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, andI 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.