Why is it that when I am in the church I love so much, I am drawn to such sinful thoughts and deeds? I asked my priest about this. He said I should diarise it.
I kneel before the Blessed Sacrament and gaze into the eyes of Mary. I grip my rosary tightly and try to concentrate.
Even as I kneel there, my heart is empty, because he isn't here, and it is way past his time. Perhaps he is away this weekend?
So I kneel.. 'Hail Mary, full of grace, blessed,,, blessed, blessed...' but the familiar words do not come. I grip the little beads so tightly they hurt, but still I cannot concentrate. Instead, almost sinisterly, I feel the dampness in my knickers spreading. I think I can actually feel it leeching from me and into the material. But surely that is not possible?
Like a little devil, my clitoris seems to be taunting me. It is throbbing, aching, and oh, so sensitive. 'Hail Mary, full... full of...' OHH full of my lust! I give up on the rosary and drop it into my bag. In there is the usual purse, tampons, spare knickers, and a 100 other bits and pieces. I remember needing those spare knickers after that afternoon I invited him to my flat.
Oh hell... memories like that arent going to help. Again, I try to focus on the reason I am here. To resist these temptations. I kneel more upright. A cramp shoots up my thigh. The pain is exquisite and erotic. An instant flashback to my flat and THAT afternoon. To when I was blidnfolded, dressed only in my knickers and tied, standing, to my wardrobe, and the sting of the cane. I still have the faint welt there, and in a heartbeat he was behind me, caning me with such unutterable care and love, driving me ever higher in arousal.
I feel a small gush. The material absorbs it easily of course, but I wonder if I have peed. I did that day. But at his beckoning.
I look around. I am alone. I reach up my skirt and touch my knickers. My fingers come away instantly wet. I put my hand to my face and inhale. Sexual arousal, but also pee. THis is no good. I need to change.
I rise, step out of the pew and genuflect. I look longingly at the Tabernacle. 'Why, Lord? Why do you torment me with this? I am trying to be good, to live a chaste life, but you overwhelm my body with cravings of pure lust.'
I rise, take on last look at the statue of the Sacred Heart, and I walk down the aisle to the vestibule and the toilet. I am resolved to behave. I will NOT yield to the temptations of my flesh. In the toilet I lock the door. Even in here, there is a scent of incense. Good. That will remind me where I am. Oh, God. It was in church that HE first touched me! I slip my dress off and kick it away and instantly I smell my arousal and my pee. I sit on the toilet, not bothering to remove the knickers. I close my eyes. I am instantly back in my flat. I had dressed for him in a white blouse, my old school tie, a blue pleated skirt, and blue cotton knickers. I had wanted to role play with him from the moment he arrived. I realise, I am wearing the same knickers today. The toilet seat brushes the welt from his cane, and I let myself urinate into the material. As the flow increases, I remember doing the same thing whilst tied and his loving yet mocking remark. 'Oh you dirty little girl.' I remember how, before the flow had stopped, or anything like it, he had pulled the material to one side and put his cock against my opening, telling me 'Now for your hymen.' I remember his push, and my role-played yelp as I imagined him breaking me.
Now, in the real world, my hands are in my knickers, I am still peeing, as I was when he entered me, and my clit responds to my touch. I know what to do. I push. I push so hard that the flow actually hurts and it is the pain that triggers the orgasm. As I cum, I moan his name over and over. 'Oh ***** , Ohhhh *****'
The orgasm subsides, and I sit there exhausted. My knees are pressed together now, and I have slumped back against the cistern. I look a wreck, and I feel it too.
I stand and peel the sodden knickers from me. Luckilly, as I have no hair there, all I need is a quick wash fro the sink, and on with the spare pair. The old ones, I toss into the trash.
I put my dress back on and catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror. I have failed, again. I feel liberated, joyful, yet sinful at the same time. His wife is a lesbian.
He is married.
He is older than me by some considerable time.
I open the door of the toilet.
He is here, staring me in the face.
So much for the clean knickers.
In that second, I could screw him. Hell, I could screw him even on the high altar. What is happening to me? What a terrible thought!
He takes me in his arms, looks around to ensure we are alone and he kisses me.
Without a word, without a sexual touch, I cum in his arms and in my knickers.