All names and characters contained herein are fictitious and do not intentionally relate to any person, either living or dead. This story is a work of fiction, a fantasy -- so read it with a grain of salt and an open mind. All characters are at least 18 years of age. Voting and feedback is greatly appreciated, especially positive feedback and frequent "fives".
Chapter 2 is written from the perspective of Cindi Carpenter, church girl. Please read
Chapter 1 for background information.
It's been a week since Ted Martin and I were caught and videotaped by the sinister masked man "Wulfwinter." Since that time Ted has barely even looked at me, and if I come within twenty feet of him, he gets real jumpy and practically runs away. Of course, it's well known that his wife holds the purse strings and he is petrified that she will learn of his indiscretions – hence, the fear.
This isn't all that bad, since after all, he was blackmailing me for sexual favors. Unfortunately, I have switched from a tormentor I know to a tormentor I don't know.
This all started when my little sister, Mary, was caught shoplifting from Ted's sporting goods store – on security tape nonetheless. Ted was about to turn her in when I went to plead for her. Things took a nasty turn, and I found myself on my knees giving that awful man oral gratification.
Sex before marriage in any sense is completely unacceptable for a good Christian woman. I am, after all, a fine upstanding member of the church; a children's church teacher even. Good Christian women just don't do things like icky blow jobs.
I have to admit though, it made me kind of tingly. And when Mr. Wulfwinter licked me...down there...it made me feel...amazing.
I've always been a bit of a prude. I mean, I wear my dishwater blonde hair up in a tight bun all the time. I've worn the same old tortoise shell glasses for over ten years. I wear long skirts and baggy shirts. Yet in spite of this attempt to appear asexual, men constantly ogle me. I do have rather long legs, and my breasts are fairly large and very perky. My nipples are extremely long and tend to poke through the material of my bra and blouses quite often.
One time, after teaching children's church I caught Matthew Jones masturbating in the men's room. When I confronted him, he leered at me and said, "What do you expect – showing us your Goddamn nipples all the fucking time!"
I took him to Miss Martha, who I understand took a switch to his naked backside. Serves the little pervert right.
Anyway, the last week has been extremely tense. Wulfwinter hasn't contacted me like he said he would, thank the Lord. But the nervous waiting has been unbearable at times.
****
Walking to my car, I noticed a note tucked under the driver's side windshield wiper blade. With trembling hands I opened it and read with dread.
Dear Miss Carpenter,
You can thank me later for getting rid of Ted. He won't be bothering you any more.
For your next task I need you to do the following: tomorrow evening at 8 pm is the monthly church finance meeting. At precisely 7pm you are to sneak into the room (a key to unlock the door will be on the doorframe), undress completely, place all of your clothes and shoes in the filing cabinet behind the "X" file, and go under the meeting table and wait.
During the meeting you will be expected to perform your "sexual duties." If you don't show, the clip of your actions with Ted will be e-mailed to everyone you know, including your parents.
~~Wulfwinter
I gasped with dread and stifled a whimper. What am I going to do? My life is ruined if the video clip gets out. No more Bible college in the fall, my parents will disown me, the church will turn me out. I might even have to become Presbyterian or Methodist, or some other ungodly heathen religion!
With a sense of resolve, I steeled myself and decided to follow through with these perverted demands.
****
At promptly 7pm the next evening I furtively approached the door to the big conference room. Sure enough, the key was on the top of the doorframe. With a nervous glance down both hallways I slipped into the room and quickly locked the door behind me.
The conference room table was very large, about 30-40 feet long and about fifteen feet wide. At least thirty people could easily fit around it, making it the perfect venue for the important finance meetings.
Covering the table was a thick, light gray table cloth which draped all the way down to the floor. Obviously, as long as no one reached down, pulled up the table cloth and looked under, I could remain down there undetected.
I quickly shed all my clothes and placed them in the appropriate drawer, and then crawled under the large table. Underneath it was dark and stuffy, but the light coming through the windows made it possible to see, if vaguely.
I hid under the table, nervous and shivering for what seemed like hours when I finally heard the sounds of people entering the room. As they began to take their seats I listened to their conversations about their kids, their jobs, the church and committees they served on. It was rather surreal – part of me wanted to jump out and beg for help, but knowing that I was completely naked and vulnerable, I huddled in the center and waited for a sign that I should begin my "duties."
Looking around, I saw fat legs, skinny legs, men in dress pants, men in jeans. A few women sat around the table, all of them in skirts.
Finally, I heard the deep voice of Mr. Hollister, the finance committee chairman, ask for heads to bow as he prayed over the proceedings.
Sally Beckwith started the meeting off by reading the minutes from the previous month's gathering, and I looked around the table at the various human legs.
