip brushing the back of my throat.
“Do you touch yourself after?”
“Yes.”
“You think about their hands on you? Their cocks inside you, filling you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Filthy girl,” he murmurs, his cock throbbing between my lips. “Do you like when they fuck you?”
“Y-yes,” I moan around him.
“You’re a dirty whore, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” My voice is barely a whisper, my hand sliding down between my thighs, desperate to ease the ache.
“I want you to ride my cock,” he growls. “I want to feel you coming on me.”
Before I can respond, he lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around him. The booth is small, too tight to move much, but when he pushes inside me, filling me completely, none of that matters.
“Tell me more,” he grunts, his cock deep inside me, every word a command.
“They fuck me so good,” I cry out, grinding against him. “The way they thrust into me… the way they make me beg for more.”
“Is this the first time you’ve confessed since you started this job?” His teeth nip at my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Yes!” I gasp, my body tightening around him.
“I should have you confess every week,” he whispers.
“Okay, Sir,” I pant, the heat building inside me, his cock stretching me, filling me completely.
“Are you going to come for me, little sinner?” His voice is low, rough, dripping with authority.
“Yes,” I moan, my hips rocking harder, chasing the release I need.
“Come for me,” he orders, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me onto him, driving me harder, faster.
“Yes!” I cry out, my orgasm tearing through me, waves of pleasure crashing down.
“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, his cock throbbing inside me as he spills into me.
I’m still riding the high, barely able to breathe as I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been forgiven,” he says, his lips brushing against my neck.