Confession

I enter the cathedral by one of the many discreet side doors that pepper the massive stone structure. I am admitted by one of the older acolytes. She refuses eye contact but peers briefly around the heavy door before ushering me in and then gently closing and bolting it. The air inside the old cathedral is noticeably colder.

 

The acolyte leads me down several flights of stone stairs into the bowels of the building. Eventually we stop and she opens another door. I am shown into a small ante-room in which I am to be prepared for confession. This room is much warmer. The older acolyte leaves and two younger acolytes, also female, enter. 

 

As usual I am bidden to remove all my clothing. The young acolytes then blindfold me. They lead me through a maze of passages and eventually down a short flight of stairs. I hear a heavy door opening. I know this is the door into the small “Confessional”, a chamber deep in the heart of the ancient cathedral. I have no idea where this room is located. I am certain I could not find my way back.

 

I am guided into the Confessional and told to kneel on a thin cotton mat. The fabric barely softens the surface of the wooden floor it covers. I can feel each knot of the hard oak planks through my knees. My ankles are cuffed and secured to bolts in the floor, my wrists raised and secured with other chains to eye bolts in the ceiling.

 

My blindfold is removed. The two acolytes disappear. I am left kneeling with my arms hanging, waiting. Although the room is warm I shiver slightly.

 

As always it takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim light. I know this room well. I have spent many hours here wrestling with my conscience and seeking to expiate my guilt. The “Confessional” is only eight feet square. It is lit by twelve large, red, perfumed candles and dominated by the heavy and brooding presence of the “Seat of Penance”, a large throne raised on a dais, ornately carved and made of darkest ebony. Upon the seat is a cushion of crimson satin. There is also a lower platform that acts as a foot rest. My thighs press against its outer edge.

 

A small door opens to my right.

 

My immediate sensation, as always, is the overpowering perfume of latex. And then I hear the unmistakable sound of stiletto heels on the wooden floor. Sister Ruth has arrived to hear my confession.

 

Slowly, and very deliberately Sister Ruth takes her place on the Seat of Penance. She sits on the cushion and makes her self comfortable.

 

Sister Ruth is an elegant, well spoken woman. She is in her early fifties, though her high cheekbones and striking, slightly angular features give her an almost ageless if rather stern beauty. She is wearing very heavy make-up: mascara, eye shadow and thick, shiny red lipstick.

 

To hear confession Sister Ruth wears her black latex “Discipline” habit. It shimmers in the candlelight. As she sits, Sister Ruth sweeps back her rubber outer habit, parting it like a cape. Under it she is wearing a black latex corset that leaves her full, firm breasts exposed. Nestling between those breasts is an exquisite silver crucifix that matches her silver cruciform earrings. The corset is inset with a large white latex cross motif. The garters on Sister Ruth’s corset hold up sheer black nylons. She is wearing pair of highly polished black leather thigh boots with wickedly thin five inch stiletto heels. On her left boot is a delicate silver anklet with a tiny crucifix attached.

 

To complete her ensemble Sister Ruth wears a pair of shoulder-length black latex opera gloves. In her right hand with its loop about her wrist Sister Ruth holds a thin black whip.

 

I keep my eyes lowered but try as I might I cannot deny my desires. Slowly, inexorably in the presence of this elegant, severe nun dressed in black latex my penis stiffens. My throat becomes dry and my face hot with a combination of guilt and arousal.

 

I start my confession with the time honoured admission

 

“Forgive me Sister Ruth for I have sinned.”

 

I look up into the face of Sister Ruth. It is a cruel and beautiful face. She looks down at me, her red lips twisted into a deprecating smile. She sees my penis. It is now stiff and swollen, thrusting from my body like some blasphemous embodiment of guilt.

 

Sister Ruth speaks, her voice a deep contralto. Her tone, as ever, is a curious mixture of understanding and amused disdain. I feel humiliated, guilt-ridden and unworthy in her presence.

 

“My child I know you have sinned. Your penis betrays you John, does it not? The Devil lives within your body.”

 

“Oh yes Sister Ruth, he does. Vile desires and lusts torment me. And I am weak Sister. I have given into the temptations of the flesh many times this past month. Help me Sister I beg you to cleanse my base and poisoned body of the evil it contains.”

 

“I shall help you. Sister Ruth will hear your confession and cleanse you. Are you ready to confess your sins to me my child?”

 

“Yes Sister. I have been tempted by my perverted sexual desires and I have succumbed to those desires. I have given into my fetishism Sister Ruth. I have lusted after ladies in high heels, in lingerie, in leather and latex. I wish to touch them to run my hands over their bodies, to kiss them to have intercourse with them. I have masturbated many times with these perverted thoughts in my mind. I have looked at photographs and bought magazines. I have masturbated many, many times this past month Sister Ruth.”

 

“Have you finished your confession John?”

 

There is a short silence as I summon up my courage. I look into the impassive, face of my confessor. “No, Sister Ruth. I have not.” I look down in shame.

 

Another silence. The Confessional is completely still, timeless.

 

“I have been thinking about you Sister Ruth…. while I have masturbated.”

 

Sister Ruth says nothing. She simply looks at me and gradually a cruel smile comes to her face. We both know that my penance for such a confession will be onerous. After a few seconds Sister Ruth speaks.

 

“You will begin your penance by kissing my high heeled boots.”

 

I lower my body as far as the chains allow. My bonds are just long enough to allow my lips to touch the shiny black leather of Sister Ruth’s boots. I begin to cover her boots with gentle, delicate kisses. I feel the weight of my guilt begin to slip away as I lose myself in the rhythm of kissing.

 

Each month for six years I have been visiting this small room to kneel in confession before Sister Ruth. She offers spiritual instruction to males who suffer from the afflictions of fetishism, masochism and other perversions of the flesh. In truth I do not know to which part of the church she belongs, though I have heard that she treats several senior members of the clergy, some of them close to the Cardinal. Indeed there are rumours that the Cardinal himself takes instruction from the good Sister.

 

Sister Ruth imparts spiritual guidance with her whip and her high heeled boots. Under her guidance the male is taught how to control his perversions. The fetishist learns to confess his guilt and then to suffer as he indulges his perversion. Over time he learns to control his urges and finds peace within himself. I am told my therapy will last for at least twelve years, perhaps longer, because my perversion is so deeply rooted. I am a slave to ladies in high heels, leather and latex. I cannot help myself.

 

I apply myself to this first penance with a will. After only a few minutes my arms and back are in agony but nothing will prevent me from kissing Sister Ruth’s elegant high heeled boots. The tiny silver crucifix on her anklet glints in the light, shining against the deep black of the leather. I taste and inhale the perfume of her boots. My erection stiffens and throbs as my eyes feast on Sister Ruth’s needle thin stiletto heels.

 

“Kneel up my child.” Sister Ruth’s voice is authoritative but warm.

 

She touches my nipples with the end of her black whip. They are already hard and the sensation is electric, making my penis feel as though it is on fire. I writhe in ecstasy, pulling against my bonds.

 

“You are a deeply sinful boy aren’t you John,” Ruth continues. “Your body and mind are in the grip of evil desires that torment you. It may take many years to free you from this evil my child, but I shall do it. But to obtain freedom from your lust you must submit to me John. You know that don’t you?”

 

“Yes, Sister Ruth. I will gladly submit to you.”

 

“Very well John. It is time for your second penance. And this will be painful for you my child, very painful. I am going to discipline your penis with my high heeled boots.”

 

Sister Ruth claps her hands and the two acolytes return bearing a small wooden block about six inches wide and twelve inches long. They move me back from the throne and place the block between my legs. The wooden block has several thin straps attached to it.

 

I am deeply afraid of this penance but yet, as a high heel fetishist, greatly excited by it. I have only received it twice before and then only for a very short time. Something tells me that this will be different.

 

 “Place your penis on the block.”

 

I edge my erect penis onto the small block. The wood is warm to the touch, stained and pitted with hundreds of tiny indentations. The acolytes use the thin straps to secure my erect penis firmly to the block. They then depart.

 

Sister Ruth smiles. She lifts up her right boot and places it gently on my penis, the stiletto heel resting on my highly sensitive, swollen cock head and the sole on the shaft. Once again she uses her whip to toy with my nipples. The sensation is indescribable. My penis feels as though it is about to explode with desire but the pleasure is tempered by the edge of pain from Sister Ruth’s heel.

 

The stiletto heel presses ever so gently into my cock head. I let out a sharp cry. “Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh! I am an unworthy sinner Sister Ruth. Please scourge me of my perversion.”

 

“I shall my child. I shall…… Where does your penis belong John?”

 

“Under your high heels Sister Ruth.”

 

“Yes. This is where your penis belongs, where it needs to be. Feel your penis under my heel. Feel the pain…… now.” Sister Ruth’s stiletto heel slowly grinds into my penis. A tiny pinprick of blood appears but the pressure from her heel is constant. “Feel the pain and look at me. Look at my lips, my breasts, my gloves, my corset. Feel the pain. Feel my stiletto heel on your penis.”

 

Sister Ruth continues. “This discipline is to teach you that masturbation is a sin. You must learn that while you are aroused by high heeled shoes and boots you must not give in to that arousal by playing with yourself. Do you understand?”

 

“Oh yes I do Sister Ruth. I understand you must punish me. My penis belongs under the heels of your beautiful boots.” As I say this I try to thrust my penis against her boot heel, causing more pain and more spots of blood. I don’t care. I want to give myself totally to this imperious Goddess.

 

“Feel the pain John. Feel my heel on your penis. Can you feel your guilt receding as you feel the pain?”

 

“Yes Sister, I can feel it.” The pain is excruciating but my erection under Sister Ruth’s boot heel is as strong as ever.

 

“Look at me John. Look at me while you feel the pain. Look at me …..now!” And the high heel presses down once more. I gasp with the pain. A tear forms in my eye.

 

I find it hard to take my eyes from Sister Ruth, my beautiful confessor. Her exquisite black latex habit frames her mature body, hard nipples protruding from her large breasts. She is flexing her whip in her gloved hands, the rubber making a soft creaking sound. Sister Ruth stares at me. Her cruel smile, high cheekbones and wicked green eyes are so powerful. In spite of myself I bow my head. I am not her equal.

 

“Look at me John.”

 

I look up, my penis in agony but still so hard. My eyes meet with hers.

 

“Look at me while you feel the pain my child. Look at my nipples. Feel my high heel on your penis. Feel the pain of my heel as you look at my nipples. Look at my corset, my garter clips, my stockings, my elegant high heeled boots. Feel the pain John.”

 

“Thank you Sister Ruth. Thank you for teaching me how to be more pure.”

 

“That’s better John. Let the guilt flow from your body. Feel the guilt leaving your body as you experience the pain. Feel the pain through your penis.”

 

My penis remains under Sister Ruth’s boot heel for five…. ten…. fifteen minutes? I lose track of time. My head begins to spin with the constant pain. But before I lose consciousness the acolytes return. My penis is suddenly released from the block and I am given a glass of water and allowed a little time to recover. I am not released from my chains.

 

Sister Ruth claps her hands once more. The two acolytes reappear. One carries a large silver wine goblet, the other a tray holding cigarettes and a lighter. Sister Ruth takes a cigarette and the acolyte lights it for her. They are dismissed.

 

Sister Ruth takes a long drag of her cigarette and slowly exhales the smoke. She smiles. 

 

“You will thank me for your disciplining your penis. Kiss my boots child.” The imperious voice. My ordeal continues.

 

Once again my head bends to Sister Ruth’s highly polished thigh boots. My neck is sore but my lips gladly kiss the leather, carefully, reverently paying homage to the instruments of my recent correction. As I lick the right boot heel I taste the unmistakable tang of my own blood. My penis, bruised, bloodied but still very much erect, twitches in response.

 

“Kiss my habit.” My lips touch the hem of Sister Ruth’s black rubber habit.

 

“Kiss the whip.” With a frisson of fear I kiss the wickedly thin black whip.

 

After a few minutes the acolytes are once again summoned. My chains are removed from the eye bolts in the ceiling and reattached to rings set either side of the Seat of Penance. My body is moved forward. I can smell the heavy scent of Sister Ruth’s latex habit. Her booted legs part. Slowly, my head inches forward until my lips find the soft, moist skin of Sister Ruth’s shaven sex. My tongue starts to play across her labia. I feel Sister Ruth’s latex gloves either side of my head, guiding me, teaching me.

 

“Now boy, your next penance will be to pleasure me. You will bring me to orgasm very slowly, with delicate but firm use of your lips and tongue. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes Sister Ruth.”

 

“This is to teach you the correct way to use your sexuality. Your penis needs to be kept under the strict discipline of my high heels. But your mouth and lips may be put to better use.”

 

Gently, lovingly and with great joy I begin to probe and tease Sister Ruth’s sex. I kiss every silky fold of her pussy, tasting her musky scent and feeling her tiny shudders of pleasure. My tongue pushes into the warm softness, touching around her clitoris but not roughly, not directly, slowly building Sister Ruth’s pleasure. I kiss and kiss, trying to communicate my own pleasure.

 

I feel the leather of Sister Ruth’s boots against my shoulders as I kiss her labia. My senses are almost overpowered with the scent of her sex, mingling with the heavy aroma of her latex habit.

 

After about thirty minutes Sister Ruth begins to moan with pleasure. After forty I feel her soft tremors of pleasure and after almost an hour Sister Ruth achieves a long, pulsating and clearly enjoyable orgasm.

 

Once I am sure her orgasm is completed I return instantly to kissing her boots.

 

“Thank you for my penance Sister Ruth.”

 

When I next look up Sister Ruth is smoking another cigarette, a look of intense satisfaction on her face.

 

After a few minutes I hear the cold authoritative voice once more.

 

“It is time for your final penance my child. It is time for you to feel my whip.” This last is spoken with considerable pleasure. I can hear the smile in Sister Ruth’s voice. My confessor does not try to hide how much she enjoys using her whip.

 

“Thank you Sister Ruth. I know I need to be whipped.”

 

Sister Ruth holds out the thin whip to my lips, now sore and tender from their labours. The whip is made of whalebone, sheathed in black kid leather. It is exquisitely painful.

 

“Kiss the whip.”

 

I kiss the instrument of penance.

 

Sister Ruth stands and walks to the side of me. I stare straight ahead. She starts to run the tip of the whip over my pain racked body. The whip touches my nipples and traces a line down my side. Sister Ruth taps my bruised and lacerated penis, still firmly erect but very red and painful from the attentions of her stiletto heels.

 

“You are a very sinful and obedient child are you not?”

 

“Yes Sister Ruth.”

 

“Not only do you disobey my teaching by masturbating, but you think of me, your confessor, while engaging in this vile and venal sin. Is this not so?”

 

“Yes Sister Ruth, I confess it is.” My head is bowed.

 

“So I think it is appropriate that you are severely punished.”

 

“Yes, Sister Ruth.”

 

“Yes. I think you need to be taught how to behave. Obviously you are aroused by my high heeled boots, so I think you need to be introduced to my whip. Yes, a good whipping is what you need. To feel pure pain. You need to be thoroughly chastised my child."

 

"Ask for your penance.”

 

“Will….will you please whip me Sister Ruth?”

 

“Yes my child. I will." Sister Ruth moves toward me and again proffers the whip to my lips. I kiss it reverently and await the pain to come.