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.
