I am one of God's more special creatures. Since I was little, my daily life has had the glow of holy light surrounding my every action like a halo. Early school took place in churches and pastor homesteads. After school sports and daycare stitched together into prayer circles with sisters. I was awash with God's love at every waking moment.
But that's not what made me special -- how could it be? I was one of many -- a literal flock -- that gave everything to God's service. Every task placed before me, conquered as a unit. Every homework assignment graded along the curve to help the most wayward still pass. God loved everyone the same, passed everyone the same, and gave everyone the same attention, so how could I ever feel special under so wide a spotlight?
My name is Maryanne, and my servitude to God is...non-traditional thanks to my wide-open eyes. I tell people openly about my cunning, and how much pride I have in my domination of the room's attention. What I don't tell them is what I see behind their eyes -- objects and simple desires peeking out like goblins checking for an opening.
I am a project manager for God's love -- you who seek forgiveness, move your ass there. You with such desires, come here to purge yourself. I can scrub your soul of guilt and sin with a smile.
This seeded lesson was learned over the course of my high school year, just after my eighteenth birthday. The closest church to my house was named after St Angela and also served as my classroom for the majority of my childhood. Throughout my time, our teachers had stuck to only the core essentials -- math, reading, devil-free literature -- which meant your curiosity either died or had to be fed elsewhere.
Mine chose elsewhere, but it was surprising for me to find sex, lust, and a new holy mission just beneath this hallowed ground.
My homework was almost always finished early, so study hall became an hour of tedious chores for me. I'd scrub floors, clean instruments, straighten bibles, and, sometimes, be asked to venture into the basement for supplies.
"Maryanne," groaned old Father Henry, who taught five of the eight classes when he could shuffle into class. "You know where they put the new books?"
"In the basement, Father?"
"Yes, just in the first room. Bring those boxes up, and--"
"I'll stay away from the casks, Father."
He smiled with a nod as I turned, eyes already rolling. The basement of our church was untouched by a decorator for centuries with unrefined brick arching all along a long tube like an old wine cellar. Indeed, some wooden casks coated the far back wall, filled with blessed communion wine of an unknown vintage. I had never gone so far as to break the cobwebs next to their hold, and this time was supposed to be no different.
I stopped just by the stairs to sigh at the heavy, high stack of boxes meant for me, looking at my cumbersome outfit. Long skirt, tight, long-sleeve shirt, grey vest -- our uniforms weren't meant for this type of exertion. I folded the hem of my skirt several times, showing off my toned calves. Next, I unbuttoned the sanctifying collar and a few buttons on my vest, finally bringing a breath to my rather large breasts for an eighteen-year-old. Bringing my long blonde hair back into a ponytail, I was at last ready.
It took a large metal crash from down the narrow basement to pull me away. My heartrate immediately picked up, and I remember distinctly my vision tunneling -- my curiosity driving instinctual steps towards the back of the basement.
My chest heaved as I slid forward, turning to see several broken, metal cells down short offshoots in the brick. Just before the end, I saw a pair of doors set into the ceiling beneath a lift, thinking I'd found the source of the noise. But then, I heard it again, this time from behind the forbidden casks. Behind even the brick wall, caked with time and dust until you came closer. Then, I saw the dust was just paint, and the floor shown scrapes and footprints. Even the casks, sat before a hidden door, were empty.
Leaning down, I saw my future and my curiosity aligned for the first time through a single ray of light from a wide crack in the wall. Through there, my heartrate skipped ever higher with the sight of a woman -- Sister Henrietta -- down on her knees, gently suckling at the end of a strange man's erect penis.
Sister Henrietta was my teacher for mathematics -- the definition of piety. Before now, I'd never seen her out of the context of a smiling, competent instructor. She even assisted with the usual Sunday service. Her amazing breasts, large nipples, gritty, sweaty blonde hair, and tanned skin were all hints that had passed me by.
My breath caught in my throat, fear holding my body completely still. Only whispers of sexual desires had ever reached my ears, and my own bodily urges were just confused as natural ticks. Now, there was no mistaking my shaking knees and pitted stomach -- I wanted what I saw.
Her mouth slid with so little effort across the head and jagged vein, back and forth, in and out. Her beautiful, blue eyes were wide and calm, looking up to the man's slack jaw. His body was rigid, only slightly overweight, and his hands held two bolts of her hair like reins.
I had to sneak away or I would suffocate, but I would be back. Study hall became my time to observe a whole new world, checking the back of the basement to find different, strange men and women being serviced by Sister Henrietta. She would accept a vicious tongue across her chest, neck, and gentle clit until she bit on cloth to keep her moans quiet. The next day, she may be teasing a young woman from her toes right into her dripping mound for the entire period.
No matter what position she took, my eyes were always locked on the pleasure on her face. It was intoxicating, but at the height of their pleasure, the strangers were different -- Sister Henrietta enjoyed her work, but these people were euphoric. My eyes would always dart up as they peaked into orgasm.
Just because I absorbed didn't mean I knew what to do with what I saw. How would I cure my weak knees? What was the sudden moisture between my legs and aching in my belly? I twitched for knowledge.
Near the end of the year, I found myself alone in a room with Sister Henrietta after math -- just before my study hall. I watched her grade behind her desk for a moment while the classroom emptied. Her red pen moved swiftly, far too fast to be thorough. I used that as my opening.
"Sister Henrietta?" She looked up to me with a frown. "Do you need help grading? I have my study hall next period."
"No, Maryanne, I just need to focus. I'll see you tomorrow."
She ignored me from there, turning back to her brutal grading curve. I kept my frown as I walked out, going to my class. There, I tapped my leg impatiently, waiting for the bell to ring so I could follow the humble sister to her appointment.
The late bell rang and I was off, snatching the hall pass on my way.
At the bottom of the basement steps, I waited against the musky stone, leaned into a shadow to confront her. Emboldened by the end of the school year, I new I couldn't go into the next phase of life with these questions. I needed to understand what held so much power over me.
In place of the soft footsteps screeched the elevator from further down the basement. I leaned out in time to see a man and a woman stumble into the main hall looking well-dressed but frantic.
"Where do we go," asked the man.
"Just wait." She held his hand as they both started to twitch like wound toys.
I watched them carefully, missing Sister Henrietta's soft steps coming down the stairs. "Maryanne?"
I spun to see her shocked face, but was more distracted by her removed headdress and unleashed, waving blonde hair. Undaunted by the darkness of a tight peephole, I gasped at her beauty.
"You shouldn't be here."
She gently pushed me against the wall, back into the shadow. My body involuntarily coiled as the cold brick hit the back of my neck. Her force brought back the confusing feeling instantly. "I've been here, Sister Henrietta. I've seen what you do."
My confidence numbed in her flashing, predatory eyes. Those blue tempests had only ever edged towards stern, but it was clear that I had wandered into Sister Henrietta's true realm now.
"Stay hidden, and as I take them into the back, you go upstairs. Do you understand?"
I could only nod, my green eyes fogged while my breath filled my chest. Henrietta removed herself and strode closer to the couple. The woman locked onto her approach, smiling and shrinking at once.
"You're her?" The husband waited while Henrietta rolled her heavenly hips from side to side. She hooked his eyes with the sway like a magician's pocket watch. "You are her."
"We need a release, ma'am. We've been having urges."
"Intense urges."
I watched Henrietta split them, striding as through they weren't begging for her attention. Both of them followed, her fingers starting to unzip her black suit. Finally, before the hidden door closed, I heard her purr, "Come purge yourselves."
Then, there was silence against the brick and wood. I should've left, maybe. Should've obeyed, perhaps. Instead, I followed the heartbeat in my ear to the familiar spot. I slid down to my knees, imagining Sister Henrietta doing the same already. My eye pressed to the light.
Beneath the bare bulb, Sister Henrietta stood, facing Maryanne, with the woman's face already pressed into her pussy. My eyes were locked on her fingers gripping the woman's bright red hair. I then traveled down to see the man, on the ground, with the woman grinding on his penis.
"Go faster," commanded Henrietta with a sigh.
As I flicked my eyes up to hers, they locked -- both of our secrets completely uncovered but her look one of a conqueror compared to my paltry curiosity. I was overshadowed by a queen.
Her large nipples hardened as she threw her head back. The woman moaned like a vibrator into Henrietta's dripping sex. Even the man let his eyes roll into the back of his head, bucking his hips off the ground with the full weight of his wife. My eyes didn't know where to land, and I suddenly felt overwhelmed.
I had to step away, had to breathe fresh air. If I had stayed, they would've found me passed out. I couldn't imagine going through the rest of the school day either, so I faked my way home with a phantom illness. Even without the illness, my mother saw my very real sweat and sent me to bed early.
That night, comfort was impossible. My knees wouldn't stop shaking, and I thought my heart was going to explode. My comforter was tossed to the ground and even my black tank top was unrolled down to my midsection. After hours of trying to cool off, I even removed my white panties, tossing them against the mirror set into my closet door.
After they thumped to the carpet, I caught my own young eyes in the dark reflection, then my chest. Henrietta's mature, massive breasts stuck in my mind, immediately bolting my own with lightning, almost painfully so. I rubbed them together, feeling the electricity soften in my own hands. The sensation at my fingertips felt like God's soft moonlight shone from inside my chest.
I kept watching myself in the mirror with the overlay of Henrietta in my mind. My nipples became raw after long, forcing my hands to drop with one landing just inside the dark, curling hairs beneath my belly button. My memory fixated upon Henrietta's conquering pose and the woman's face pressed between her legs. Soft, slow circles of my own fingers, dipping closer and closer to my own area started to excite me again.
"Maryanne? Are you awake?"
I threw my comforter over my body quickly as my mother's entrance extinguished all passion. After she left, letting me know that the air conditioning would kick on soon, I fell asleep, frustrated.
The next days were no better as Sister Henrietta was absent, and my body refused to let me explore further. I was locked into fantasy, nowhere for my curiosity to expand.
While leaving church on Sunday, my family and I ran into Sister Henrietta next to Father Henry greeting people. Father Henry and my parents shook hands first, then me. Then, I felt my pulse rise as Sister Henrietta shook my hand, meeting me with a smile.
"Hello Maryanne."
