Part 1: Church.

It was the best of fucks, it was the worst of fucks. It was the best orgasm I ever had, it was the worst place to have one. The shadows lingered at the back of the church, my wet pussy dripping, body rattling with pleasure. All the thrusting pulsed at the center of my womb. Pleasure rattled my body, every nerve electrified with pain. An insane shot of dopamine strangled my mind with worries of getting caught by my parents.

Neddy was a bad boy. I saw it in his eyes, the way he looked at me with those fluttering eyelashes, like a peacock. He was a tease, flashing the print of his cock at me, daring me to react. He brushed his hardness against my hands when no one was looking. I hated him; I hated his guts. I wanted nothing to do with him. He was smug and overly confident; I scorned men with egos like that. I promised myself I’d never do anything with him.

It started with light fingering at the stairs of my apartment. Neddy would come, and I’d follow. His groin pressed against me, the rough denim of his jeans scraping my thighs through my skirt, igniting a fire in my core. His breath was ragged, a whispering sound vibrating against my ear, urging me closer. My body boiled. I lifted my skirt, grinding on his cock through my panties. He was firm, like a rock. I watched his eyes darken with need, pupils blown wide as I ground harder, my wetness soaking through my panties. His hands trembled, gripping my waist like he was afraid I’d slip away, his groans matching the pulse between my thighs.

Pleasure danced in his eyes before his cum pumped all over his underwear. The smell of sin rushed through my nostrils. His little grunts, begging for more, accompanied the weight pushing toward me. My wetness slipped through like a fountain cascading down a hard mountain. How would I explain the slime seeping down my legs?