Chapter Text
Every Friday, Father Ben Solo is tasked with the mission of going to the all-girls school in town and taking their confessions.
The most naughty ones have detention with him, where he watches over their shoulders as they transcribe verses from the Holy Book onto a sheet of paper.
Every Friday, there's one girl in particular that makes him question if the devil isn't tempting him with carnal sins—and winning.
Rey Niima is the naughtiest girl in the entire school, but she hasn't been expelled yet because she's an orphan and the sisters in the school still have hope they can save her misguided soul.
Father Ben knows they're fighting a losing battle.
"Hello, Father," her sweet voice greets him on Friday when he comes to take confessions.
He can't see her through the privacy screen, but he can hear the smile in her voice. She takes pleasure in tormenting him.
The harlot.
"Bless you, child."
A mellifluous giggle follows his sentence.
"Do you have something to tell me?" He prods, wanting to get this over with and mentally preparing himself for the things he knows she'll say.
"Yes." He hears her shifting her weight on the other side of the privacy screen. The mental image of her on her knees begging for forgiveness floods his mind before he chases it away with a quick prayer to ward off evil. "Forgive me, father, for I have sinned."
"Go ahead." He nods, knowing she can't see him, but it still feels like something he should do.
"I've fornicated with three different boys this week," she begins, putting some effort into sounding repentant. "I've touched myself to impure thoughts about a man I can't have too."
Ben gulps. "Anything more?"
"I'm touching myself as we speak," she breathes, and he can hear it.
He can almost see it—the wet sounds of lips being spread open.
"Miss Niima!" He grits out, gripping the cross hanging from his neck. "We're in a chapel; control your urges!"
A strident moan travels through the space between them, the sounds of wetness increasing in tempo.
Like any weak man, his member shamefully reacts to those sounds. He shuts his eyes and hangs his head, knowing he's failed to resist temptation once again.
"Please, father," her throaty voice brings him back to the present time. "I'm aching."
He feels the weight of defeat heavy on his shoulders. He's so tired of fighting back. Resisting these urges has brought him many sleepless nights and aches in his most private parts.
And he's exhausted.
Without thinking twice, he slides the privacy screen to the side and the girl's profile comes into view. But his eyes travel south, to where her fingers are moving between her legs.
"Let me see you, child."
Her eyes glow in the dim light filtering into the confessional. She looks like a loose woman with flushed cheeks and disarrayed hair, but he's never seen anything more appealing.
And her cunt...it's positively dripping with need.
"Poor thing," he tuts.
She lets out a whiny cry, her hand moving in quick circles over her bare cunt.
He fits his arm through the hole where the privacy screen had been, then touches the tip of his fingers to where she needs it the most.
She lets out a breathy sigh as soon as his digits touch her flesh—
And he groans.
Wetness coats his fingers, and warm velvety soft skin invites his touch further down to the tight little channel his aching cock would love to explore.
"Yes, father, right there," she encourages as she lifts her hips and fucks herself on his hand.
"You're a slut," he tells her. But his fingers don't leave her cunt.
He pushes one finger into her, hissing at the feeling of her warm hole taking him in. She throws her head back, exposing her neck like prey.
Father Ben would like to suck on the skin there—
Leave his mark.
"Girl, come here."
She looks back at him, puzzled. "What?"
He pulls back his fingers, dripping with her essence.
"Come. Here."
The privacy screen goes back into place, shutting out her hurt expression.
But she's a smart girl, so she'll understand what he means.
He hopes she does because his cock is hard and he's already thrown his celibacy vow a hundred miles away and signed the dotted line to freely sin. Father Ben believes it's worth going to hell for a chance to taste this girl's sweet cunt.
She's been asking for it, after all.
And if she's the devil's way of tempting him...then he knows exactly what he'd do to make him fall.
The door to his side of the confessional opens, and there stands Rey Niima, cheeks flushed and her schoolgirl skirt wrinkled from having her legs bent up.
"Close the door behind you."
The confessional is a big wooden monstrosity, sitting in a dark corner of the chapel. It's a tight squeeze, but he doesn't think she minds being in here with him.
He reaches out and pulls her to his lap, her legs spread open around him, her hands rubbing his chest over his habit.
This is the definition of sin, but he's never felt more alive.
"Feel this?" He brought her hand to the bulge in his pants, moaning into the words as her fingers closed around his length. "You did this."
She's looking at his lips, biting her own.
"Forgive me, father."
That does it for him. He snaps, pulling at her ponytail and exposing her neck to him. His mouth finds the pulse point there, licking and sucking—
Leaving his mark.
"You're such a tease," he says into her kiss, getting lost in the haze of lust clouding his judgment. "You deserve to be fucked into submission."
She moans, grinding on his lap. " Yes."
Ben stops, looks into her face.
"Get on your knees."
In a heartbeat, she's kneeling between his legs, hands already reaching for the bulge in his pants without him telling her to.
He snaps her hands away. She looks up with hurt in her eyes.
What an impatient little whore.
"Patience is a virtue, little one."
He starts working on his zipper then, freeing his cock from the confining restraint of the jeans he wore under his habit.
Once his member is in his fist, weeping from the tip, he allows her to touch him.
She's careful at first, as if handling a precious object, but she's soon taken over by lust and squeezes his shaft in her small hand, pulling a grunt from his throat. If what she's told him in her confessions in the past is true, she's experienced giving and receiving pleasure. While Ben had never truly had any sexual experiences before becoming a seminarist, he'd kissed a girl and touched her boobs once, but that was the extent of his experience with the fairer sex.
So he's not ready for the feeling of her mouth closing around the head of his cock.
He knew, in the back of his head, where he pushed all sinful thoughts, that it would feel good. He knew that a warm, tight hole to fuck would feel...heavenly. But nothing could have prepared him for the reality of it.
"Jesus Christ." The blasphemous words leave his mouth with ease, just as his cock slides into her mouth.
"Father, you taste so good," she tells him, looking up through her lashes and giving a cocky smile.
He'll fuck that look from her face.
He wants her brainless, not able to put two words together to save her life.
Without notice, someone enters the confessional on the other side of the privacy screen, and in a reflex motion, Father Solo throws his habit over the girl's head.
There's a soft giggle, muffled by his cock still shoved into her mouth.
"Father Solo?" A female voice asks, another student.
He hopes the light is not enough for her to see much more than his silhouette. There's a suspicious rounded shape between his legs, bobbing up and down, covered by the dark fabric of his habit, but still noticeably there if one looks hard enough.
"You may speak freely, child." He's proud of his voice coming out clearly. He imagines listening to all confessions like this, with the girl's mouth keeping his cock warm.
It certainly would make the confessions blur together, forgotten in the background of his pleasure.
Miss Niima does something with her mouth that makes him bite into his fist, keeping every ounce of focus on not voicing his pleasure.
The unaware student starts confessing her sins, which pale in comparison to what he's currently allowing to happen not only inside a chapel but inside the sacred space of a confessional.
If he'd had any doubts about his soul's destiny after death, now he's sure he'll take the expressway to hell.
But it feels like a divine experience to have his cock sucked.
He's not even aware of the student's confession; her tales of woe drone in the background like the buzzing of a bee, insistent and annoying. He cups the girl's head over the fabric of his habit; he wishes he could see her sinful lips wrapped around his length.
"Father?" That voice brings him back to the moment, to his duty as a priest, and to what he's supposed to be doing.
"Y-yes?" He croaks, feeling his pleasure crest.
"Are you alright?"
He grips the edges of the bench he's sitting on, feeling his pleasure wash over him before his cum shoots into the warm waiting mouth of Miss Niima.
If they were alone, he'd have voiced his pleasure as loudly as he could. But since they're not, he bites down hard on his lower lip, and only a whimper leaves his throat.
"Quite alright," he manages to say, hoping to the God he's disrespecting that this student doesn't suspect anything. "Er, ten Lord's prayers and fifteen Hail Mary's."
"Thank you, father."
He makes the sign of the cross and utters a quick blessing to the student leaving the confessional, touching his forehead to the wood beside the privacy screen.
Miss Niima scoots out, with a devious-looking grin on her face, from under his habit. She opens her mouth wide and shows him the evidence of his pleasure coating her tongue white.
"Minx."
She closes her mouth, swallowing his cum.
He pats his thigh, silently inviting her to hop on. When she obediently follows his command, he feels something primal rear its head inside his chest.
His lack of experience made him finish quicker than he wanted to, but that doesn't mean he's ready to stop playing.
Father Ben gently prods the girl's legs open, her schoolgirl skirt draping over his lap and looking obscenely erotic against his dark robes. She's still wearing the white button-up dress shirt with the green tie to match the skirt.
"You look pretty in this little outfit of yours," he says, pinching the fabric of her pleated skirt between his fingers.
She arches her back, grinding her butt against his thigh. Her sex feels hot where it touches the fabric of his pants, certainly making a mess of it.
Her fingers find their way to his hair, gently pulling his head down inches away from her face—
Hungry eyes meet his, lips open and invitingly close. It's not a surprise that he closes the space between their lips, feeling the softness of her pliable lips under his and tasting his essence on her tongue.
He loses himself in the kiss, his hands skittering down the front of her body, going over the petite mounds of her breasts and stopping over her spread cunt.
She gasps into his mouth when he touches her there, tiny hands gripping his forearm for balance, like just the whisper of his touch was enough to tip her off her axis.
"Father," she breathes.
He shuts his eyes, trying to push away that part of him that recoils at what he's doing—
"Don't call me that."
Delicate fingers caress his cheek, making him open his eyes. She's there, looking up at his face with an open expression.
"Tell me how to call you."
The name falls from his lips like a confession. It's only fitting, given where they're exchanging these secrets.
"Just Ben."
A smile lifts the corner of her lips. "Okay."
His fingers return their attention to pleasuring her, and that smile is replaced by open lips and furrowed eyebrows. The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa came to mind, making him understand why so many religious men of the past called blasphemy upon seeing that sculpture.
But he could also understand why Bernini had carved the holy woman like that—
Because, at that moment, watching Miss Niima come undone with pleasure, he was sure he'd never seen a more beautiful sight.
He understands the need to capture this moment.
"Say it," he whispers into her hair, fingers coaxing her to the top of a mountain. "Say my name."
She holds onto his arm like it's the only thing keeping her standing, her hips squirming in his lap as he fucks her with his fingers.
"Ben, Ben, Ben ." His name is repeated over and over like a litany of prayers falling from the sinful mouth of a naughty girl.
When she comes, she shakes all over. He has to grip her waist against his chest, allowing her head to fall into the crook of his neck as she cries out. He brings a hand to her mouth, muffling the sound.
She's boneless in his lap, hands clawing at his arm to release her.
He does, but not happily.
There's a moment of awkward silence between them, heavy with the weight of what they have just done.
She'd teased him for so long and now she's shy.
The girl is maddening.
Without another word, she leaves the confessional. He wonders if someone will ask her about the state of her hair or her wrinkled clothes; if they'll notice how red her lips are or smell his cum on her breath.
The back of his head hits the wood, and he welcomes the momentary pain. It seems like a punishment fitting enough for what he's just allowed to happen inside a sacred space.
What have I done?
His eyes fall to the space between his legs where she'd been, and it's then that he notices something.
Bending over, he reaches for the small piece of fabric bunched there. It feels soft in his grasp; he brings it to his nose—
Her scent invades his senses.
A smirk curves his lips.
She'd left him a gift to remember her by.
Father Ben pockets the underwear in his pants, then readjusts his habit and smoothes back his hair.
When the next student enters the confessional to repent, all he can think about is the piece of fabric burning a hole in his pants and the plans he has for it later when he's alone in his bed at night.
Miss Niima has awakened something inside him, and he's not entirely sure if he should be afraid of it or not.