As some of you already know, I released my second book a little while ago, and it’s been proving more popular than the first. So, I’m excited to keep writing and see where the next one goes!

Although I’m still not sure which story I’ll finish first (I’ve got a few in the works at the moment), I did include an excerpt from one of the newest ones in Yes, Chef.

With the taboo topic of pseudo-incest being the central theme for my last story, it seems I’ve decided to continue down the sinful road a little further. However, as my lead character finds out, it’s hard to seek forgiveness for your sins when they feel so good. Actually, in her case, it’s even harder to repent when the one you lust for is the one you’re supposed to be confessing to.

That’s right, this story goes beyond the closed doors of the church confessional and has more than one person on their knees shouting “oh god!”

Obviously, I’ve got a few interesting scenarios worked out in my head already, but for now I’ll leave you with just this one:

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned,” I said, trying to sound remorseful.

Of course, the truth is that I never really regretted any of the things I did, despite my years of education at Saint Margaret’s All Saints Academy. In fact, thanks to recent events at my local church, I was starting to find myself really looking forward to my confessional sessions with Father Larkin.

Granted, I always took some delight in retelling my sordid trysts to the old, and supposedly puritanical, clergy of the church ever since the first time I sat foot in the little booth where so many before me had bared their souls. So, for me at least, it was no surprise when I eventually started treating these slightly private moments as a time to not only expose my inner demons, but to also relive my encounters and relish in the memories while exposing other parts of me too.

The thought that a simple wooden partition was all that separated me from the old prude hearing my story made me almost as wet as remembering what the cock of my coworker felt like when I let it slide into my wet pussy in the supply room just last week. Given my penchant for sexual acts in risky places, I had become a pro at being discreet and quiet when needed. So, by the time I was given my path to repentance by the good Father, I was usually already coming down from cloud nine. Then, while repeating however many Hail Marys were required of me to start the week anew, I simply straightened out my outfit, took a few deep breaths, and prepared to write the next chapter of my tawdry tales.

Well, that was my usual routine until Father Larkin took over.

Father Larkin’s arrival was the sort of event that led to a rise in the number of single women, house wives, and even some single men (my church was modern in many ways) in attendance for each service. As someone who had been attending at the same church since I was a child, I couldn’t help but laugh at its rise in popularity. It reminded me of one of my Sociology classes a couple years ago where the student body was certainly skewed towards those who wanted nothing more than to see just what the young and eager professor was hiding beneath his tweed jacket and pleated pants. Of course, just what was under there was a secret that most never found out, except for me. The discovery of which proved to be the inspiration behind a number of juicy tales that I shared in the booth, but that was before Father Larkin’s time.

Truth be told, I had not spent much time in the booth with Father Larkin on the receiving end, but that was mainly because his arrival was still rather new. Now, as I listened to him speak and started to go over the events of the past week, I couldn’t help but notice that I was getting wet just by hearing his voice. Deep and certain, he spoke with a conviction that was almost enough to persuade even a marathon sinner like me to change her ways.

Lucky for me, it was also enough to get my mind thinking of other things he could convince me to do. So, as I quietly undid the zipper on the side of my pencil skirt to make it easier to slide my hand in under, I started to imagine that he was on the other side of the wood stroking a cock that I would gladly kneel in front of if he asked me.

“So, what do you have to confess today my child?” he asked.

“Oh, where do I begin?” I thought.