The command hung in the stale air of the confessional, a seismic shock that vibrated through Sister Agnes's very bones. "Take off your clothes."

Her breath caught, a small, choked gasp. Her mind, so accustomed to the rigid structure of prayer and piety, reeled. This wasn't absolution. This wasn't penance. This was… something else entirely. Her cheeks, already flushed, burned hotter, a fire spreading across her skin. "Father?" she whispered, her voice barely a thread, laced with disbelief and a terrifying, unfamiliar thrill. Her large breasts, already straining against the coarse habit, seemed to swell even more, their tips tingling with a sudden, sharp awareness.

"You heard me, Sister," Father...