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Melissa must’ve known what was coming in the next few months. As a flying trapeze artist, I would be popular with the girls on campus. She wanted to get in early. Her office on the first day certainly achieved that.

After our passionate meeting, we walked across half the empty campus on the way to the trapeze rig. A mixture of new and old buildings were surrounded by the Florida fauna landscaping. And the sports hall stood the required 15 metres high, making it stand out.

To a circus professional, the rigging is about as exciting as the show. It dictates how creative you can be. And circus performers tend to spend their lives doing pretty much the same thing over and over again each evening, so any creative outlet is a buzz.

The university had split the building to be a full-size basketball court on one side and a circus venue on the other – about the same size. It meant the space doubled up for both purposes during training, but either half could be used to host an audience by filling in the opposite space with bleachers or chairs.

Our sexual appetites temporarily satisfied and a genuine interest meant that I managed to pay attention to what Melissa actually said about the place. It was empty, so we could take a good look.

The flying trapeze rig took up most of my half of the arena. It’s the piece de resistance of any circus show and school. Which is why flyers are the best paid and most disliked circus artists in the industry. They usually have an awful ego problem and primadonna complex too. None of which applies to me thanks to my measly amount of professional shows. I’m probably the world’s least elegant flying trapeze artist thanks to never doing any of the usual prerequisites like gymnastics or trampoline.

But I do know my rigging fairly well. I’ve worked on rigs in about a dozen different countries in all sorts of capacities. So I’ve seen each way of doing things. And I’m a good coach thanks to a vastly better than average intelligence compared to other trapeze artists. Which isn’t saying much.

So Melissa and I walked into the arena, still sweaty from our session. The rig is beautiful. It’s symmetrical, which is rare for an arena where the trapeze is off to one side. Usually the roof truss of the building mucks things up. All around it were rigging points for other aerial equipment, and a few sets of safety lines for the more dangerous arts and tricks.

It takes a few people to set up a flying trapeze net (yes, we always use one), and the new net was still in its gigantic rolled up drum. The FSU team from the western side of Florida had provided everything and rigged it all except for the net.

Sorry, you don’t really care about this do you? Well Melissa and I took a walk around the whole facility. We spent some surplus time in the empty girl’s locker room – the same one from my previous chapter. My hands roamed all over her, and we spent much more time exploring each other’s tongues. “I’m going to fuck you in here one night,” I told her. Little did I know how true that was. But not that day.

We finished the tour back at the front of the university, where I had first met Melissa in person hours ago. “Thanks for the tour,” I told her smugly, recalling how it had started. Trying to keep up appearances on a deserted university campus is hard.

“Thanks for the pleasure. I hope you cum again soon,” she smirked. It sounded a little less stupid thanks to those pornstar glasses.

“See you Monday for O-Week.”

I returned to the carpark and experienced my first American drive by. A gaggle of girls pegged three rolls of pink toilet paper at me from their yellow VW beetle cabriolet as they drove past. “Alpha Omega rules!” one screeched at me at the same time as the tyres.

We don’t have sororities back home. At least not that I know of. So American movies are all I’d heard about them at this point. It seemed like an odd tradition. Still does given the situation I find myself in now. But I have a great deal to thank the tradition these days…

On the drive home I dreaded being back at home alone again. That huge house, deserted. It just wouldn’t sell. What should I do?

And then it hit me.

Obvious to you in hindsight. And because of the name of my story. But I wondered if the place could be turned into a sorority. Being a landlord to lots of college girls could be fun… Imagine the parties, the initiation ceremonies and the new girls each semester.

The place was in the perfect canlı bahis şirketleri location, close to the university. It was remote enough to not bother any neighbours with noise or parties. It was about the right size – 16 rooms, with space for more. It all fit together.

My mind wandered and convinced me it’d be a good idea thanks to my balls doing the thinking. So home I raced, across the bridges, past the trees, suddenly looking romantic instead of spooky. Into the driveway towards a façade that no student lodging could compete with. And into the house that would be home to all sorts of depravities according to my racing imagination. Little did I know just how creative I could be.

Take for example the Confession. This was one of my earliest and best ideas when the sorority first began. It’s still going now, years later, practically a tradition. And it ensures my power over the girls by knowing everything worth knowing about their lives. It also gets me fantastic, regular and dirty blowjobs in a wonderfully perverse way. Some of the shyer girls really come into their own.

There are up to 16 girls living in the sorority at any time. Each of them is required to go to Confession about once a month. I even bought a real confessional booth for the job. Closed churches auction them off and I used our tools from the house renovation to make some crucial modifications.

First up, I secured a green leather padded seat cushion to the floor of the penitent’s side, right up against the side the Priest is supposed to be behind. I wanted the girls to be comfortable while they kneeled so they could concentrate on what they were supposed to be doing – sucking my cock and confessing their sins. Then I cut out a hole in the panelling between the penitent’s side and the priest’s. At first, a gloryhole sized gap. But that promised to be unsatisfying for any length of time. I like to go deep and have my balls licked, as you know from a previous chapter.

So I cut a far larger chunk out, enough to fit a head and shoulders through. And then latched this new panel at the side so I can easily open it when I want to transition from the gloryhole to a proper blowjob. (We’ve made some naughtier modifications since, but that was the original version.)

When a girl wants to give her monthly Confession, she has to dress in her Sunday best, whatever day it is. Preferably an innocent looking gown and a ribbon in her hair. And then she comes to ask me for the pleasure. It’s all rather ritualistic – rituals are part of sorority life.

My first Confession remains the most memorable. Jenna must’ve had a fantasy about a priest to be so good her first time round. Usually the girls take a few attempts to really get it. But not Jenna. She wandered up to my office one afternoon not long after I’d finished building the confessional and told the girls what it was for. I didn’t mention the gloryhole side of things, just the Confession.

Jenna was dressed in a blue gown and had tied her blonde hair into high pigtails with ribbons. Imagine something between Cinderella and Dorothy from Wizard of Oz, but with her characteristic proud DD cups jutting everywhere she goes. She certainly knows how to wear a bra – something I’ve learned tells you whether a girl will fit in in my sorority. Her eyes are blue and wide set, and her face has a beautiful Scandinavian look. The rest of her body is fairly athletic and she’s a little taller than me. One of those girls every guy can talk to, but nobody ever asks out for fear of rejection.

What makes Jenna special is her enthusiasm. She’s always happy and easily excited, which made her the most popular girl in my sorority. And she certainly was excited this day.

“I’m sorry to disturb you. Will you hear my confession, father?” she asked demurely. “Yes, my child”, I told her, not keeping my composure nearly as well as her. At the time, I had no idea if the whole concept would work out. It would certainly take some good acting, like most our sorority rituals.

I followed her downstairs to the newly minted confessional, due for a baptising…of sorts. The anticipation made me fumble with the priest’s cassock we’d sourced from an antique shop. I finally got it all on and we gave each other one last look before entering either side of the confessional. I’m not sure who was more excited. I stood by the hole, barely able to see her beautiful face through the lattice.

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned. This canlı kaçak iddaa is my first confession,” I heard through the latticework. Not a bad start to the role play.

“Kneel,” I commanded. I heard rustling and creaking on the other side as I lifted the cassock and put my half-hearted erection through the gloryhole. “Tell me your sins, child. And begin your penance,” I told Jenna, my first of many penitents.

“Yes, father,” she said in faux regret. Jenna had sucked my cock many times before. Alone, with other girls, before and after fucking, under my desk, in her bed, in my bed, in other girls’ beds, in the university showers and just a good old fashion blowjob in the living room while I watched the football. But this time, she was special.

She began by licking the bottom of my shaft up and down. “Tell me your sins child,” I repeated, enjoying the success of my latest way to take advantage of my sorority girls. This was going better than expected.

She gripped my shaft with her hand and began to tell me while slowly rubbing back and forth, up and down. I could feel her breath on my head as she spoke.

“Yes, father. Yesterday and today I masturbated thinking of you. I couldn’t help it once I saw the priest outfit you bought for this.” Warmth enclosed my head as she went back to sucking. She certainly understood how this was supposed to work!

“You shouldn’t masturbate without your Sorority Master’s permission” I sternly reminded her, struggling to keep up the act as the tip of her tongue flicked its way around the edge of my head. “That can be punished!”

“But you won’t tell anyone, will you father?” she begged, adding a long hard sucking bob of her head for persuasive emphasis.

I quickly realised that the power of Confession could be immense. It could allow me to know what was going on behind the scenes at the sorority. My alter ego as confessor could serve me well in my capacity as head of the sorority too. If I kept them separate.

“Of course not, my child. It’s confidential. What are your other sins?”

My cock popped back out as she continued: “I failed to wear sexy lingerie to last night’s movie night in the theatre room,” she reminded me, rubbing my cock over her beautiful face as she spoke. I was expecting that admission. Flouting the dress code was a pretty typical transgression at the sorority. I couldn’t help but suspect it was with the Confession in mind on Jenna’s part though. She was usually enthusiastic about showing off her body in lacy lingerie. Perhaps she was testing the Confessional out and wanted me to punish her for her boring pyjamas?

“And Katie and I put flour in Jessica’s bed last week.” That put a stop to the sensuality of the whole situation. Even if my cock went straight back into Jenna’s succulent mouth in anticipation of what I’d say to her admission of guilt.

The flour gag was a hilarious prank that almost caused a proper fight. Jessica, one of the sorority sisters, had emerged from her bed one morning a pasty white instead of her usual tanned self. She ran naked and screaming across the house, yelling in Spanish and in a total panic. We never caught the culprits. Until now. But I was sworn to confidentiality. And in Jenna’s expert mouth, so why make it an issue?

“Hmmm. That will have to be punished. Any further sins?” My cock popped back out, back to being jerked off again. It’s a tantalising process, the Confession.

I felt her shuffle on her knees and heard a zip being undone. Then her DD boobs were squeezed either side of my cock as she gave me a tit job behind the gloryhole. I love feeling her hard nipples brush and flick the bottom of my head and then the enthusiasm required of a good tit job. All of which she knew from experience.

“I’ve been sexting with a boy at school. I sent him pictures of my boobs for money. He’s begging to fuck me. But I just keep teasing him.” She emphasised the “teasing” aspect by flicking her tongue on the tip of my cock while her tit job accelerated. A girl who can suck and tit fuck at the same time is worth her weight in gold. After a tight rubbing, she returned my cock to her mouth, where it belongs between confessing sins.

The art of the Confession is combining the talking, the licking, the hand job and the sucking in the right way. And Jenna is the best, not just because she adds a tit job to the mix. You can’t imagine what it’s like to hear a girl’s intimate secrets while she pleasures you.

“It’s ok to canlı kaçak bahis send pictures to boys, but you must send anything to your Sorority Master as well. Show him the pictures and messages and ask him for his judgement on the matter.”

“I will, father. I have one last sin. I lied to Melissa. I said you didn’t want her to join us on Thursday. I wanted you all to myself. Because I was jealous. Last time you came inside her. I wanted it for myself. So I told her you wanted to be alone with me that night.”

The genuine apology was followed with a genuine attempt at deepthroating. Discovering a proper problematic sin while you’re getting a blow job takes the edge off the whole thing. It’s easy to forgive. If girls in normal relationships figured this out, the world would be a much calmer place.

“Lying to Melissa was a grave sin. Jealousy, coveting, and lies about your Master’s wishes are grave indeed.” I pulled back my cock from the gloryhole, despite Jenna’s best sucking effort to keep me in her mouth. She moaned like a child having her ice cream taken away. She might’ve been a little worried she’d genuinely upset me with the lie. But that didn’t last.

In the end, a blow job is a blow job. By this time, I was dying to cum. I had bucked against the wall, my cock reaching in as far as possible. But it’s never enough.

I flicked the bigger panel open and thrust my hips to the space before we could get a glimpse of each other. Keeping in character is far easier when you can’t see each other’s faces – the genius of the Confessional. She returned her mouth to my cock and I covered her head with the cassock. I pushed her head down behind the cloth, to remind her I’m in charge.

“Your punishment will be to swallow my cum willingly,” which is of course the standard issue penance every time. But her lies to Melissa couldn’t go unpunished. What to do with her? I thought while I thrusted into her mouth and held her head down.

“Tonight, after dinner, you will announce that you must serve penance for your sins as directed by the father. You will remove your clothing and lie on the table. You’ll tell the diners that anyone who feels wronged by you this past month may put carrots and cucumbers up your pussy. I suggest you prepare both your pussy and the fruit for the journey.”

“Yes, father, I will. Now, may I take your cum to purify me from my sins?” This girl certainly was creative!

Freed from the glory hole, her tongue could now reach my balls. Seeing a girl with my balls on her face as her tongue licks underneath them and her eyes look into mine is my favourite sight in the world. It holds all the promise of a good blow job, all the submission of a good girl and all the sensations of a willing and capable partner, or two. Unfortunately, you can’t see a girl’s head bobbing under a cassock. But the sensations are even better when you don’t know what’s coming and you can’t see how much the girl is struggling away, so there’s no sympathy to worry about.

Jenna licked, she sucked, she moaned and fucked my cock with her mouth, her tongue and her hands in support. “Please give me your cum, Father. Please forgive me.” Those were her last words as I blasted her mouth and throat. I held her head in place, but her tongue didn’t stop licking, as I teach all my girls. She continued to suck too. A small moan vibrated up my cock and I heard the sound of swallowing. Then she began to clean up – me, not herself. Some long sucks and tugs, followed by a lick all over.

“Thank you for purifying me father. I shall do my penance as you directed and return next month.” She whisked off, leaving me in the confessional feeling like a god.

That was my first Confession. The first of many. That evening, the girls stuck carrots and cucumbers up Jenna’s pussy after desert. Flour victim Jessica was especially enthusiastic, I noticed. Karma…

The next day, back in my usual persona as head of the sorority, Jenna sucked me off as I read her messages to the boy at school and admired her nude photos she’d sent. Then I videoed her tits and pussy as she fucked me and sent it to the guy from her phone. He never bothered her again.

All that’s my reality now. But back when my first semester of teaching started, it was only one of many ideas. I spent the night reading about the history of sororities, not fucking girls. I read about the legal side of sorority scandals and court cases, and researched their traditions and origins. My imagination only raced more. I dreamed about being the head of a sorority. About initiation ceremonies. About disciplinary measures inside my sorority. About sex with 16 girls at will.

And then I went about making my dreams a reality. Eventually, anyway…

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