Let Us Pray

‘What are you doing?’ He asks her.

They’re in her bedroom, away from the world. Him, 26 and her, 17.

She’s closed the door behind her, unbuttoning her plain white work blouse button by button.

He can already glimpse the lace detail of the black bra beneath her.

‘Dear God…’ She says, unbuttoning another button.

‘Thank you for bringing Henry to me in my time of need.’

Another button comes undone. Two to go.

His eyes want to sink down and take in how her small breasts are kept hidden behind the cups of her bra, but there’s something in her eyes – something dangerous. Manic.

‘Thank you…for this moment together, O Lord”

One button to go.

‘And in all the moments that have come before.’

The last button is gone. Her eyes, greyish blue, are locked on to his as she peels away the blouse, revealing a lightly tanned stomach, freckles sprawling sporadically across the skin. The blouse floats down to the floor.

Her hands are reaching down to her jeans, unzipping the fly.

‘Alex…’

‘Please instil with me the p…the power, God..’

‘Power’ comes on loose lips, wiggling out of her shaky voice. Her voice is airy, dreamy. Possessed.

‘The power to be good. To do good. To be better.’

Alex is wriggling out of her jeans. They fall to her knees, revealing pale legs and skimpy black lace panties.

She kicks the jeans off to the floor.

‘And please watch over me, over us, and fill our hearts with love and magic. And passion.’

She unclasps her bra, letting it fall to the floor, revealing her bare breasts, her dark areola. Goosebumps trailing across her skin. The slightest hint of veins running beneath, pumping blood through her body, silky warm.

‘I’m thankful for what you’ve shown me, God, and who…you’ve ‘ – the words catch on her throat, her chest tightens as she breathes, excited and nervous. ‘Brought to me.’

She hooks her fingers around the waistband of her panties and slides them down, revealing the thin line of hair marking her slit.

‘Amen.’

Her eyes never break contact.

——————————————-

For some reason it came to me – the idea of a religious teenager praying to god while undressing for the person she lusts after. I found the psychological interplay – her eyes on him, in command, betraying the idea of religion or subverting it in a wholly different environment – to be very sexy. Hopefully you enjoy it too!

Good Little Catholic Girl

Dark hair, olive eyes.

What are you doing here? My Daddy’s downstairs.

Loose white singlet, nipples poking through.

No, that’s crude. Crudecrudecrude.

A fistful of hair, air squeezed out of her.

You have to go.

Empty words through soft whimpers.

Hands on her throat, clawing, digging, squeezing. Choke.

No. Nonono.

Like a kitten frozen by her mother, she’s still.

Eye contact. Hands go limp.

A rough kiss. Tears and sweat and saliva. Saliva so sweet it beckons another kiss.

Fabric tears. Shorties slink down slender legs kissed by sun. Cheerleader legs.

She watched him by the seats, on the field, wondering, wanting, wavering.

Pink cotton panties. Little bow tie. Lips showing through.

Crudecrudecrude.

No, this isn’t right. My Daddy will hear.

Good little catholic girl. Saintly. Church every Sunday. Good. Proper. Well-behaved. Never smoked. Never drinks. Loyal to God.

A fistful of hair, dragged down degradingly, wet lips trailing his stomach.

Fabric tears. Jeans fall off, no belt, lips trailing, voice muffled, fistful of hair, down on his cock.

A pause. Resistance. She looks, eye contact, raises her mouth to speak. A single string of saliva connecting his cock to her lips.

Resistance. Force. Her mouth goes down. Hits the back of her throat. A gag. She continues. Compelled. Forced. Intrigued.

Time. An age. Her – confused, eager. Well behaved. God will love her.

He pushes her on her back, slick, aching. Throbbing. Pulsating. Wanting.

Pink cotton panties come peeling off down legs with skin like freshly peeled fruit.

Shaven. Fresh. Who’d have thought?

A blush. Burning skin. Ferocious aroma. Slink sleepily into a saintly slumber. Duty. It’s piercing when he enters her. It’s piercing when she stares at him.

dark hair, olive eyes

It’s piercing when he stares back at her. His cock reaching inside, claiming as far as it goes.

She flushed red. Sighs. Moans. Cries.

Vessel for the taking. Well behaved little catholic girl.

Jesus fucking Christ.