One last time!

On his deathbed, the dying clergyman resisted the siege of the reaper; he needed to confess his sins as soon as possible before it was too late for his spirit. The designated confessor was on his way, but the rains and other weather made it difficult for him to arrive. Next to his catrene where Tristan breathed with difficulty feeling deep nausea that almost took away his reasoning, was the novice Paul whose affliction was stamped on his face. Tired of waiting and full of guilt, Tristan called Paul closer to him and told him that he would be his confessor; the unprepared and inexperienced young man felt a tremor in his entrails, but before the pre-death state of the superior, acquiesced without contrasting. And so, Tristan began his confession. I was born into a poor family in the more rustic countryside; my father was an atheist and my pagan mother was convinced; everything indicated that I would have the same fate as my other nine brothers, condemned to a life without a future, working from sun to sun for a diminished gain. My luck was rewritten when a bishop passed through the village and during a homily, I realized his gluttonous gaze upon me. That same week, and without my parents' permission, I went with him to the city of Hippo; at first, everything was a wonderful novelty; I would have kept myself on the path of righteousness and faith, if it were not for the fact that that bishop was an insane debauchery. My initiation into the meanders of lust came into his hands. When we bathed together, he praised my body and said I was a beautiful boy..., and that's how I felt his hand caressing my limb that got hard! After his hand, his mouth sucking me eagerly, he showed me that debauchery would be my way; studying philosophy at the university, I left aside that unclean and dishonest religious, dedicating myself to the delights of the opposite sex. Alethea was my first experience; she was a young servant of the university campus, whose natural beauty and sensuality drove all the males around her crazy. Taking advantage of my lip seized in the debauched environment of conviviality with sullied religious, I did everything until I took her to bed. And what a woman! Their small, firm breasts fit into my hands, and soon they were sucked through my dry mouth; I used everything I saw in the bishopric and I took Alethea to the clouds, licking and sucking her sex covered with a thin layer of reddish hair, hearing her enjoy every time my tongue rubbed her hirt clitorals. And the same way, I made her taste my limb with her innocent mouth. Alethea dedicated herself to sucking me hard, praising the thickness of my tool, and alternating long licked with afhoite suckings as if she really wanted to extract my semen by force; and when I penetrated her, advancing with my intruder in laughter, breaking her hymen, she cried out as if taken by a fit of madness; I proceeded to strike with manni movements, tearing and shoving the limb into the warm and humid cave, delighting me with the successive joys that poured one after the other. And after that night, Alethea became constant company, enjoying my bed and my filthy desire. Even after taking the chair of epistemology at the university, Alethea still served me with all her holes; they were unusual nights in which I enjoyed her vagina, her mouth and her little seal which was presented to me by her with afã. On a winter morning, laying on four on the bed, she swung her body calling me as she exhibited her butt, manifesting her desire to see herself healed by me; I advanced against her mercilessly, holding my stiff mast and throwing against the wrinkled little orifice, breaking it at once; she cried and still tried to back down, but I stopped her, advancing with the thick intruder and stiff to the end! I struck with such vigor, no matter what she felt, beyond her cries, we complained and blasphemies, stopping only when I felt my milk drain into her bowels. However, she was not the only one ..., I did not call a truce and any female who stood in my way; they were married, brides, virgins or whores, it did not matter! With white, black or yellow skin, they all experienced the vigor of the insatiable male, bringing them to bed night after night. It became almost a compulsion; I could not have my bed empty during the night, and whenever the opportunity arose, I left for the sweet clash. And when I heard the phrase "I'm pregnant," my question, rude and offensive, was always the same: “Are you sure it’s mine?” It is quite true that some I collected some misfortunes along the way such as suicides, threats from betrayed husbands, criticism from colleagues and social reprobation ..., however, all this was smaller when before me paraded a naked female offering without shame. My life would follow this path of boundless debauchery and mockery, if it were not for the appearance of a special woman ..., her name was Monica ..., she was a nun! Her beauty was so captivating that just looking at her had an immediate effect of unbridled excitement. I wanted her more than anything! Unfortunately, Monica was a fervent blessed woman who never strayed from the path of righteousness..., and it was for her that I converted, ordering myself a friar only to stand beside her. It was a troubled beginning, in which I was forced to participate in all the vigils and prayers in which she was present, dreaming of her nakedness, and honoring her with hundreds of frantic and solitary masturbations, collected in my cell at night, reaching the point where only once was not enough ..., I needed to conquer that female for myself! Without many options, I saw myself in the immediate use of a dishonest and more than impure resource; one afternoon, after a vigil and before dinner, I called Monica in particular, saying that I needed to tell her something that concerned me and that concerned her; because our proximity was no longer something unusual, she came here without hiding her distress with my words; I suggested that we meet in the small chapel for the torment of the sufferers after dinner. At the agreed time, there she was, kneeling on the stairwell of the small central altar, praying compenetrated. I approached carefully and kneeled beside her, waiting for her to end her prayers. Sister Tristan, please tell me what ails you about me? – asked her, with distressed tone as soon as she finished praying. - I have a feeling the devil is circling your body, sister! – I replied with a solemn tone – he looks at you ..., he wants to make you his slave ... - How can that be? Where did that intuition come from? – made her question even more anxious – Are you sure? -I'm sorry, sister -I answered in an unresponsive tone - But lucky for you, I also figured out a way to drive him away from you ..., if you will allow me ..., I can help you! Monica was very hesitant, fearing that my gesture could be misinterpreted by anyone who saw or heard anything; I reassured her that we could treat this little disorder with all the secrecy possible ..., so I suggested she find me in my cell at dawn. Immediately, she reacted in protest saying that this, besides impossible, was too dangerous. My cunning mind soon found a solution to the problem; I remembered a reserved room in which the bishop and his bourgeois procers gathered for depravity sessions with youth fornications, drink and smoke; I presented to him the solution ensuring that the place, in addition to insurance, was situated in an unattainable retreat. Fearful, but much more concerned with his spiritual health, Monica eventually accepted. We'll settle for the next night. I went after a servile page and offered him an agreement; in exchange for some gold coins he would assure me access to the place and full privacy. The boy, a skeletal vassal with shrewd eyes, accepted, conditioning only that he longs to spy on the hidden what would happen there ..., reluctant, acquiesced. The following night, I took a small tin of metal, bucket with water, branches of São João's grass and a flexible pole of elm, preparing the setting for the deflowering of Monica; she arrived at the arphant and apprehensive place. I explained to him how he would do the demon's banishment and commanded him to undress; when I saw her naked, I felt chills running through my skin. That woman's beauty was something from the other world! Their full and firm breasts, crowned with protruding nipples and surrounded by pink halos, aroused an atrocious desire to suck them without limitations. The perfect womb, as carved by a meticulous artist, adorned an insinuating womb with a small bulge of hair protecting the prominent vulva that seemed to arfle at the same pace as the female's breath..., her shapely legs and her rolling buttocks contained a sketch made by the universe with dedicated smeral. I made her sit on the bed and bathed her with water that I claimed to be holy, then rubbed the pot and finally beat her with the stick, taking care not to hurt; I took her to bed, opened her legs and plunged my face between them, savoring her warm cave that to the contact of my irreverent tongue soon became moist, not delaying to pour as a consequence of the first orgasms. - What's that? Oh, my God! I'm pissing on you, Tristan – she lamented in despair – Ah! What is that thing? What are you doing with me? - Stay with my gift! – I answered between sucked and licked – What you feel is divine pleasure by banishing the devil away from you! Don't hesitate! While tasting that divine delicacy, I realized the presence of the page hidden between penumbras and assumed that I would be manipulating his member insanely what made me laugh internally; after a long session of oral pleasure, I saw that it was time to further improve Monica's banishment. I stood up and undressed myself in the stupefying eyes of the nun who kept on her face an expression of ecstasy, desire and anxiety. What are you gonna do, Tristan? – asked her with trembling tone almost babbling – Will you hurt me? - No, my dear! – I answered, hiding the irony – I will end the devil and free you from all sin! I climbed up on her and put my member inside her cave, which so tight, demanded even more effort from me; when I broke the himenal seal, Monica cried out, forcing me to cover her mouth with her hand smothering her exasperation; I began to strike with intensity, feeling that woman's body belonged as I had never felt before ..., there was something in Monica that captivated me, snatching my balance that was not limited to fleshly desire, going much further. Under the baton of the male, she enjoyed so many uninterrupted enjoyments that she ran out of air, huffing, moaning and lovingly embracing me. I did not yield to fatigue, much less to the effort that plagued my body and my senses and after taking that copulation to its limit, I felt that the inevitable was to happen ..., grunted as an animal while ejaculating, filling the cave of Monica with my male load. I let her down; we both breathed with difficulty. - Ah! Thank you, Tristan... thank you for everything! – babbled Monica in my ear with a tone of gratitude – Not only did you deliver me from a greater evil, but you gave me the fulfillment of a dream! From that night on, we became hidden lovers and over time, Monica discovered that what we were doing had nothing to do with banishment ... yet she gave herself to me ... every night, we met in the same place and copulated like animals delivered to lust; I taught her how to taste my limb, dumping my cargo of semen in her mouth! I convinced her of the delights of anal sex, and she gave me her virginal seal, which I had great pleasure in breaking between screams and wailing maddened; sometimes I played with her vagina, fingering her with sharpness and care, extracting joys and more joys, until she bordered on faintness. And because of that, something unprecedented happened: we fell in love! What could be a gift or a disgrace..., only time could confirm. Unfortunately, the inevitable came to hit us; the page, that bastard, gave us to the bishop who availed himself of it to blackmail me, demanding that I offer Monica to his debauchery. I refused even knowing she was pregnant! The bishop threatened me to separate mother and son, which was inconceivable, even for a wicked debauchery like me! I fought, but I didn't win. Monica gave birth to my only son I never knew, and then she was sent to a mental institution where she died of sadness. My greatest sin was to fall in love with me once! And that made me what I am today: weak and dying and empty! ..., behold my confession ... now, I leave in peace with myself and with the Eternal Father ... At that moment, the novice could no longer contain his tears and ran out of the religious cell, kneeling in the corridor and crying copiously; he was welcomed by friars who accompanied the confessor who had finally arrived ..., however, it was too late ..., Tristan died ..., and his confessor outside that inexperienced young novice who still wept and sobbed supported by his brothers. What they did not know is that Paul, the novice, was the son that Tristan had never known ..., the unknown son who became the confessor of his father's soul!