Info Jeanne89
25 Nov. '15

To reach one’s orgasm is to see the face of God. It starts with a kiss, as it always does. You can feel the hunger on their tongue as they roam your mouth. It builds slowly on their jagged breaths as your bodies intertwine. You can almost hear the longing as your kisses make their way down their neck and minute moans escape their lips.

As you pull the clothes from your lover’s skin, it is the red on their cheeks and the haste in their fingers as they do the same. It is the anticipation as they kiss their way down your form, stopping at your sex. Your mouth falls open as theirs does pretty much the same.

It is the music you hear in your ears as their tongue writes Shakespeare between your legs.

Time will pass, and your lover’s efforts will appease the beast… for a while. But the thrill of the orgasm will soon grab your lover’s head, interrupting their meal, so you can look them in the eye and tell them you need to be fucked. Then, it is the wet that leaks from your entrance as he spreads your legs, only to tease you with the tip. It is that moment of longing in which you whisper the words ‘please’.

The rest, I imagine, needs no explanation. I hope you know the feeling, as he slides his length into you, filling you to the brim. The feeling as he thrusts himself in and out of you, for it is your orgasm that builds in the pit of your stomach. But, it is his that reaches its fingers forward to caress your breasts, rubbing your nipples between the thumb and the forefinger until you throw your head back in pleasure

When he replaces his fingers with his mouth, it becomes your turn to moan and whimper as your body burns with pleasure. He will move you, twist you, and bend your body into every shape so that he can reach deeper into your sex. Let him; lay back and feel it build inside you and when the time comes, you will be left shaking and breathless at its total majesty.

Yes, sex is perfect.

It’s everything else that’s blemished. There is nothing perfect about having to get dressed and sneak out of your hiding spot to blend in with the crowd. Who wants to write notes when their body is still on fire? Who wants to sit in a classroom when they could be riding cock? But the worse of it, is walking past your professor in the hallway and trying not to give away how much you love it when he violates your body. I check my watch, swear and unwillingly make my way to Psychology. I was scheduled to have a double lecture that day and towards the end of the second session, I was finding it almost impossible to sit still.

This was thanks, in equal parts, to my lover’s vivacity, and the fact that he’d finished inside me. I’m normally all for contraception, but today was a special occasion. I could think of no better way to celebrate my nineteenth birthday than to have him fill me up, and he finds it very hard to say no to me.

“Sloane,” I looked up “What’s the main difference between classical and operant conditioning.”

“In Operant conditioning, a behaviour is learned through its consequences. In classical conditioning, a stimulus produces a reflex behaviour.”

“Excellent!” I smiled and then gazed right back out. The first time Professor Summers and I had ever had sex, I had mentioned I was taking a psychology class. He had thrown his head back and laughed, claiming it was an apt choice considering that any psychologist worth their weight would have a complete field day with me. Much more interestingly, the first time Professor Summers and I had sex; he’d bent me over his desk after we’d slipped away from the department mixer, and refused to impale my hungry core, until I followed my plea with the title, ‘Professor’.

“You’re hella clever you; you know that?” I was startled by the familiar voice that had pulled me from my thoughts.

“Jake. Hey.” I said, feigning manners.

“Hey,” he replied, a genuine smile spreading across his lips. “You weren’t in class all last week, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just came down with a small case of bunking fever,” he laughed.

“I can send you my notes if you want,” he offered, gesturing to his laptop “I mean, they’re probably in that unhelpful place between useless and illegible but, I could still to send them to you.”

Jake was one of, if not the nicest guy I’d ever met. As in, genuinely nice. The kind the folks who conceived of the phrase ‘nice guys finish last’ were referring to. The first day we’d ever met he’d walked square across the room with the explicit intent of talking to me. He’d come over, introduced himself, asked polite questions and then, very shyly, invited me to ‘blow this joint’ and get a coffee. He wasn’t a bad looking guy. He had short, well styled brown hair, green eyes and stood comfortably between 6’ and too tall.

The problem is, I’m entirely sure that if I did ever take him up on his offer, he would take me out for coffee and really, what use was that to me? I smiled politely nonetheless and scribbled my email address on the back of his hand. Luckily, that was about the time the lecturer said something along the lines of “let’s wrap it up for the day” and, having not unpacked my bag, I made a quick exit. I was supposed to have another double lecture that day, but they got cancelled, so I made my way back to my house.

I didn’t live in halls like the vast majority of my year; I lived off campus in a house with three other girls that my mother had found for me. You see, if I lived in halls, there would be boys, and the Lord does not agree with that…apparently. Before you even have to chance to wonder, no, my parents are not aware of my sexual prowess, but they are almost entirely responsible for it. I was brought up in a very strict, very Catholic household. We went to church every Sunday; we prayed before every meal, and I wasn’t allowed friends if they themselves weren’t Catholic. Out of the 900 channels on our Sky Box, about 12 of them were deemed by my parents, not to be “the devil’s broadcast” and they were all channels that aired hymns or Bible reading all day, every day.

For the first eight years of my life, that was all fine by me. I knew nothing else. But on my ninth birthday, my parents were to do something they had never done before: celebrate it! Despite years of them droning that The Lord was the one we had to thank for our lives and all celebrations should be in his name, I had finally convinced my father. After school, the three of us were to drive down to the bakery and pick up a small birthday cake and then I could spend the afternoon in the park.

It may not sound like much, but to me it was the finest victory ever won.

When I went to school that day, a boy in my class came up to me and told me “happy birthday”. I said thank you and he’d leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. It was innocent, like everything else at that age, but my entire face flushed red as he skipped away. I spent the rest of the day with butterflies in my stomach and a smile that hurt my face after the first hour. Then, I made the mistake of telling.

I’ll spare you the rest of the details but essentially, my mother scrubbed my cheek raw, I learned the word ‘Jezebel’ and I spent my birthday in a confessional booth. Anyhow, all of this leading to the fact that I live with two girls, in a house off campus. They’re not bad as far as roommates go. Jasmine a was black girl from the Caribbean with the ass to prove it. Melissa, on the other hand, was a slender little thing with mouse brown hair and a chest a little too full for her frame. They were both raised as Catholics, and that was good enough for my mother. To be honest, I didn’t entirely believe that they were going to let me move out but I would have lived with Satan, himself, to get out of that house. I clicked the door shut behind me and climbed the stairs. I dropped my bag in the hallway and went to the kitchen, to find something sweet. I found Melissa in her underpants, so whether I succeeded is open to debate. As I pushed the door open, she spun around and made a feeble attempt to cover herself. I laughed as she turned the brightest shade of red.

“I…I didn’t think anyone would be home for another while!” she said, frozen in embarrassment.

“A couple lectures got cancelled,” I said simply, helping myself to a pudding cup from the fridge before turning on my heels and leaving with a smile. “Proceed.”

I retired to my room for the rest of the night and surfed the internet for a few hours before dozing off. I had a confusing series of dreams involving Melissa in her underwear, but with a little less shyness and Professor Summers pouring his load into me.
“Excuse me?” I said, only half listening.

“I said, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what, exactly?”

“This,” he said, gesturing to our naked bodies entangled on the floor of his office. “It needs to stop.”

“Yeah, right, sure,” I smirked.

“No Sloane, I mean it. This was the last time. I can’t be doing this anymore.” He had my attention.

“Okay, Professor. What’s the problem?” With a crack of his spine and an elongated sigh, he stood to his feet and pulled on his now crinkled, button-up shirt.

“The problem is, I’m a married man, Sloane.”

“You were married when we started.”

“Things are different now.”

“How, Henry?” A tinge of annoyance edging my voice.

He paused. “My wife is having a baby.”

“Oh.” I was stunned into silence, and for the sake of something to do, I too started getting dressed. I pulled on my jeans as he did the same with his cotton trousers. “Congratulations, I guess?”

“Thanks.” He couldn’t meet my eye. Though the throws of passion had rendered him far from neat, he was now fully dressed. He picked up the blanket that we had moments ago been wrapped in and draped it back over the small sofa that sat in the corner of his office. While he did this, I pulled my shirt over my head and made vague attempts to neaten my dark mane, before giving up and pulling it into the universally recognised, who gives a shit ponytail.

“Listen, Henry, I’m not looking for a husband, and I certainly don’t want to steal...” I’d forgotten her name.


“Right, Camilla’s!”

“You and I, we’re just a bit of fun, and I enjoy our--” I take a second to find the right word “--time together, very much. Okay, so you’re having a kid. Now you have a babysitter that charges you by the hour, but will never cost you a penny.” He takes a step backward, so my palms are no longer against him, before deciding to sit down altogether. From the couch, he looks up at me, and for some reason, there is anger in his eyes.

“Sloane,” he says coldly “I can’t look after a baby if I’m too busy fucking one.”

A hushed silence filled the room. It must have escaped through the crack in the window and the gap in the door because for miles, around us, all fell still. And then came the slap that everyone heard around the world.

“If you come within four inches of me ever again,” I spat, gesturing to the crotch of his pants. “I swear to God, I will ruin your life. I’m dropping your class, go fuck yourself!”  I punctuated myself with a slam of the door. Jesus, what a prick! It had been three months since my 19th birthday and he’d very much grown a taste for leaving it in. In the three months, he’d been jumping my bones at every perceivable opportunity including twice in his car, and once showing up at my house in the middle of the night. I never say no to an opportunity for sex. I was using him just as much as he was me. But if I wanted others to treat me like a child, I would have stayed at home with my insane parents.

The entire walk home, I saw red. Funnily enough, what I could go for was some angry sex but I would never go near Henry again and the boys and girls I’d had my fun with during fresher’s week had long served their purpose. I wouldn’t recognise a single one them if I passed them in the corridor much less have their number. My temper and the cold rushed me home faster than usual, and before I knew it, my key was in the door. I wouldn’t slam the door. I wouldn’t stamp my feet on the stairs, and I wouldn’t drop my bag down in a huff. All I needed was a little release. And then, it was like déjà vu.

Once again, I’d come home looking for something sweet, though in a very different sense of the word, and in the first room I’d entered, I’d found Melissa. There were a few differences, though. This time, I had walked into the living room, instead of the kitchen. This time, she was in nothing at all. Though I have no idea if she’d had the same type of day, she had seemly had the same idea, because I walked into the lounge, to find Melissa completely naked and on her knees, with one hand buried deep inside of her cunt and the other teasing her own, very erect nipples. She was so involved in the act that her eyes had slid shut.

This time, she had no idea I was here. My initial intention was to leave her to. She barely survived the embarrassment of being caught in her underpants; this may well give her a full on heart attack. But then another idea occurred to me. A better idea. Breaching the doorway, I walked into the living room. Apparently feeling my presence, Melissa opened her eyes and oh the horror that filled them. She took her hand out of her slit, but that’s all she can seem to manage in her crippling embarrassment.

“Relax. Don’t look so horrified.” I was trying to calm her, but there was a wicked undertone to my voice that even I could hear.

“I-I-I thought-“

“-you thought no one was in the house and that no one would be home for a while. I figured.” Suddenly regaining the power of movement, Melissa grabs a blanket from the couch and covers herself. Her eyes suggest she was still slightly in shock. I took a seat on the edge of the coffee table that sat diagonal to the naked girl and chose my words carefully.

“I have a proposition for you. You see, I love touching myself as much as anyone, in fact, I came home with the intention of doing just that. But it appears that a new opportunity has presented itself.” At this, I stood to my feet and undid the fly of my jeans. “When opportunity knocks, only a fool refuses to open the door.” I pull down my jeans, and since I’d long since boycotted panties, I exposed my private wet entrance. I then walked over to where Melissa was sat, and placed myself mere millimetres from her face. “This is my proposition.”

With little to no hesitation, Melissa dropped the blanket and buried her face between my legs. From her first lick, the intensity of her tongue was enough to make my knees buckle. Instead, I laced my fingers in Melissa’s hair as she ate ravenously. Gone was her shy disposition. She ran her tongue along my slit, making slow circles when she got to the oh-so-sensitive bulb of my mound. She sucked lightly on my puffy outer lips and dipped her tongue inside my sex, which earned her a load moan. The clincher was turning her head sideways, taking my full clit in her mouth as though it were a penis and sucking on in with an intensity that bordered on insanity. In less than three minutes, I came hard and all over her face. She looked up at me, her face awash with my juices. I dropped to my knees and kissed her, forcing my tongue inside her talented mouth. I could taste myself on her lips, and it was almost funny.

As we kissed, my hands slipped down to fondle her ample breasts. I pinched her left nipple between my fingers, and she gasped against my lips. She was sensitive, perfect! I took both nipples in my hands and rolled them between my fingers and as if by magic, her hips bucked in rhythm. I moved away from her lips, kissing and biting my way down her neck. She was truly beautiful. I pulled away and laid her down on the carpet, so I could take in the sight of my lover, for the night. Her body started with sculpted shoulders and continued with what had to be Ds. At the sight of them, I grew hungry and captured her breast in my mouth.

I lapped, savoured and seduced them one by one until her soft moans disappeared into the ragged breath. My hand tapered past her flat stomach and trim waist and without even the thought of teasing, I slipped two fingers deep into her soaking wet folds. She couldn’t help but call out as I began moving them in and out. Alas, the party was cut short. While the fun was only beginning, we heard the cadence of conversation coming from the front door and the harsh jangle of keys. I quickly took my fingers out of Melissa, and we scampered to our rooms like misbehaving children. As our doors clicked shut, the front door swung open, and Jasmine’s thick accent drifted into the house. She was on her phone. I dropped the jeans I had managed to grab from the carpet, onto my bedroom floor and dropped my own half naked form onto my bed. As I did, my phone buzzed and after a second of contemplation, I decided actually to take a look. It was Melissa.

Same time next week?

Jake was being quiet. Like, completely quiet. He had gotten to class after me, and he’d just taken a seat, unpacked his bag and started taking notes. It had been a good forty minutes, and he’d completely not even looked at me. It was highly disconcerting for some reason. I was making notes myself, but every so often I’d look up to see if he was looking at me and he simply wasn’t. It felt like an episode of the Twilight Zone. As the lecturer finished, Jake began re-packing his bag.

“Jake?” he looked up.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“I’m just asking ‘cause you normally-"

“-you’re never going to have coffee with me, are you?”

I was taken a little aback. “……No, Jake. I’m not.”

“Great!” The speed and anger with which he packed his bag increased.

“I don’t go out on dates, Jake. With anyone. But, I have a better idea.” He looked up. “You moved out, right?”


“Well then, take me back to your room or your flat or whatever, and I’m sure we can think of something more fun than coffee.” I smiled wickedly as his eyebrows shot up in surprise. He looked like Jake again.
Turns out, Jake lived off campus too. In the small talk we had on our way to his place, I discovered that he shared a flat with his roommate Lance, who was, apparently, kind of a pig. When we got there, I understood what he meant. Lance was sat in his boxers, surrounded by empty packets of crisp, playing what looked like Assassin’s Creed. His Mickey Mouse boxers were a nice touch, though. Jake took my backpack and coat and asked if I wanted anything to drink.

“Something alcoholic would be nice.”

And he disappeared into the kitchen like a good little boy. I brushed the garbage to the floor, to the company of yet more garbage, and sat down next Lance. He wasn’t paying any attention to me; he was engrossed in his game. I couldn’t tell you why I did it. I really couldn’t. I by no means regret it, but I really had no motive. So, for no particular reason at all, I put my hand on my lap. And then I put it on his lap. He looked down questioningly for a second, but only that second. He was in the middle of a fight sequence and was trying hard no to break focus. So, I slid my hand up his cute little boxers and into the waistband and soon found my way to his girth. I looked up and noticed his character was being rather badly beaten now, as he was definitely losing focus. With a smile, I made three, long strokes and he instantly grew and hardened.

Lance my name, Lance by nature.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” exclaimed Jake, having, silently, returned with my something alcoholic.

“Calm down,” I said simply. “I have two hands.”

“You know what Sloane, just get the fuck out of my house, okay?”

“Woah there dude,” chimed in the apparently American Lance. “If you don’t want to fuck her, that’s fine but I’m sure as hell gonna. From the looks of it, though, she’s up for the both of us.”

Jake pressed his lips together in what looked like a mixture of anger and contemplation. His boyish crush for me was gone, but did he still crave my body? He squared his jawed and met my eye, his gaze alight with fuming lust.

“You’re going to give him blue balls like that.” He said, gesturing to the hand that still clasped Lance’s sword. I smile and return to the steady rhythm of stroking him. Lance, having, finally, discovered the pause button, slid his eyes closed and focused on the feeling of pleasure as I coerced his cock. I leaned over and spat on his shaft, mixing it with the pre-cum that had leaked from his head. Now perfectly lubricated, my circled hold slid effortlessly up and down his manhood. He was grunting, coarse and animalistic, but I could still hear the light jangle as Jake undid his belt. At the unmistakeable sound of his zipper opening, my curiosity as to the size and shape of Jake’s member became almost unbearable, but I kept my focus on Lance. All good things to those who wait, after all. I didn’t have to wait long.

A sudden jerk of my head and I was facing him. With my hair in his fist, I was at his mercy and this thought alone, my pussy throbbed between my legs. Lifting his left head, Jake held my chin and lowered my jaw until my mouth lay ajar. Once he’d made a path, Jake slid his crown inside. At that moment, I remember thinking that this was the second time a lover’s timid nature had disappeared in the fog of desire. I opened my mouth wider, and my tongue beckoned him further inside. So I was in a wonderful state; my hand was wrapped firmly around Lance’s pulsating cock and was bringing him closer and closer to orgasm. At the same time, Jake, having found the nerve, was using my mouth as a fuck-toy. My only wish was that I had a free hand so that I could reach into my pants and make use of the juices that were flowing so intensely from my between my legs. Suddenly, Lance reaches forward and rips open my blouse. He pulls my bra roughly out of the way, and my breasts fell bare against my chest. And then his mouth was on me; licking, tasting and tormenting my nipples one at a time. When his mouth focused on one breast, his hand kneaded and stroked the other. The positioning was awkward, but my body felt amazing.
“Stop!” commanded Jake all of a sudden. I reluctantly removed my prize from my mouth, and Lance did the same.

Jake then picked me up and carried me across the open-plan flat, to the dining table. He laid me on my back, unhooked my bra from the front and roughly pulled my pants around my ankles, and then off altogether. The height of the table meant that head was just a little lower than his free-hanging meat.

“Which hole do you want?” he said, looking at Lance. With little hesitation, Lance pointed my soaking wet entrance.

“Come and get it, then.” He suggested simply, and with that, Jake returned himself to my mouth. He was close now; I could feel the pre-cum leaking as he pumped his erection deep into my throat. My thirst grew, and the intensity with which I sucked doubled, once I realised how badly I wanted his thick, white fluid to flow down my throat. In my trance, I hadn’t realised Lance had re-joined the party. I gasped involuntarily, almost choking, as I felt Lance rub the head of his thickness against my clit. My hips jumped as if slightly begging him to take me. Round and round went, making intricate circles on my swollen clit until I was sure I would explode before my pussy even got a taste. But it was Jake that exploded first. He shuddered and grunted as he emptied his load into me and I opened my throat and drank it down, right until the last drop.

As Jake collapsed to the floor, I got my reward, because Lance suddenly and violently thrust his entire erection into me. I gasped as I felt the impact in the pit of my stomach. He pulled out slowly, so I could feel every inch rubbing against my ridges and then back in he went. Two thrusts in and my eyes were already rolled back inside my head. Again and again, he drilled me, finding a steady rhythm after half a dozen thrusts, so my body rocked to a steady rhythm. I could feel myself getting closer to an intense climax. And, judging by the look on his face and the sweat on his brow, he was close too. He reached forward to caress my breast, but only one. He needed his other hand to hold tight to my hip as he slammed himself into me.

“I’m so close,” I heard myself whisper. “Don’t you fucking stop!” His response was unintelligible. He was too far gone to talk, so all that came out of him were jagged breaths and murmurs of pleasure. And then he came. I hadn’t had the time to slip a condom on him so I could feel his warm, thick emission coating my insides. The feeling was too much and with a final scream, my whole body rocked to orgasm.

A half an hour later, Jake got up off the floor and retired to his room with a slam of the door. Lance had managed to make it all the way over to the couch before falling asleep, but now he was out cold. Once I regained my own strength, I gathered up my clothes and made my way out. I was completely satisfied in every sense of the word. If only it had lasted a little longer.

“Hello?” I wearily into my phone.

“Hello, Sloane. It’s your mother.” My eyes shot wide in surprise.


“Yes, dear. Your father and I are coming by to get you day after tomorrow. It’s Palm Sunday so, wear something respectable.”

“Day after tomorrow? It’s a little short notice, mother.”

“You either make time for God, or you burn in hell, Sloane.” Click. The conversation was over. They were coming. My orgasm high was a distant memory. All I felt was anxious and nauseated.
One robin’s egg blue dress; one white pullover to cover my shoulders; one pair of respectable black shoes; one handbag containing only perfume and one face entirely devoid of make-up because “the Lord doesn’t want to see you painted like the whore of Babylon!” I climbed into the backseat of my parents’ car and sat rigidly in place. They asked me questions, and I gave them answers. They were by no means true, but it was what they wanted to hear. Yes, I’ve been praying. No, I haven’t been spending time with boys. Yes, I’m eating enough. No, I don’t have meat on Fridays. We arrive at the church for evening mass, just as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. We took our seats in the front pews and worship began. The priest told you when to stand, when to kneel and when to sit. At the designated time, we would even open our hymn books and carol to the heavens in worship. I felt like a robot who wasn’t supposed to tell anyone it had achieved sentience. The most interesting part of mass was the priest. He was, by far, the ugliest man I had ever seen. If he hadn’t sworn a vow of celibacy, his face alone would have resulted in the same lack of sexual contact. He disgusted me.

As the mass came to an end, my mother and father got up and walked to the confessional booth. There was a sizeable queue that I decided I’d rather not join so I turned and walked toward the door, with the intention of waiting in the car until they’d finished. I hadn’t even made four steps when I felt a hand grab my wrist, firmly. I turned to find that the grip belonged to my mother, who was looking at me in wide-eyed fury.

“Where are you going?” she asked through her teeth.

“To the car?” I replied, a little confused.

“You are a sinner, Sloane, and on this holy day, you must confess your sins for them to be wiped clean!”

“But mum, the queue-“

“-the queue in Hell is much shorter.” With that, she pulled me by the wrist, and we joined the queue. We were to be the last. After two hours waiting for the other parishes to confess and be absolved, my mother and father got their turns in the booth, and they both came out crying. My mother was the last and gave me a stern look, before walking promptly to the car. At last, it was my turn.

“In the name of The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit.” I recited, as I made the sign of the cross.

“May the Lord be in your heart and help you confess your sins with true sorrow.”

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been….about a year, since my last confession.”

“Tell me your sins, my child.”

“Well, working in chronological order: over the last year, I had sex with my married, 30-year-old Professor. The last two months of which, I didn’t use protection. I had sex with my female roommate after I walked in on her touching herself when I went home with the intention of touching myself. Though it was brief, I enjoyed it very much and planned to make it a habitual thing. I went back to my friend’s apartment with the intention of having sex with him, but I ended up having a threesome with both him and his roommate. I initiated the sexual contact between his roommate and me when I started stroking his cock for no particular reason. When the friend came in and caught us, I assured him that I could service them both and the evening ended with them both emptying their loads into me. There was also some weed here and there, but I don’t honestly know the Catholic Church’s stance on that one.”

There was silence. A little part of me giggled because I mistook it for stunned silence. I wasn’t the type that did things for attention, but I wished there was no mesh between us so that I could see the look on his face. Then, my ears tuned to the silence and I realised, that there was sound, it was just very quiet. If I closed my eyes and strained my ears, I could hear the very gentle fap, fap, fap, of the priest, jacking himself off. Out of a mixture of shock and delight, I burst out laughing and somewhere amidst my laughter, the sound stopped. Once I had enough breath to conjure forth a sentence, I asked the question to which I already knew the answer.

“Are you seriously stroking your cock over there?!”

“What? No!” His voice was high-pitched and panicked, like a teenager who had been caught, well, stroking his cock really. “How dare you even insinuate that, child? I am a messenger of The Lord!”

I was still in the giggles, “You are a perverted old man!” With that, I heard the sound of his side of the booth slide open and then quickly slam shut. We were the only two people left in the church, so when the priest wrenched open my door, I looked up from my seat and saw him standing against an empty backdrop. Oh, and did I mention, he had shed his church robes and was standing before me with a button up shirt an exposed erection. I didn’t know whether to laugh or retch. His stomach hung comically low while his dick did not have the length to do very much hanging at all. With the blood flowing to it, his penis stood awkwardly against the pudge of his middle. His pubes were bushy and overgrown, sitting a mess around his unremarkable prick.

“You’re a whore!” he spat, with a surprising amount of malice.

“Judge not lest ye be judged, father.” I retorted, gesturing to his exposed flesh.

His eyes ran up and down my body, in a slow, perverted gaze. He lingered at my breasts for a long time before he put his hand back onto his meat and started working himself. There was nothing about this man I found attractive. Every aspect of his body repulsed me, and what’s more, he was the evidently hypocritical merchant of a philosophy, that had been used to imprison me for much of my life. But, it was conditioning. An operant condition, in which behaviour is learned through consequences. What I learned from sex, is that despite what my mother and father had drilled into me, everyone had sexual desire. The consequence of their arousal and eventual release proved that everyone was just the same as me.

It was self-gratification.

It is for this reason, that as that repulsive man slid his hand up and down his short, fat instrument, I slid the cardigan and the straps of the dress from my shoulders. They were quickly followed by the straps of my bra. Once the soft, smooth valleys of my breasts became exposed, he couldn’t help but rub himself even more violently. I knew it wouldn’t take much, so I bit my lip and took my nipples in each of my hands and began tugging at them. Almost instantly, my peaks raised and erected to my touch, so I rewarded them by rubbing them gently, causing shockwaves to run through my skin. I closed my eyes to the sight before me and began to think of my unfinished night with Melissa. I thought about the gentle, feminine murmurs that had escaped her lips in that glorious moment of penetration. I thought about her back arching and her hands grabbing hold of the carpet as my fingers strummed her insides. I thought of the feeling of her convulsing around my hand as I brought her to orgasm. But, what truly made me lose the plot, was picturing myself lapping up her juices in the aftermath.

Almost unconsciously, one of my hands moved from my chest and snuck it way up my dress. Through the dampness of my underwear (I’d broken the boycott for the night) I began rubbing my clit at the thought of her taste, in my mouth. My parents had made the mistake of sending me to an ‘All Girls Catholic School’, which had only served to make me all the more adept at eating cunt.

My tongue would blaze against her crease, licking and sucking on everything in reach

My hand pressed harder against the dampness, and I pictured her crying out my name as I drew spirals on her clit. In my wild excitement, I had almost forgotten that I was putting on a show, but as he came to the edge, he began groaning and wheezing like an ape.
The illusion was broken, and my mind was pulled away from the erotica that is the space between Melissa’s legs. My eyes snapped open just in time to see his member twitch and his balls contract, all to spurt a spittle of cum onto the floor. I stifled the laughter that rose in my throat. I slipped the straps of my bra and dress back into place and pulled my dress down. I reached into my handbag and sprayed myself to cover the scent of arousal. I looked up, and the priest was standing in shock, clutching his now flaccid penis. I simply hopped off my seat and walked around him, not even bothering to look back as I made my way out the door. As I got closer to the car, I smoothed my dress and realised I had my cardigan in my hand. Perhaps they wouldn’t question it; I thought, as I opened and closed the car door.

“Why did you take off your cardigan?” asked my father, immediately.

“It was just a little hot in the booth,” I lied.

“Oh. Well, next time, try to keep it on. He is a man of God, and he has no interest in your evil, feminine, wilds,” he said coldly.

“Yes, daddy,” I responded cheekily, knowing I would be the only one who would get the joke.