Ruth Cavanaugh was heavenly. She had an hourglass figure crowned with long thick red hair that cascaded to just below her shoulder blades. Her clear white skin was soft and radiant. Her small Irish nose was dappled with just the right number of freckles and her brown eyes smiled and twinkled with mischief. Her narrow waist emphasized the roundness of her hips, heart-shaped ass and her large firm breasts. Every man looking at her thought, "God, what I wouldn't give to be the child who would suckle those beautiful breasts!"
Ruth only dated boys who went to church, specifically her church, regularly. That was the price they would have to pay if they wanted her. They would have to endure hours of sermons and hymn singing and praying Sunday after Sunday, month after month. God had given the gift of great beauty to Ruth and she knew it. No way was she going to squander God's gifts on some pimply-faced devil's child without exacting due penance. She had dated many young men, but they turned out to all be weak in the end and couldn't go the distance. Driven by their lust they begged her to let them off the hook, but she just spurned them.
"No church? No tits, no ass, no tongue," she would admonish.
"But how long must we attend before we get our holy reward?" they'd plea.
"Until the Holy Spirit moves me," was always her staunch reply.
Ruth was a good girl and she was going to be a virgin when she got married, but she vowed that when she did marry she would be the wife/whore every man dreamed of marrying. Nothing would be off limits then. She would strip naked for her husband and he could use her body in whatever way he required. She would openly and unabashedly cum as if possessed by the rapture for his pleasure. She would suck his cock and drink down his seed as if it were communion wine or let him anoint her with it like some sacred unction.
Ruth liked to sit in one of the large box pews, common to old late 18th century New England Protestant churches, at the very back of the sanctuary. She liked to watch people at worship and she could see them all from her vantagepoint in the rear. Usually, some hopeful suitor would be seated beside her, but this week Ruth was alone.
Jake McGrath entered the church nodding his head approvingly at the pristine Federalist architecture. He had been looking for a new church since he moved to Cape Cod last winter. He had tried some other churches in the area, but so far none had suited him. Jake didn't like to sit down front and he didn't particularly like to sit alone so when he saw Ruth alone in her pew he decided to ask if he could sit with her,
"May I join you in your pew?"
"Why, yes, certainly. Here. I'll move my coat"
"My name is Jake, Jake McGrath."
"How do you do." "My name is Ruth Cavanaugh. Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise."
Sitting down next to her, Ruth sized him up. He wore a navy sports jacket, yellow oxford cloth button down shirt, plaid tie, gray slacks and black loafers. He was of average build with medium brown hair and soft gray eyes. His hands looked strong, but there were no workman's calluses and his nails were clean and trimmed. His smile was pleasant, no... charming, she thought, but he wasn't anything special, really.
For weeks they met every Sunday in their box pew. They had chatted before service started and at coffee hour afterwards and became quite well acquainted. Ruth wondered why he had never made a pass at her or asked her for a date.
"He must be gay," she thought, "but he doesn't seem gay."
Others at church seeing Ruth in her pew with this man every Sunday began to speculate on his staying power and no other man came near her while he occupied the pew.
Jake and Ruth sat in that box for an entire year and amazingly enough, knock-dead gorgeous Ruth Cavanaugh had fallen in love with ordinary old Jake McGrath.
"Well," she thought, "I can't stand it any more. Perhaps he has heard of my reputation and is waiting for me to make the first move? He certainly has paid the price."
And so she decided that on the following Sunday she would ask him out and after exchanging their usual pleasantries she popped the question.
"Jake, would you like to go out with me?"
"Perhaps," he replied. "You seem very nice and we've gotten to be really quite friendly sitting here, but I'm not sure you're right for me."
"What do you mean, not right for you?" Ruth had never heard that response before.
"Well, I only date women whom I would consider for marriage and I have rules about that."
"There's a switch," she thought, "usually I'm the one making the rules!"
"Like what?" she asked aloud.
"First, before I will date them, they have to pass several tests and, actually, you have passed my first test by being in church every Sunday for a year."
"Really? You'll never believe this, but that's my first test for a date, too!"
"The next part of the test has to do with obedience."
"Obedience?" Ruth wasn't sure she liked the sound of that.
"Yes, obedience. They're simple requests, really."
Skeptically, "How simple?"
"Will you come to church next Sunday with no bra on?"
"That's it?"
"That's it."
Next Sunday Ruth wore a lovely green shirtwaist dress to church. Her large breasts undulated beneath the jersey fabric and the satin slip she had on. He could see her nipples stood erect through the soft fabric.
"You didn't want to touch them did you, Jake?"
"Not right now, but Ruth you look as beautiful as the Madonna. Your breasts are so full and round that any man would want to touch them. I'm sure many men have tried and honestly, Ruth, I am a man and so I think it would be great to touch them myself, but I'm not done with you yet. Next week I want you to come to church with no bra or panties or panty hose on under your dress. Will you do it?"
"That's it?"
"That's it."
The next Sunday Ruth wore a lovely robin's egg blue dress. She couldn't believe how erotic this was. She was wet from just the thoughts of sitting next to him with out her bra or panties in church. For the first time she was having a hard time containing herself. She though about all the young men she had teased unmercifully by the withholding of her sexuality, but this kind of titillating play was just her kind of fun. She always had liked church, and this game just made it better. There seemed to be something really spiritual in all this temptation and delayed gratification.
The dress she wore was such that he could see her magnificent breasts swing and her perky nipples, once again, were erect free from the restraints of a bra. She sat in the pew stretching out her shapely legs from under her full skirt, but she had put on stockings.
"Have you done as I ask?"
"Yes."
"What about those?" he said pointing to the hose.
" They're thigh highs."
"And what about your panties?"
"They're off."
"How do I know?"
"Well, you could check if you'd like."
"You'd let me do that?"
"I think it will be okay. I have a full skirt and we're sitting way back here in this box pew. I'm sure no one can see in and after the service has started everyone will be seated and facing forward anyway."
In the first part of the liturgy there is a lot of movement. Everybody is up and down for announcements, opening words, first hymn, doxology, affirmation of faith, the Our Father, two readings and the offertory. Ruth expected him to check it out during one of the readings, but it wasn't until after the offertory when the sermon began that he slipped his hand under her skirt and slid it all the way up resting his cupped hand on her mons and left it there.
Ruth was wild. Her pussy poured out her pre-coital juices like holy oil.
"You don't mind if I keep my hand there do you for the sermon?" he whispered.
She squeaked out a "No," as softly as she could, but it was a strain. She tried to listen to the sermon, but it was hopeless. She could not get her mind off the hand that rested on her mons and the fingers that occasionally played with her pubic hair and stroked just the top of her crease.
She looked over and saw that he was excited too. His penis had become engorged and pressed hard against the zipper of his fly. "Atta boy," she thought.
