Part 3: Church

Days later, a pastor preached on the stage of an unfinished church. My body still hummed from our last encounter. I’d sworn to resist Neddy, but his hands lingered in my mind, pulling me to the vigil where I knew he’d be. I begged my mother to let me go, did my chores like a good Christian girl, kissed my dad’s forehead, and hugged her. They thought I’d changed, chasing Christ. I never found him. My mind burned with something else, my groin alight, nipples perked beneath my bra until clothes felt suffocating.

Neddy was a drummer, sweating as the choir sang, beating his drum with energy and rigor. I wanted that energy, wanted him to pound me like those drums, his long fingers penetrating me to make me sing louder than the lead chorister. The longing inside me ached to be quenched. Luring him out like a dog hungry for a bone was easy. Where the shadows took us, his hands roamed. He leaned for my lips, but I refused—sugar attracts ants, and I wanted none of his saliva.

He groaned as I pulled his nipples, tearing off his sweaty shirt. He looked scared when I made him strip, yet stood there, cock in hand, watching me tease my clit. I didn’t care—Lord, I should have. His touch was a forbidden hymn, vibrating through my core. The choir’s voices masked my gasps as I pushed him to the floor. No need for foreplay; I was so horny I sank my pussy onto his hard cock, my wetness enveloping him, the slick heat clashing with the cool, musty air of the church. His cock throbbed inside me, a rhythm drowning out my stifled gasps.

I should have ridden harder with the hate in me, but his size made my pussy squelch and squeeze, desperate for space. He gripped my ass, fingers digging into my flesh, pulling me down until I was full. His breath came in sharp, desperate pants, eyes locked on mine, burning with hunger that matched my own, urging me to ride harder. My juices poured like rain. Thrusting back, my brain felt filled with clouds or cocaine, turning me into a wild animal with one thought: to cum, to cum like my life depended on it.

I moved up and down, a cattle rancher seeking greener pastures, stroking my nipples, teasing my clit. He came inside me, the final straw. I grabbed his throat, squeezing, wanting to kill him, but he thrust into me from behind. When I came, I couldn’t restrain my mouth. A shout erupted from my belly, squeezing out of my lungs like a living thing. I opened my eyes to people staring, no time to adjust.

Where not to have an orgasm, a church should be first.