There taunts are humiliating!

Tangled in a Trance - Chapter 5: Tortured by humiliation

The confessional’s darkness clings to my naked skin like a second shadow, my soft, tender feet pressed desperately against the door, toes curling with aching effort to keep it shut. My body trembles, every curve bare and ****, pressed against the cool wood, my breath shallow and ragged. The air is thick with the scent of polished oak and my own fear, laced with an uncontrollable, pulsating arousal that throbs through me, unbidden, shameful. Outside, the congregation’s whispers have swollen into a relentless cacophony of giggles and taunts, each word a lash against my already frayed dignity. “Her clothes are still here!” a woman squeals, her voice dripping with glee. “Elise Harper, naked somewhere in this church! Oh, she must be blushing like crazy, hiding bare-assed!” Laughter erupts, sharp and merciless, and my cheeks burn crimson, my body quivering with a mortification so intense it feels like a physical weight.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” I repeat, my voice a trembling whisper, barely audible over the pounding of my heart. I’ve been trapped in this confessional for over an hour, dragging out this confession to keep the priest engaged, to buy time until the congregation disperses. But they linger, their gossip a cruel, unending chorus. “Look at her skirt!” a man laughs. “Let’s take it—leave her stranded naked wherever she’s hiding!” Another voice, a younger woman, chimes in, “God, imagine her face, all red and mortified, cowering somewhere without a stitch! Let’s grab her bag too—teach her a lesson in prudence!” The crowd roars with laughter, and I hear the rustle of fabric, my clothes being handled, passed around, their taunts growing bolder. “She’s probably shaking, naked and ****, wondering how she’ll ever get out of this!” The words sear me, my humiliation a living thing, coiling tighter with every giggle, yet my body betrays me, the erotic thrill of their merciless delight pulsing through me, my arousal teetering on the brink of something I can’t allow in this sacred space.

The door rattles violently, a hand yanking at the handle. “Who’s in there? Come out already!” a man barks, his voice impatient. I press harder, my naked feet straining, the soft soles aching as I brace my entire body against the door. Another knock, sharper. “Open up! You’ve been in there forever!” a woman snaps. My heart races, adrenaline flooding my veins, the sensuality of my vulnerability overwhelming—my bare skin against the wood, every nerve alight with the risk of discovery. I’m exposed, cornered, and the thought of that door swinging open, revealing me to the jeering crowd, sends a shameful wave of arousal crashing through me, my body trembling on the edge of climax. I bite my lip, hard, fighting to suppress it, my breath hitching as I cling to control.

“Father, please,” I plead, my voice quaking as I lean toward the screen, **** to keep the priest engaged. “I need to confess… more. My malice toward Dr. Julian Voss—it consumes me.” The priest, his tone now tinged with a curious amusement, responds, “Go on, my child. You’ve spoken of your desire to destroy him. But let us probe deeper. Given your bargain, your intent to publicly humiliate him, would it not be just for him to do the same to you? To expose you, perhaps completely, in the most humiliating ways imaginable, even permanently, as you wish for him? Would that not be what you deserve?”

The question cuts deep, and I squirm, my naked body pressed tighter against the door as another knock jolts me. “Hurry up in there!” a voice demands. My feet strain, my toes digging in, the vulnerability of my bare form amplifying every sensation—the cool wood against my breasts, the air teasing my exposed skin. “Father, I need more time,” I whisper, my voice ****. “Let’s… explore this justice.” I dive back into my confession, my words dripping with sadistic lust. “I want to see Voss broken, his career in ruins, his name a laughingstock. I want him begging, powerless, at my mercy. The thought of it… it thrills me, Father. It’s intoxicating, like a fire in my blood.” The admission is raw, my body trembling with the dark pleasure of it, my mind conjuring Julian’s dark eyes, his smirk, his surrender.

The priest presses further, his voice probing, almost playful. “And if he turned the tables, exposing you in ways that left you utterly humiliated, perhaps for all to see, indefinitely—would that not be fair? Tell me, child, do you not feel a… craving for such vulnerability? A desire to be at his mercy, to be seen, stripped bare, in your most intimate shame?” My breath catches, my cheeks flushing hotter as another knock rattles the door. “Open this door!” a woman shouts, and I brace harder, my naked feet aching, my body quivering with a mix of terror and arousal so intense I’m dizzy. The priest’s question forces me to confront the truth, and I’m trapped, my confession the only shield against the crowd outside.

“I… I’d be devastated,” I admit, my voice low, intimate, trembling with the weight of it. “If he exposed me, completely, publicly, without limits… my reputation would be ash. I’d be naked, not just in body but in soul, for everyone to gawk at. It’s terrifying, Father, but…” I falter, my body betraying me, the pulsating arousal swelling, threatening to tip me over the edge. “There’s this… pull. I crave it, deep down. The thought of being so ****, under his control, humiliated without end—it’s shameful, but it sets me on fire. I’m drawn to him, to his power, his eyes, the way he could unravel me. I want to destroy him, but I also want… him.” The words spill out, raw and unguarded, my nakedness amplifying every syllable, my body teetering on the brink of orgasm as I confess my darkest desires. I clench my thighs, fighting it, my breath ragged, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

The priest hums, intrigued. “You speak of a complex desire, child. If he has such power, as your bargain allows, is it not just for him to wield it, to expose you as you seek to expose him? Do you not, in your heart, yearn for that humiliation, that surrender?” His questions are relentless, each one peeling back another layer, forcing me to confront the erotic thrill of my predicament. I’m shaking, my body pressed against the door, my feet aching as I fend off another attempt to open it. “Come out, whoever you are!” a man yells, and the crowd laughs louder. “Her clothes are gone!” a woman crows. “We took them—let’s see how she gets out of this! Naked and stranded, blushing like a fool!” The giggles swell, merciless, each taunt a fresh wound. “She’s probably hiding, shaking, all bare and embarrassed!” another voice teases. “God, what a thrill for her, stuck naked somewhere, knowing we’ve got her stuff!” The crowd relishes my disgrace, their laughter a constant, cruel refrain, and my arousal surges, uncontrollable, my body trembling with the effort to hold back climax in this sacred space.

“Father, please,” I beg, my voice breaking. “I need more time. Let’s… discuss forgiveness.” I ramble, diving deeper into my malice toward Julian, describing how I’d savor his public downfall, his practice shattered, his name a joke. The priest indulges, but his questions grow more pointed. “Do you not find arousal in the thought of him exposing you, as you crave to expose him? Is there not a part of you that longs for such complete surrender?” I squirm, my naked body flushed with heat, my confession a **** lifeline as the crowd’s taunts continue. “She’s still hiding!” a man laughs. “Bet she’s mortified, all naked and nowhere to go!” The rustling of my stolen clothes echoes, their glee in my predicament unrelenting.

An hour drags on, my feet aching, my body trembling with adrenaline, humiliation, and an erotic thrill that pulses through me, threatening to erupt. The priest tries again to close the session. “My child, let us pray and conclude.” But I plead, “No, Father, I’m not ready—let’s explore… repentance.” The knocks persist, the crowd’s laughter and gossip a constant torment, their suggestions to hunt me down or keep my clothes as a lesson in prudence driving my shame to unbearable heights. My body is alive with sensation, my nakedness a raw, sensual vulnerability, my arousal teetering on the edge of climax, and I fight it with every ounce of will, trapped in this confessional, probed and taunted, my desire for Julian’s downfall and my craving for his control warring within me as the night stretches on.