The Church Ch 01

A/N: hey all, hope you enjoyed this! This is the first in a series of fantasies I had about a church I used to go to. I plan on having lots of chapters, so this might seem slow at times. They don't need to be read in order, but I think the build ups and progression will be more rewarding rather than just reading them in any ole order. Also, I wrote this before I went to bed the other night, so I apologize for any grammatical issues. Hope you all enjoy!

.oOo.

I began singing and doing some odd music related jobs for a church near my house the spring just before I turned twenty.

It was a beautiful stone building with enormous ceilings, stone archways, tall stained glass windows, and a massive organ -- a staple in any good church, really. The congregation was mostly older, well to do white families, but there was a smattering of Hispanic and black families due to the area and some younger families due to the excellent daycare. The pastor was exactly the type of narcissistic jerk you'd expect out of an older, conservative, wealthy man. The music director was a nice, balding guy with a terrible sense of music and the pianist was an incredibly sweet, closeted gay with three children.

The organist, however, was the only staff member there I actually had any real interest in. He was an older man -- late fifties? - with grey hair and wrinkles. He usually wore tweed jackets and bow ties. He had nice brown eyes, usually hidden by glasses. He was in relatively good shape for his age, but he was no Adonis.

To the church and choir, he was a sweet, slightly dotty, old man. To me, he was a wonderfully perverted monster who delighted in tormenting me.

I've always had a high sex drive -- exhibitionist, cock hungry, pain slut, constantly masturbating, super submissive -- and had been reading and watching porn as soon as I could. My only problem? I'm painfully shy and awkward. And I honestly enjoy doing the right and proper thing, and always following the rules. And being the good girl I am, I had only had a single boyfriend by the time I was twenty. A boyfriend that only included closed mouth kissing and just a smattering of over-the-shirt groping. But boy did I want more. And the organist must have seen this in me -- must have seen the whore in me.

Early on in my tenure at the church, I had developed a routine with the organist. On Wednesdays after rehearsal I would generally go with him to the sanctuary to listen to him play. Usually he'd play music he was working on, but sometimes I would bring music for him to play. Words were rarely exchanged -- I was awkward and had a hard time holding a conversation with those of the opposite sex - and I'd usually spend the evening sitting in the dark sanctuary or as his page turner.

One night, after everyone else had gone, I was acting as his page turner while he practiced. In case you've never seen an organ, there's a long reach to the music stand. Being rather short, it generally meant I had to bend over quite a bit to reach the music. My hidden exhibitionist loved it -- I have over-sized tits and had started wearing looser tops so that they'd gape open for a perfect view whenever I bent over like this. I liked to imagine that he enjoyed the view, but he never reacted or even seemed to look. But that night -- sometime in late July when the choir had only just started rehearsals again after the summer break -- it was different.

He had just finished up a piece and I was starting to reach out to set it aside for him when he turned to me. Without a word, he'd reached out and settled his large hand over my left tit. His hand curved around the outer edge of it and caressed it, gently squeezing it and rubbing his thumb just under my suddenly hard nipple. With no reaction other than my eyes widening and my jaw dropping, he turned to me further and reached to do the same with neglected tit with his other hand. We remained like that for what seemed years -- him gently groping my tits and me standing there like an idiot.

I was shocked, of course. I'd had no idea that he was remotely interested in anything about me and I'd certainly had no idea he would ever act on any interest that he might've theoretically had. But I can't deny that the moment his hand touched me -- even over the shirt as it was -- my nipples had tightened painfully and my womanhood tingled pleasantly. The organist wasn't particularly attractive or hideous, but he gave this air of equal parts kindness and superiority that made me feel safe, but also as if I was little more than a pleasant and useful piece of furniture. And the way he was touching me now intensified the way he'd always made me feel. He touched me with obvious admiration, but also as if he was assessing a particularly nicely made chair. Finally, he removed his hands and turned back to the organ.

"Remove your top". For a moment I did nothing, thinking I had only imagined him talking. I was embarrassingly dazed after the almost innocent groping. When he glanced back over at me expectantly, I hastened to yank the billowy top off of me. I blushed at the smirk the organist gave -- gone nearly as soon as it was gone -- and tossed the top away from us. I stood there, in the spotlights he'd turned on to light up the organ in the dark room so he could practice, in nothing but a plain white bra and leggings. I waited expectantly for something -- anything -- to happen while he shuffled some music around. But nothing did and he returned to playing. I continued to wait, hesitant and expectant, as he continued to ignore my existence. As he approached the bottom of the page, I saw him glance at me from the corner of his eye for just a moment. That one, small, barely there action spurred me into action. And as I'd done a thousand time, I leaned over to turn the page. The feeling of my nearly bare tits hanging, swaying, as I shifted forward was exhilarating. The rough tweed of his jacket brushing against the soft flesh made my knees shake in desperate arousal.

But the organist went back to ignoring me as he played, and I started getting used to the cool air of the church brushing against skin that I had never exposed. Around two pieces later, he had me grab a few pieces from the stack next to his bench. As I'd straightened back, I was surprised to see that he'd turned on his bench again to mostly face me. I froze, unsure what to do in the face of his sudden scrutiny again. He took the music from me so I had nothing to obscure his view as he looked me up and down.

What seemed sudden to my nerves but was actually rather slow and clear, he reached out and rested his hands on my tits again. His hands seemed warmer this time with just the bra and goosebumps broke out on my chest and arms. He kept his touch soft as he explored them more boldly this time -- running fingers over my covered nipples and brushing along the uncovered flesh of my boobs. My knees were wobbling almost dangerously as I trembled -- I couldn't tell if it was fear or arousal at this point as they'd seemed to mesh together now -- and I found myself unconsciously reaching up to clutch at the elbow of his jacket. He smirked and suddenly covered both my tits with his hands and squeezed -- hard.

I couldn't help the broken moan as my knees suddenly gave out. I was able to catch myself in an awkward hunch over the bench, down on an elbow and a hand. I panted for a moment, embarrassed at the amount of arousal coursing through me at the simple action. As I was bent over, trying to get over the moment, the organist returned his free hands to me. One cupped the back of my neck, thick fingers rubbing soothingly at the tense muscles, and his other ran down my back. He traced slowly down spine, sweeping occasionally to the side to grope at my exposed body. I began to get more and more excited the lower he got, knowing he'd soon be touching me where no one else ever had.

As expected, he finally reached my ass and cupped a big, warm hand over a soft, small cheek. Somehow, despite knowing how excited I was for it, I was unprepared for the shot of arousal that shot through my womb. I arched my back just slightly to push myself more firmly into his hand, whimpering at the knowing chuckle he let out as he gripped me more firmly.

He was much rougher with my ass -- grabbing and pinching my small cheeks. I'd always been a bit self-conscious of my unbalanced frame -- short, big tits, small ass -- but the way he groped me now with his big hands made me forget about it. I lowered myself to both elbows and pushed my ass up a bit higher, letting out breathy moans as he continued with both hands now. I felt so wanton and feminine and beautiful as this much older man groped me over the organ bench in the church's sanctuary. The taboo of committing the most sexual act of my life at that point with a man not my husband in a church of all places was also certainly thrilling.

A smack echoed out in the church and it took a moment for me to realize that he had spanked me. The yelp I let out came a bit delayed and he chuckled again at me. I was even less prepared for the second and third strikes, and let out surprised and embarrassing yelps each time. By the fourth, however, I was able to control myself and bite my lip. I was relatively able to keep my noises contained as he continued to methodically spank me, only letting out the occasional lusty moan. I would never admit it, but I was sad when he finished with a firm, two handed squeeze to my bottom. I remained bent over, forehead brushing against his slacks for a moment, before finally gathering myself and straightening back up. I was still blushing as I stood rigidly in front of him -- a distant part of my brain wondered if my other cheeks were just as red now -- and waited for whatever he'd do next.

"Remove your pants, dear". I felt my pussy clench at the endearment before my brain caught up to the rest of his demand. Logically, I know I wasn't exposing anything that hadn't been exposed before while swimming. The top was harder for me as I usually only wore one piece bathing suits. But the bottoms shouldn't have been an issue. But somehow, exposing my underwear -- plain, blue, cotton panties -- in the middle of the church was almost too much. Looking into his expectant brown eyes, though, I felt myself moving to follow his order before I'd made the decision in my head. I tossed the leggings -- tugging them hastily over my flats in frustration - in the same direction as my discarded top, but I had no idea if they were actually together as I kept my gaze locked on his.

Instead of going back to the organ to continue playing, though, he immediately returned his hands to my body. His large hands settled on my waist and pulled me closer until my thighs dug almost painfully into the edge of the bench. He ran them up and down my sides, occasionally reaching further up to squeeze my tits, and occasionally running further down to hold my hips and rub his thumbs along the edges of my panties and towards my dripping pussy. I panted like a whore, arms loose and head tilted just slightly back as I allowed him to feel me up. I felt deliciously slutty and exposed like this -- nearly naked while he remained completely and fully covered in multiple layers. I wondered how much further this would go -- wondered if he would deflower me right now.

After some time of groping me and feeling me up and generally making me feel violated -- I loved it -- he finally slowed to a stop with his hands on my waist again. He paused for a moment before pushing me back. I watched with baited breath as he followed me out, excitedly wondering what he had planned next. But when he did nothing but brush pass me to gather his bag, I deflated. Suddenly, I felt used and dirty -- and not the good kind. What the hell had I just done? A touch on the small of my back had me jump and spin to look back at him.

"Gather your things, sweetheart". Nodding sadly, though I tried not to show it, I shuffled over to my backpack and discarded clothes that had miraculously been thrown in the same direction. Walking away from the organ and its master, I suddenly realized how exposed I was in nothing but my bra panties and flats. I shivered as I bent down to grab my shirt, one arm wrapping around my waist, aware of his sharp gaze watching my every move. I was startled into action when his voice rand out again.

"Wait". I looked over at him as he crossed the few steps over to me. I waited awkwardly as he moved closer, both hands tightly holding the bottom hem of my shirt. When he reached me, he lifted a hand and gently took the shirt from my hands. The smile he gave me before turning away to gather my leggings warmed me. Feeling slightly better, I watched with a furrowed brow as he bent to pick up my leggings before moving to my bag. What on earth was he doing?

He took his time opening my bag and stuffing my clothes in it before zipping it again. I was fleetingly embarrassed, wondering if I had something weird or strange that he would discover. But the moment passed when he glanced over at me and gave me another warm smile before walking back over to me. With a motion of his head, I slowly turned and slipped my arms into the offered straps of the bag. Turning back around, I looked up at him and felt even more exposed that I had this entire night.

Standing in the church in my underthings and shoes was one thing. Standing in the church in my underthings and shoes and the rough fabric of my backpack brushing against my bare skin was a completely different thing. Him standing there in his button up and tweed jacket and his adorably ridiculous bow tie made the whole thing somehow worse and better. My vision swam for a moment, overwhelmed with the arousal and embarrassment coursing through me. I felt light headed and almost confused as he guided me out of the sanctuary, pausing only to turn out the lights. It wasn't until I felt the night air brushing over me that I realized he had brought me outside of the building. And as I heard the lock click, I felt panic for the first time that night.

The parking lot wasn't especially bright, but there were enough lights to see pretty much anything. And even though the lot was behind the church, the lot was completely flat and open and was surrounded by a giant field on the side we were on. I felt my heart begin to race even faster and I hunched uncomfortably. I couldn't help but think there were people just around the side of the building that would see me if I left the relative safety of the doorway -- even at this time of night. Honestly, the panic and fear welling up in me probably would have made me happy to cower all night in the doorway, heedless of the morning.

But the organist mercilessly guided me out of the doorway with a hand at the small of my back -- I had no idea then how much he loved exposing me. I let him guide me away from the building, trembling more the further we got from it. It felt like years before we reached his car, which was parked directly beneath a light. I was dizzy with adrenaline at that point.

When we reached his car, I paused there for a moment before turning to look up at him, not surprised to see him already looking down at me. I was confused, of course -- my car was a good ten spaces away still -- but also still deeply and painfully aroused by the events of the night so far. He gazed at me for a for a few long moments before cupping my face and bending down to kiss me.

He kissed me confidently and almost lazily. It was completely unlike the only other boy I had kissed and I felt frozen, not sure what to do with myself. He seemed unfazed by my awkwardness, though, and continued kissing me. He coaxed my mouth open and soon, his tongue was languidly exploring my mouth. I found myself meekly accepting his attentions, my hands somehow having wandered up to grip at the elbows of his jacket again. He kissed me for a long while, only occasionally pulling back to let us breath, and I eventually began to almost forget I was naked. Or, I at least got a bit more comfortable with it.

Eventually though, he pulled back with a final peck to my lips. We stood there for a moment, his hands still cupping my face and our gazes locked, before his arms dropped and he took a step back. With the space between us, I was reminded of my near nudity and the fact that I was outside under a light. I could feel my anxiety creeping back in and I looked up at the organist almost desperately.

"You're going to walk over to your car exactly as you are. Do you understand, dear?" I nodded, helpless to do anything else at this point. I shivered when a breeze blew and almost missed the small smirk he gave me. "You're going to drive home exactly as you are. Do you understand that as well, sweetheart?" I nodded again, trying not to think about pulling up to my house like this. Definitely trying not to think about if my three roommates would still be up (I'm sure they would be). I know I could easily stop on the way home and get dressed, but I didn't want to. Not after tonight and not after the way he had made me feel. I wanted it to happen again and disobeying his order felt too much like breaking a rule and breaking what we had established tonight. He gave me another warm smile and moved forward just enough to peck me on the forehead. "Good girl. I'll see you Sunday then."

And before I knew it, he was gone. I had remained frozen to my spot as he got into his car. Remained frozen as he buckled up and started it. Remained frozen as he looked back at me and gave me a little smirk -- I do vaguely recall lifting my hand up to give a half-hearted wave. And I remained frozen as he drove away and left me alone. I'm not sure how long it stood there -- likely less than ten seconds -- before I suddenly seemed to remember, again, that I was practically naked and alone outside. Gasping in a breath -- when did I stop breathing? - and glancing around to see if I could spot any one, I shakily ran over to my car. It took me an agonizing amount of time to unlock and throw myself into the safety of its interior, slamming the door as soon as I was in.

I sat there for a while, pussy throbbing and nipples still achingly stiff, and thought of the night. I thought of the organist and his hands and the way he touched me. I thought of the fear and the embarrassment and the arousal. I could feel myself growing wetter as my imagination began to run wild.

I'm definitely looking forward to Sunday.