My confession of my obsession with priests and corporal punishmen

Yes. A little background: My mom came from a really small town. Apparently everybody knew everyone's business and there were no secrets. Occasionally she'd get together with her old friends and school mates. I'd listen in because sometimes they'd share some outrageous memories. There were only two churches in their town. I think I remember the one being hardcore old fashion holyrolling baptist and the other was catholic. This was back in the day when spankings were the norm and everybody knew when one of them got one. What was not as well known was when parents felt they lost control of their kids, they'd bring them to the local priest. Even the people who weren't catholic! The priest was apparently quite good at handing out the appropriate punishments which ranged from canings, to leather straps or a switch or whatever was at hand. It could be bare assed with corner time. When I heard about this I couldn't stop fantasizing about having a priest punishing me for my sins. As an adult I began going to church again. Although I wasn't religious anymore I'd go to confession. I'd confess anything and everything I could think of, hoping to earn a good strapping. I'd go to a different parish every few weeks to confess to different priests.

When my new job included travel I began going to confession in every city I went to. I developed the habit of fingering my pussy during confession. At first I tried to hide it, then I let little whimpers out, then I didn't try to hide it much at all. But still, no priest called me to his office. I tried making private appointments and while I met one or two that I think given time may have amounted to something, nothing ever happened but it became my ongoing fantasy life. To masturbate and imagine them rubbing my pussy between beatings. About a year into my new job, I went on a business trip to a larger city. When my stay was extended I was looking around for places to visit and one museum brought me through a small town. There was a small catholic church nearby and I went to service and confession as usual. I'm not sure why but for the first time I confessed to masturbating and it had gotten to be a worse habit since my old priest had died (some of what I told him was based on truth) because he kept me in line with regular maintenance spankings and strappings. He actually initiated a conversation about the discipline, asking for details. As I told him my fabricated story based on some of what I heard my mom and her friends say, I pulled up my skirt and was rubbing my clit through my panties. I was so wet with what I was doing. I said I had another confession to make and I told him I was fingering myself right then and there.

He told me to go to the parish office and tell the secretary I had an appointment with him. He had something to tend to but he would be there within an hour. I did as he told me. I felt like the secretary knew what I was there for (I'm sure it was my imagination). As I sat there, my pussy was wet and tingling. When I had been sitting there nearly an hour, the secretary looked at the time and said she was getting off work but I should stay and wait. When she left, I walked around a little, I glanced into his office. It was full of dark mahogany and loads of books. There was a stained glass window with Mary and Jesus. The office was pretty grand when compared with the rest of the small and humble church but it fed my imagination of the perfect setting for a spanking. Just as I was getting ready to step back from his office door, I heard a door slam and a priest was standing behind me looking very stern. He asked what I was doing and I said I was supposed to meet a priest there but the secretary left and I was getting a little bored. I said I hadn't gone in! He told me that I was going in now because he was the priest I was meeting. We went inside and after he asked where I was from and a few more personal questions, he asked where I had gotten my story from about supposed punishment by a priest. I blushed and said it was true, it hadn't really happened to me but I told him the true story about my mother. He asked what town she was from and seemed satisfied enough.

He told me that he was in fact old fashioned and believed in corporal punishment but many churches had gotten away from performing that role personally even if they encouraged parents to use that method of discipline. He was quite a bit older and said that he had given his share of spankings and canings but it had been years. He then asked for a proper confession of my real transgressions. I went through them and he said what about that you regularly masturbate in the confessional? I stammered and said I really hadn't done that very often. He asked if I had really been masturbating earlier and I felt my cheeks burning and said yes. He asked if my panties were wet and I said yes. He told me to stand up and lean over on his desk and came around behind me. I felt something tapping my legs and he was saying for me to spread my legs and bend over flat on the desk. My ass was sticking out and he reached under my skirt and felt between my legs and he said, for once, you're immediately telling the truth rather than lying. He pulled up my skirt and said that my punishment was well deserved and started wailing away with a paddle. I was crying out and he'd just go harder. He pulled down my panties and my pussy that was soaking wet. He stepped away and came back and I felt the sharp pain of a cane. I was lectured and had to count. Between each strike he rubbed my ass cheeks and felt my pussy. My ass was welting and every touch was searing pain, but my pussy kept getting wetter and I felt like I was near orgasming. With another strike I was crying out but shuddering too. He scolded me about enjoying it too much.

Through my tears I was apologizing. He told me to stand up and keep holding my skirt up and leave my panties down. I was ordered to the corner while he went to his desk and seemingly worked. When some amount of time went by he said he wanted me to admit that what I was doing was wrong and that he had in fact been easy on me. He told me to sit down again which brought on renewed pain from the fresh and tender welt marks. He asked where I lived and if I would be in the area again. I said there was nothing planned and I was about 300 miles away. He said he expected me to show up regularly for confession. I said I would and went back two more times. Unfortunately it ended there because at age 83 he passed away. My fantasy life is full because of this experience but I pray I'll find another old fashioned priest. My memory isn't perfect and I may have embellished a detail or two but this is a 100% real story of what happened to me.

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