“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been eight hours since my last confession.”

“Sister Angelique, how come you are back in the confessional so soon again? Have you done your penance as agreed this morning?”

“No, Father, I have not.”

“Child, what do you mean? Are you saying you are incapable of keeping your mind virtuous?”

“Yes, Father, I am incapable.”

“My child, sinful thoughts are what make us human. We are born into sin, you understand this, don’t you? Thoughts can enter our mind without being solicited, in other words, it could well be beyond our control in certain instances. But we do have a choice. Our holy covenant, if you will, is to apply our dedication to the Divine, and we can endeavour to do what is holy. Then, my child, we can also overcome the most challenging of temptations. Are you willing to commit yourself to what is divine and holy?”

“Yes, Father. I want to commit. I mean, I am committed, but…” hesitant to continue, she suddenly paused.

“But what then, child? What is preventing you from cleansing your mind of these sinful thoughts?”

A minute or two patiently passed in silence.

“Sister Angelique! Answer me, please.”

“I do try, Father. And when I’m busy, like doing my chores and such, there are periods when there are no such thoughts. When I feel… pure. But sooner or later, every day, every night… oh, especially at night, Father, these sinful images flood into my mind,” she started to snivel and struggled to continue, “I am becoming convinced that I may be possessed!” she cried out while tears streamed down her face.

On her knees in the confessional, Sister Angelique’s body shook while she sobbed bitterly, but gasped aloud when the curtain was drawn and a hand gently touched her shoulder. She turned to see Father Pierre’s concerned expression.

“Oh, my dear child, I can see you are immensely burdened by this cross carrying. Let’s go talk in my office, we can discuss this in more detail there,” and caringly led her there.

Taking a seat on a carved and gilt French three-seater sofa, Angelique collapsed her head onto Father Pierre’s lap and started crying again, wailing incoherent words that made little to no sense to him. Without saying a word, he simply comforted her anguish and patted her gently on the back, accompanied by an occasional sympathetic sigh.

But once her sobbing subsided, he broke the silence.

“There now, child, tell me what is plaguing your weary soul so badly?”

She sat up, wiped her cheeks with the back of her sleeves, and blew her nose in a handkerchief that she pulled from a pocket. As she folded it closed and returned it, the words she uttered were so soft that Father Pierre had to tilt his ear to ensure he heard her correctly.

“It’s the same man, Father. Always the same man.”

“Ok then. Tell me more about this man. Tell me why he is upsetting you so?”

“Well, it’s not just one thing, Father. I guess there are different things in different situations. Like in my dreams. Or while I’m trying to pray. I have these extremely vivid scenes that play out in my mind. He would, uhm, like…” she stopped mid-sentence, staring into the distance as if she were trying to find the words.

“Go on,” he gently nudged her to continue.

“Like, he’ll come into my room… my door would just swing open, and he would be there. In my room… next to my bed.”

Father Pierre patiently waited for her to continue. A couple of minutes passed by in silence. Broken only by the sound of her nervous breathing and the loud cuckoo clock mechanism, which ticked loudly in the background.

“Does he hurt you, Sister?” he finally suggested, prompting her to divulge more.

Staring down, she took a while before she softly whimpered.

“No, Father, he doesn’t hurt me.”

After another patient silence, he prodded again.

“Then what does he do, Sister? Tell me what he does.”

She threw herself down, curled up on her side in a foetal position with her head back on his lap, and covered her eyes with both hands. Father Pierre just kept still and tried to provide her with some comfort while she struggled with this burden.

“There, there,” he patted her shoulder and lightly rubbed her arm, “you are safe here, Sister Angelique. I am here for you. You hear? I am here to listen. And I’ll try my best to help you. Ok?”

She nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“Now tell me again. It’s the same man. He appears in random scenarios. Right? But what happens then? Do continue.”

“I had this dream last night, Father…”

“Yes?”

“This man, the one I told you about, that same man. Uhm, well, so I was walking down the south corridor, and it must have been nighttime because it was quite dark. Anyway, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into a room. And like always, there he was… naked, Father. This beautiful man stood naked before me.”

“Ok, so he’s naked. Is that it? Is it his nudity that makes you suffer?”

“No, Father. It doesn't make me suffer.”

“Then what, child? Do tell what it is that upsets you so?”

“I like it, Father,” she blurted shamefully, sobbing in his lap again.

“What do you like? The nudity? Him?”

“I… I like… all of it, Father,” she stuttered shyly, pausing before continuing, “I do like seeing his muscular chest. How the square lines define it. How perfect his stomach muscles and hip bones triangulate down into his crotch. Oh, Father!” she exclaimed loudly and covered her face so to hide from the shame, “I love seeing his, uhm, his male organ.”

She snort-giggled while crying and muttered a ‘forgive me, Father’ before reluctantly continuing.

“It is so clearly defined. So vibrantly real that I can see the veins on it. And all I want to do is touch it. I desperately want to feel his heartbeat throbbing through those arteries. The way they’ll bulge under my tight grip around that gorgeous co… I mean phallus, Father. How hot it would feel in my hand when I pull back his skin and rest my lips against the shiny knob. How he would taste when my tongue swirls around it as he stiffens into my wet mouth…”

When she finished, she had to gasp for air from rambling off her words at a furious pace, afraid that she would lose the nerve to say them. She covered her eyes and sobbed loudly. All while her head thrashed around in Father Pierre’s lap.

As an experienced parish leader, Father Pierre has experienced many confessions of dark desires, of obscene sexual escapades, and lustful liaisons. All of which he could bat without as much as a tremor of weakness. But in his near-meditative state, he did notice that his right leg was shaking. ‘Maybe a muscle spasm,’ he deduced, but much like a jerking movement, this continued while Sister Angelique was squirming around on his lap. Closing his eyes to clear his mind, he returned his attention to the confessional ritual and once he was ready, patted her shoulder gently to comfort her.

“These thoughts, Sister Angelique,” he started after she had calmed and became still, “salacious as they may be, only remind us that to experience sin, any form of sin, is a human trait. We are born into sin, and we will be tempted by sin. But with prayer and a disciplined approach, we can be resilient. We can arm ourselves against attack from any type of evil. You can destroy these thoughts before they develop further. Have you been able to douse these lustful thoughts at any time, Sister?”

“No, Father, I am unable to stop it,” she broke down and wept again.

In an attempt to wipe the tears from her face, she turned her head from side to side, rubbing her cheeks against his trousers and, in doing so, wriggled deeper into his lap. Father Pierre’s leg twitched uncontrollably.

“What do you mean, Sister? What do you mean you can’t stop it?”

“I don’t just not stop, Father… I act on it,” she whimpered under her breath.

“Go on,” he prodded kindly.

“I will be seeing all these images in my mind and then suddenly realise that my hands are touching myself, Father,” she’s finally confessed through snorting sobs. Her shoulders shook and her body shuddered from the strain of her torment.

Once she calmed down again, she continued.

“There’s more, Father. I also like how that makes me feel. It’s like my body is vibrating; it feels like electric currents that surge through me. And when my fingers find my, uhm, my vulva… it feels like I can’t breathe! It takes my breath away, Father.”

Shamed, she turned her head into his lap as she lamented the words that were admitted out loud. She could feel herself blushing. Her cheeks were blood red and hot.

Father Pierre again took notice of how his leg was shaking and closed his eyes to return to a holy state. But all he could think about was the uncomfortable uncoiling which had started in his pants. He quickly shifted position to move Sister Angelique’s head from pressing onto him. And silently repeated his mantra to return to an unpolluted, holy state of mind.

“Are you unable to stop from touching yourself, Sister?” his voice crackled, and he had to clear his throat to complete the question.

“I do try, Father.” She turned her face to look up at him, a reflex motion to show her honest intent.

“It’s not like I don’t try to stop. But once my fingers find my moist folds, it’s like I have no control over what happens. It’s like Lucifer himself is conducting my hands, how it pushes and prods into me. How it taps and strokes my, uhm, my little button… until I am forced to put a pillow over my mouth as I scream in ecstasy. Oh Father, I know it is sinful. But I struggle to understand why when it feels so good. Surely this is given to us by our Holy Father? I’m so sorry, Father. I’ll repent and do better, I promise!”

Upset by her candid confession, she turned her face away from him and wept again. When she instinctively tried to dry the tears from her cheeks on Father Pierre’s trousers, she suddenly stopped. Keeping completely still, she was enthralled by the hard rod which was throbbing against her cheek. It was mesmerizing.

An uncomfortable, long silence was finally broken by Father Pierre’s attempt to return the conversation to her unburdening confession.

“Our carnal desires are a test, my child. It tests our will. And our choice, which our heavenly Father gave us. The choice to do what is holy. Or not. It comes down to that.”

His voice croaked while speaking slowly and softly, under his breath. It sounded heavier than normal to Sister Angelique.

“But I don’t stop, Father. I lose total control!” She clasped her mouth with both hands. Father Pierre’s gentle squeeze on her shoulder helped her to continue.

“Father, I’ve committed so many depraved acts, just to have that feeling again… those sensational orgasms that rip through my body,” she shyly confessed.

“Like what, child?”

“I have used the handle of my hairbrush, Father…” Her voice faded away in shame.

“Your hairbrush? For what, my child?”

“I push it into me. I have become obsessed with this overwhelming need to satisfy this void that aches to be filled. I have used my hairbrush handle. My deodorant bottle. Even a candle, Father. I slammed that thick candle so hard into myself that it hurt for days after,” she struggled to continue, “and I think I might have broken my vulva because I wet myself too. I made such a mess, Father!”

She nudged her cheek against the hot hardness which throbbed against her. She was almost certain that she could feel Father Pierre’s heartbeat pulsing against her face.

“We will pray together, Sister. I promise you, with dedication and conviction, you will be able to overcome these mere mortal desires.” The last word was uttered more like a groan.

“So, is it the same every time, Sister?”

“No, Father. It is not. Sometimes when I’m sleeping, it’ll feel like I wake up when he enters my room. Then I’ll look at him standing over me. He will be naked. And then I’ll take him into my mouth. But I’m dreaming this, Father.” She looks up at him in search of his forgiveness, then turns her head away, “but when I wake, my fingers are inside me. And my bed is wet and I’m hot and sweaty.”

Her hips rotated, rubbing her thighs together while she tried to squeeze out the building ache that had started emanating from below her belly.

Her mouth opened slowly while her head lifted, as if searching for something but the bottom jaw dragged along the length of the pulsating rod, which was burning hot against her cheek. She exhaled loudly while her body wriggled and twitched in nervous anticipation.

But her confession was so liberating. She had never uttered any of these thoughts or experiences to anyone. Not even in prayer. Getting this off her chest was a huge relief from the weight that had been bearing on her soul. She took a deep breath and continued.

“Other times, I could be sitting in church, quietly praying, when he enters my mind. Always taking me. Ravaging me, Father. Like I did with the candle, Father. I have vivid visions of how he grabs my hair and bends me over the pew, before he throws my tunic over my head and takes me from behind until that warm liquid squirt down my legs again,” she hastily blurted out without taking a breath, horrified by the very words that were said.

She took another deep breath, opened her mouth to talk, but in doing so, paused to enjoy the sensation of Father Pierre’s stiff rod that throbbed and uncoiled against her face. Inexplicably, she turned her head and lightly bit onto it. Much like one would nibble on a cob of corn, her bottom row of teeth dug into the stiff flesh.

Father Pierre jerked backwards, shocked by the unsolicited act from Sister Angelique.

“No, Sister, take control of yourself, please!” he mustered in a much deeper voice than usual.

“Forgive me, Father,” she whimpered, “I don’t know what came over me.”

She turned her head sideways and moved slightly down so as not to be against the hard outline which was pressed proudly against his trousers.

Once he finished scuffling uncomfortably around on the sofa and settled down, there was a quiet moment where they both held still.  

“We are above all of this, Sister. Trust me when I say that we can overcome this, and you will free yourself from the Prince of Darkness’ influence,” he began.

“So, your dreams and thoughts are sometimes filled with impure thoughts. Bar, using the candles or hairbrushes, have you acted on your impulses at any time, Sister?”

“Not with any man, Father, no. But there was an incident with one of the sisters, Father…”

“An incident? What happened, Sister Angelique?”

“Well, one night, not so long ago, I woke up from one of my sin-filled dreams. My screaming was ever so loud, and I woke Sister Vivienne, who came to my room to check on me. She tried to comfort me while I was still asleep, thinking that I was experiencing a terrible nightmare. Well, it was rather nightmarish as I was sodomised in my dream, Father. I could recall every detail of that encounter. How he brought my legs up and bent them back over my shoulders before placing his large manhood inside my, uhmm,” she paused, gasped, and whispered, “my anus, Father.”

Her body squirmed and her hips gyrated as the memory of the dream reeled through her mind. She paused to compose herself before continuing with a cracked voice.

“Well, see Father, I woke up in Sister Viviene’s arms. I think the realism of my dream, and then finding myself in her embrace… well, needless to say, I succumbed in the moment, Father. When I looked up at her, my body took over and I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her onto me, to kiss her…” she stopped to take another deep breath and bit down onto her bottom lip while she recalled that kiss.

”Passionately, Father. My belly was on fire from that lust-fuelled dream, and when my hands found her, uhm, her private area… while we were kissing… uhm, yes, well I took her hand and shoved it under my night dress. Please forgive me, Father! It was wrong, I know! But I could not stop. Her fingers slipped right inside me. I was so wet and slippery already, Father. Feeling her fingers inside me, rubbing me until she made me explode, Father. Literally! I sprayed all over her hand and arms… my bed was soaked too. It was such a mess. And Sister Vivienne was quite upset. Shocked, actually, at my behaviour, and she made me promise not to tell anyone about what had happened. I have kept this secret, Father. I only confessed this to you now. Please forgive me…”

“When you,” Father Pierre’s dry-throat-voice broke, and he had to cough to clear his throat before he could continue, “uhm, when you have confessed your sins, says our heavenly Father, you will be forgiven, Sister.”

He inhaled a deep breath and attempted to shift his legs to get her face away from his manhood. His rock-hard, timber-stiff manhood, which ached. Painfully! Each throb produced sharp, stabbing pains which shot right down into his coccyx. Each movement tore at the skin, which had been stretched uncomfortably over his very swollen penis. He had experienced temptation before but found it difficult to remember any such occasion where he felt nauseated from fighting his urges. Darkness would not beat him, though, he thought while he recollected his thought process.

“Now, is there anything else you wish to confess, my child?”

“I think you have heard enough, Father,” she replied softly, while moving her head into him until her temple lay on top of his stiff rod, “or hard enough,...