Part 2: Church

When Neddy touched my breasts, I held his hands still so he wouldn’t let go, until he squeezed them, until they crumbled in his sweaty palms. I bit his ear, and he yelped. I was mad, mad with pleasure, and I wouldn’t be denied my rights. An orgasm was my reward for the danger I’d put myself in, for the risks I’d taken.

I opened wide for him. He slid a finger down my panties; it was so slippery it glided past my labia, pushing toward my back door. I stared daggers at him, and he changed course. He pressed a finger into my wet pussy, and I gasped. It went in so smoothly, like he’d rehearsed it a thousand times. Deeper he went into my slippery core, moving back and forth, one step forward, two steps back, until the rhythm played in my head. My vaginal muscles gripped his finger, unwilling to let go. My hormones screamed for him to stay.

When my mind cleared, I dragged his cock out of his trousers. It was warm in my hand, throbbing like a living thing I could crush. He stepped back—who was the wimp now? I didn’t want to play; I wanted dominance.

“Stay still,” I said.

“I’ll cum if you pull too hard,” he warned, his smug grin taunting me.

“I don’t care,” I shot back. He stared with those fluttering lashes, then thrust his fingers inside me, thinking he’d break me. I shoved my hips toward him, my body rattling with pleasure. I gripped his cock, firm and pulsing, and he gasped, hips bucking under my control. His release spilled over my arms, slick and warm, as he groaned my name, his voice breaking like he’d given me everything.

Neddy must have thought he was safe. He wasn’t. Nothing would save him; they’d have to drag his body away before I let go. I smeared his cum across his face, the slick heat coating his cheeks as he shuddered, speechless, thinking me deranged. He hadn’t seen a girl like me. I pushed him down, his knees hitting the floor with a soft thud. I pressed my pussy against his mouth, claiming his tongue as he groaned under my weight, hands gripping my hips like he’d never let go. He lapped at me through my panties, muffled moans vibrating against my clit, a hungry surrender to my command.

What a perverted girl I was, giving such a delicious treat to someone so undeserving. I strangled my moans with my hands and ground harder. Whether it was his tongue, lips, or nose, it didn’t matter—he was a surface for my satisfaction. The pressure built, my nerves twitching like an electric live wire sparking against my nipples, clit, and labia. The high was coming; I could feel it.

Then my mother’s voice sliced through—“Sarah!”—sharp and accusing. I stopped dead, heart pounding, thighs trembling, Neddy’s breath hot against me. He licked his lips like a hungry dog. I pushed his face away and yanked down my skirt. Lord, I hated this boy. I hated myself for wanting him, for risking my parents’ trust, my place in their world, for a boy I despised. That smirk—I wanted to slap it off, but my body craved his touch.

“You’re saved today,” I said. “You might not survive next time.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” he smirked.

“You should be,” I replied. “You’ll meet me during service.”

“I aim to please.”

“Oh, shut up,” I snapped, rushing off.