We sat in the back pew of the church, our usual Sunday spot, bathed in the glow of the sun rising beyond the stained glass. A rainbow of colors danced across my bare thigh, and the hem of my short dress where His fingers played, quietly, secretly, with no one beside us to see. My dress was too short for this holy place: it always was, but I endured the disapproving looks with pride. For I answered to another authority, whose greatest desire was to make me His in every way. The choir’s voices rose, a pitch to shake the heavens, and His fingers slipped beneath the hem of my dress.
One slow, deep breath and I closed my eyes to pray. Not pray to God, no: my prayer was a meditation in silence, in obedience. So that when His fingers traced patterns on my inner thighs, I managed to keep my breath from hitching. The whimper of desire that rose in my throat was stifled through force of will. His teasing drove me mad, but His teaching had tempered it. If I wanted my pleasure I would endure. A small sacrifice to please Him.
He liked to watch me suffer with pleasure. To take the very thing I desired most, the very thing I so loved, and use it to teach me patience and obedience. His fingers trailed up, and up…they caressed between my legs, where the heat of my desire was greatest. I hadn’t worn panties: I never did on Sundays. That was His decree: for wherever we were and whatever we were doing, I was available to His pleasure, and my own.
Staying straight-faced as His fingers played was nearly impossible. My breath shook, but not another sound came out of me. He remained calm, non-plussed, His face was bathed in light, gaze fixed upon the choir as he silently mouthed the words to Agnus Dei. I gripped my hands around the edge of the pew and struggled not to squeeze my legs tightly together from the pleasure. His fingers delved deeper, between my lower lips, sliding tantalisingly over my clit, that wicked bud of overwhelming pleasure. Then lower, over the wetness of my opening, teasing my entrance. I parted my legs wider, just a few inches, enough to grant His hand further entry but not enough to garner the attention of the pew across the aisle.
“Beautiful,” He whispered softly, as His finger sunk within me. Slowly He penetrated, and my grip upon the pew tightened as His touch met my most sensitive places. I ached to press into Him, to move, to be open and lewd with my desires. But obedience taught me better. It was as if His own voice were whispering in my ear.
“Be good, love. No whimpering, no squirming. You wouldn’t want me to have to stop, now would you? The quieter you are, the longer I can keep going. I know it’s so hard, but you want to cum don’t you? You have to be quiet long enough to cum.”
I closed my eyes again, squeezed shut tight, focusing all my concentration upon my silence. His finger stroked slowly in and out of me, while His thumb began to massage my clit and I nearly moaned. But then His movements slowed. He leaned close to my ear and said softly, “Open your eyes, love. Someone may notice. Watch the choir. Sing the words.”
I obeyed, and dared to glance over at Him, eyes wide and pleading. Take me outside, I wanted to beg. Take me outside, to the back of cathedral, and have your way with me. Take me back to the car so I can be as loud as I need to be. But He would do neither. Suffering was part of the pleasure. I looked back to the choir, the massive mosaic of colored glass above them. I tried to remember the words to whisper as His finger entered me again, and then a second, thrusting within me at such a pace that my legs began to shake.
The only words I could recall were “miserere nobis”…Have Mercy On Us. It was only that which I managed to utter, to whisper, completely at odds with the beauty of the choir, their soaring voices. Although I did not look at Him, out of the corner of my eyes I could see Him smile.
He leaned near again. “No mercy for you, my love.”
It was so hard not to gasp, not to dissolve into trembling, unsteady breathes and moans as he continued to torture me. I kept my legs spread, being good as best I could, but with every second it was growing more difficult. The pleasure mounted and His fingers remained merciless, rubbing and teasing at my clit until every movement felt like a shock through my body.
Don’t look away from the light, don’t look away, don’t look away. I stared at the window, at its blinding halo of colorful light. I was close, so close. I didn’t know if I could stay silent when I came. But I had to. I had to obey. Be good. Be good. Mercilessly He brought me to the edge, closer and closer. I shot Him a glance – nervous, desperate. But He only smiled gently, and His lips formed the words, “Good girl.”
It brought me to my peak. I shuddered, my lips pressed tightly closed, stifling the cry of ecstasy as pleasure washed over me. I only bowed my head, unable to stop my shaking as His fingers continued to pump wave after wave of pleasure from me. I could have wept from how good it felt, wept from struggling to stay quiet.
His fingers withdrew. I opened my eyes, dizzied, spent, flushed. Slowly, I settled back in my seat, and His fingers intertwined with mine as the choir came to a close.
“Amen,” He said softly, and I echoed Him, “Amen.”
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