Confessions (Michele)


The cathedral was a magnificent gothic-style church with many side altars. It could accommodate at least one thousand worshipers. Jim sat in one of the small alcoves, in front of an altar with a statue of St. Catherine surrounded by lighted candles emitting their beeswax fragrance. He breathed deeply, relaxing. This was his secret place for meditating.

After twenty years of working at the firm, Jim had been let go, and his prospects for another lucrative sales job were not promising. His wife, Susan, complained constantly of her inability to spend large amounts of money on herself, and refused to look for a job to help tide them over. It was a bleak time. Jim sought solace in his faith and came here every day to pray and ask for guidance.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim noticed a woman approaching the altar. Her step was graceful, and the light through the stained glass window shone on her light brown hair and illuminated a kind profile. She knelt and lit a candle, then rose after a few minutes and began to walk away. Jim was stunned by the magnificence of her body encased in what looked like a very expensive dress. The woman smiled demurely as she passed by him.

Every day for a week, this same woman came to light her candle, pray, and walk away. On the seventh day, Jim turned to watch her as she entered a confessional. But there was no light above to indicate that a priest was inside. He was fascinated by the woman’s behavior and decided to investigate.

Jim rose, all six Eskort Bayan feet of him, and walked to the confessional, opening the door where the priest would be. Of course the space was empty. He heard a small cough from the woman in the cubicle and decided to sit down and play “priest”.

His baritone whisper said: “You may begin.” And immediately the gentle voice recited the usual opening for a formal confession. “Bless me, father, for I have sinned. It is a week since my last confession.” Then to Jim’s shock, the woman began her story. It seemed to be a continuation of her inability to control her sexual appetite. She rambled on about her husband of thirty years and how he was unable to achieve an erection. She spoke of her continuous masturbation without finding relief, and how she had taken the priest’s advice to turn to prayer, but found no relief there either. As her whispered tale continued, Jim sensed that she was getting quite worked up. He heard her moving and shifting in the booth and swore he could smell pussy.

Then Jim realized he’d been presented with an opportunity. He was a salesman after all. He strongly advised the woman to go to the front door of the cathedral and to wait there. She was to greet the first man she saw and she would be surprised at the result. The woman left. Jim waited a few minutes before he walked out the side door and went around to the front. There he saw the woman who introduced herself to him as Michele and asked if he would join her for lunch. Jim told her his name and they walked away, arm in arm.

Nearby was a small restaurant where neither of them had been before. Once seated, Jim made it clear that he would be paying for lunch, but the woman declined, saying that her husband was very wealthy and that she had plenty of money at her disposal. Their conversation was friendly, but became more intimate after the first glass of wine. She ordered a whole bottle which they consumed with lunch. When they had finished eating, Michele was tipsy and shared perhaps more of her life than she had initially intended. She described her frustration with her husband and Jim shared his disappointment in his wife. They seemed to have found common ground.


That, my friend, is how I met Jim. We walked together after lunch and I led him to a small, elegant apartment I had nearby. It was my refuge, a place where I masturbated and tried to calm my lust. Although I was older than Jim, he seemed a kindred soul. He kissed me and pushed his crotch against me so I could feel his hardness. In the days when I had grown up, a woman did not touch a man, but I had grown out of that restriction. I squeezed his big cock. Laughing, he picked me up and headed for the bed where he slowly undressed me. I swear he kissed every inch of my skin.

I begged Jim to undress; I had to see his cock. I had always loved cock. And even though my marriage was now dead, at least in the sex department, I had often enjoyed men other than my husband. Getting older just made it more difficult. Men stopped using their cocks and they eventually lost their ability.

Jim’s body made my blood boil. His nine inch cock was thick and stiff. He rubbed it on my lips and I sucked the head. There was no way the whole thing would fit into my mouth! It was succulent, with so much precum flowing out. I worried a bit about my hairy pussy but Jim didn’t seem to mind. He rubbed his big fucklog on it and then slipped inside. I can’t believe how wet I was! He took me hard, and in many positions. Finally, I felt him lurch and fill my menopausal cunt with his creamy cum. It was heavenly!

This was the beginning of my affair. Instead of going to the church, I set up a confessional in my apartment where I confessed my “sins” to Jim who sat in as the priest. We fucked every day for a month. I came to know Jim and finally decided to recommend him to my husband who was looking for a manager. Jim’s wife had filed for divorce and I convinced him to move into a small home that I owned. I had no hold on him and realized it would not take long for him to find another wife.

Jim entertained me almost every day after work and on the weekends. My husband thinks I am spending a lot of time in church, but I am having the time of my life with Jim. So far, we have been together for five years and it seems to be working. Jim and I are very creative sexually and I think I make him as happy as he makes me. I am still amazed at the priest telling me, years before, to wait outside the church and invite the first man I saw to lunch.