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The Great Sin

by Robert Buckley


erotic fictionFather Gus genuflected before the altar and crossed himself. He was about to close the chapel for the evening when behind him he heard the hesitant patter of a soul in anguish. He stood, turned.

“Jerry, fancy seeing you here.”

“Hi, Father ... how’re you doing?”

“Shall we check the rafters to see if the church is about to fall down upon your head?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess it’s been awhile.”

“Both you and Marjorie dropping by all of the same evening ... must be a sign of the end times.”

“What? Father, you saying Margie was here? But ... the last I saw her ...”


“Um ... well ... she was kinda tied up.”


“Well, what she say?”

“I can’t tell you that, Jerry.”

“Why not?”

“She asked me to hear her confession. Everything she told me is held in sacred confidence. You ought to know that.”

“But, I’m her husband ... doesn’t that give me some privileges?”

“Doesn’t work like that, Jerry. Now, I can see there’s something troubling you.”

“Well, for crying out loud, Father, if Margie’s gone and told you everything, you know what the problem is.”


“Well, yeah. She must have told you, you know, what happened.”

“I can’t say, Jerry. If your soul is troubled and you want to unburden yourself, just go right ahead. I get paid to listen, you know. Cheaper than a shrink and almost as good as an understanding bartender.”

Jerry sat abruptly in a pew, as if his legs could support his guilt no longer.

“Jerry, you’re trembling. C’mon, get it off your chest. Do you want to confess?”

“Um, no, Father. I mean, can’t I just ...”

“Talk? Yeah, sure.”

“But ... Margie’s already told you.” He clasped his hands over his face and cried, “Ah, jeeze, Father, I think I’ve destroyed my marriage. I ... I ... what was I thinking?”

“Jerry, take a deep breath, calm down. I’ll be right back.”

Jerry’s shoulders heaved as he tried to stifle a sob.

Father Gus disappeared into the sacristy and returned with two shot glasses and a bottle of Canadian Club. He poured a shot and held it out to Jerry.

“Go ahead, son, belt it down. There’s plenty more.”

Jerry swallowed the whiskey in a single gulp, letting it burn its way down his gullet. He exhaled like a radiator expels steam.

“Thanks, Father.”


“No, I’m okay, for now.”

“All right, then. Tell me what’s troubling you, from the beginning.”

“But Margie ...”

“Never mind what Marjorie might have told me. I want to hear it from you.”

Jerry lowered his head and rubbed his hands together. Finally he looked up, but his eyes were wet and unfocused.

“See, Father, Margie and I have been married twelve years now. No kids yet.” He shrugged.

“Go on.”

“We just celebrated our anniversary. I took her out to a nice restaurant, and I booked a room at this place out on Route 114. They got these heart-shaped Jacuzzis and ...”


“Well, you see. Things haven’t been so hot between Marge and me. Maybe we’re just too used to each other. I hoped, you know, if we did something a little, um ... risqué, I thought maybe we could jumpstart the old ... um ...”

“I get the idea.”

“But Margie said she felt stupid, and she didn’t like the place at all. She said it was tawdry, and full of creepy people. We didn’t even stay; we went home. And when we get there we don’t even do anything, know what I’m saying?”

“I get the idea.”

“The next day Margie is really irritable. She starts berating me about how I have no imagination and that she wished it was like when we first dated in college. And then ... and then ... she said ...”


“She said she wished she could start all over again with someone else.”


“Father, I was devastated. I made up my mind right then and there I was going to do something ... something to get Margie to want to ... you know, with me.”

“I see. And how did that endeavor turn out?”

“Father ... it’s not something I can talk about. For crying out loud, she must have told you.”

“Never mind what she told me; that is something you can not be privy to. Now, go on; I’m not here to judge.”

“Okay. Well, I read lots of books and I checked out a lot of sites on the Internet, you know, to get some ideas. Well, Margie, she told me once, she likes to lose control.”


“You know, she likes to just lose control. Like, when we were dating she loved for me to take her on this rollercoaster because she said it was so scary and she felt like she was falling out of her seat. I remember one time, she even wet her pants. She was so embarrassed, but later ... well, it was the first time we ... you know, that we ...”

“You weren’t wed then, I suppose.”

“Um, no, Father.”

Father Gus rolled his eyes. “Okay, no matter. Go on. Marjorie likes to lose control.”

“Yeah, well, I get this idea in my head, see. Margie’s also the most ticklish girl I ever met. I’m serious, her eyes bug out and she screams and wails and thrashes ...”

“Uh-huh, I get it. She’s ticklish.”

“Yeah, so anyway, I got home the other night before her and set things up.”

“Set what up?”

Jerry shrugged. “Well, I bought some, uh, they’re called restraints.”


“Yeah, they’re really just toys, but they do what they’re supposed to do.”


“Yeah. Anyway, when Margie came home I told her I had a surprise for her. At first she wasn’t interested, but I started taking her clothes off. She tried to fight me, but just a little bit, so I figured she was getting into it, and when I’d gotten her down to her panties I put on the blindfold.”


“Yeah. Um, Father, it is all right, me telling you about this in church and all?”

“See that little box over there; kinda looks like a coffin with add ons?” Father pointed at the confessional.


“People tell me stuff in there that would make your hair stand on end ... every Saturday afternoon ... unless there’s a playoff.”

“Uh, okay. Just wanted to be sure.”

“Get on with your story, Jerry. So your wife of twelve years is standing in your home stark naked except for a blindfold.”

“No, Father, she had her panties on too.”

“Thank God, we wouldn’t want her to catch cold, would we?”

“Um ... well, anyway, I lead her into the bedroom and I cuff her and secure her to the bed posts, you know, so her arms are outstretched like ...”

“Christ on the cross?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have put it that way.”

“Of course not ... an occupational bias on my part. Go ahead.”

“Then I tied her feet at the ankles with a pair of her stockings so she’s all ... um ... restrained, and her legs and arms are ... spread-eagle, you know.”

“Hmm. Okay, and then what?”

“Father ... honest, she never looked so beautiful.”

Tears began to spring from Jerry’s eyes.

“I just ... looking at her like that ... Father, I never felt such powerful ... love. God, she was beautiful.”

“Okay. So, what did you do?”

“I started to lick her underarms.”


“Well, I told you she was ticklish. I figured I’d tickle her senseless.”

“Uh-huh, and how’d that work out?”

“Father, she was wild. Screaming and begging for me to stop, and yanking on her restraints, and her hips came up off the bed and almost knocked me onto the floor. But I kept it up. I switched from one armpit to the other and she’s absolutely screaming and begging me, “Stop, stop, stop! I’m gonna pee!”

“Did you stop?”

“No, of course not, I figured she was enjoying it because she was so out of control and ... honest, Father, it was making me all hot and excited.”

“You didn’t stop.”

“No ... not until ...”


“I should have stopped.”

“But you didn’t, and what happened?”

Jerry nodded. “She peed. Jesus, she went off like a sprinkler, right through her panties. I got it right in the face, and she was soaked.”

“Hmm. And then?”

“Father ... I never heard the kind of language out of a woman that came from my Margie’s mouth.”

“For instance?”

“Aw, Father, you don’t want me to ...”

“If I’m to understand you need to tell me.”

“Father, she called me a fucking asshole, and a motherfucking son of a bitch prick, and that she was gonna rip my face and claw out my eyes, and what a goddamned fucking shit of a pervert I was. After that it pretty much got unintelligible, Father. You know, like she was speaking in tongues, like in the Gospel when people become possessed by demons and shit like that.”

“I see. And what did you do then?”

“I ran, Father, I ran out of there as fast as I could. I felt so ashamed and dirty at what I’d done to her. She can’t ever forgive me, I just know she can’t.”

“So, you left your wife tied to a bed drenched in her own urine?”

“Huh? Aw, shit. I guess I did. I wasn’t even thinking ... but, aw jeeze, Father, she’da killed me if she’d gotten loose.”


“But, wait a minute. You said she was here.”


“So, she must have gotten loose ... oh, shit, now I remember.”




“Margie’s friend, our next door neighbor. She came running out of her house just as I was hightailing it down the driveway. She called to me; she said, ‘Jerry, what’s going on?’ She must have heard Margie screaming. God, she must have thought I’d murdered her.”

“This Lois, are you good friends with her?”

“Her and her husband, Frank. We’ve been neighbors for years.”

“I see.”

“Father, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Margie won’t let me come home, not after what I did, how I shamed her. I know she won’t. I’m so sorry; I love her so much.”

The dam that had held back his sobs broke all at once. Father Gus poured him another shot, and one for himself.

They knocked them back, and Jerry began to settle down.

“I must’ve made her feel so dirty and degraded,” Jerry cried, “that she had to come here to confess. But, it’s all my fault.”

“There, there, son. I’ve been in this business a long time, and there’s some things I’ve come to understand about sinners and human nature.”

“Huh,” Jerry said, wiping an eye with his fingers.

“I can’t betray the sacred confidentiality of the confessional. What I can tell you is, people feel guilty when they sin, not because they feel bad ... but because they feel good.”

“But ...”

“That’s right. Feeling good about being bad; that’s a recipe for shame. And shame itself can make us feel good sometimes, which just makes us feel bad. Son, the Church has shame down to a science and an art.”

Jerry sat up; his eyes brightened. “You mean to tell me ... Margie really ...”

“I told you, I can’t tell you what Marjorie confided to me. I won’t warn you again.”

Jerry grabbed the priest’s hands. “Aw, Father, jeesh, thanks. Thanks for everything. I’ll be back, I promise. Me and Margie, you’ll see us at Mass regular ... depend on it.”

Jerry ran down the aisle for the exit as fast as his legs could carry him.

Father Gus poured himself another shot and sighed, “Oy, vey!”

*    *    *

Jerry turned his key and peered around the front door of his home. He took tentative steps inside, like a thief, or a penitent. The living room lamps were dimmed and the house was as quiet as a funeral parlor. He peeked into the kitchen, but there was no sign of Marjorie.

He fortified his resolve and climbed the darkened stairway. Light shown beneath the bedroom door. His hand hovered over the knob. One more deep breath and he pushed the door open a crack.

“Marjorie, can I come in?”

Despite receiving no answer he ventured into the room. The bed was empty. Panic began to well in his gut.


“I’m over here.”

He turned to find his bride in a corner sitting on the floor with her forehead pressed to her knees that she hugged with both arms, and all draped in her red tresses like a curtain of shame. Jerry knelt beside her.

“Margie, you okay?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice barely registered.

“I ... I’m sorry.”



“I didn’t mean to.”

“Huh? Margie, what’s the matter?”


“Well, what about Lois?”

“I was so mad at you.”

“I know.”

“I was mad because ... you made me pee.”

“Yeah, I was such a jerk.”

“No. I mean, I was mad, but then, I wanted you to come back.”

“I was afraid you hated me.”

“I did ... I mean, I did, but, I wanted you to ... come back.”

“You did?”

“Then Lois came in the room, and I told her what you did ... and what I did. And she said it was okay, and she helped me get free and helped me into the shower and ... and ...”


“She said that she knew I enjoyed what you did, and I said, ‘How can you say that?’ and she said she could tell, and she said she was going to clean me up and she began to soap me all over ... my pussy too.”


“And she said I was a perverted little slut and I told her to stop, and she said I liked what she was doing, and I said I didn’t, and she slapped my ass, and then she made me say I liked it, and when I did I realized I really did like it, and she made me come with her fingers, and then she made me come again, and she said she was going to spank me, and she did, over the bed while I was still wet and I cried and told her to stop, and she said she’d stop if I really wanted her to and ... and ... and ...”

“What, honey, what?”

“And I told her I didn’t want her to stop spanking me.” Marjorie convulsed as a series of sobs overtook her.

Jerry held her in his arms.

“It’s okay, honey ... it’s okay.”

“Jerry, she called me ‘little miss pissy pants’ and she said she’s going to make me wear diapers the next time she comes over to play with me, and when she said that I came again because she was fingering my pussy again and I felt so dirty and disgusting.”

“Lois said that?”

“Uh-huh, and ... and ...” she struggled to speak through spasmodic sobs.

“It’s okay, honey. Calm down.”

“She said, wasn’t it fun, and that she always knew I was ... I was ...”


“A little humiliation whore.” She began to wail again.

“My God.”

“She said she’s going to talk to you about coming over to play with me again.”


“I felt so dirty and depraved, I didn’t know what to do, so I went to the church and saw Father Gus. But he said ...”

“What did he say?”

“He said ... God has a hell of a sense of humor and that I should go home and wait for you.”

“He did?”

“Jerry ... please fuck me, baby.”


“I’m so crazy; I can’t stop it any more. Fuck me, honey, call me nasty names, but don’t hate me.”

“Hate you?”

“I mean ... you can say you hate me, but really love me; it’s okay. Honey, puhleeeeeze!”

*    *    *

The next morning Jerry stood on his lawn, a mug of coffee in one hand, and took in a deep lungful of fresh air. His neighbor, Frank, waved to him from his driveway, then sauntered onto Jerry’s property.

“Jesus, Jer, what you been slipping into Margie’s food?”


“Lois told me all about finding Marge, and then tuning her up.”

“Tuning her up?”

“Yeah, you know what I mean. And then, last night, we heard her caterwauling. Cripes, after all these years, never hearing a peep out of either one of you.”

Jerry said nothing, but sipped his coffee and smiled.

“You know, Jer, we never told you, but Lois and I like to swing.”


“Yeah, how about we arrange a swap?”

Jerry looked him in the eye.

“Jesus, Frank, what do you take us for, a couple of perverts?”

Frank stood, mouth agape, befuddled. Jerry winked at him and went back inside the house.

He found his bride naked, still asleep, tangled in sheets saturated with the scent of sex. He nuzzled her shoulder.

“Hey, pissy pants. Time to get up. We’re almost late for Mass.”

Marjorie rolled over to face him. She spoke in a sleepy purr, “Help me?”

He lifted her into his arms, and carried her to the shower.

© 2012 Robert Buckley. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: Who is Robert Buckley? Read his bio on the Erotica Readers & Writers Association website.


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