TRIGGER WARNING: this story contains reluctance/non-consent.
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As a child, you could find me nearly every week in church, faithfully next to my Grandmother, sitting quietly as the middle-aged Preacher quoted scripture and recited anecdotes from his own life experience. Was I listening? Let's put it this way, my thoughts weren't of applying the message to my life, nor something I wanted to share with my Grandmother.
And as an adult, I wouldn't describe myself as one who makes a point to be in church every week. So why today? Maybe it was conviction, a guilty conscience, the voice of God; call it what you will, but something was drawing me this morning. Now I find myself sitting between two talkative, adorable elderly ladies with white hair, feeling quite like a little girl again, a visitor name tag sticker clinging desperately to my shirt, just to the left of my plunging neckline.
A humorous one-liner from the sermon causes the entire congregation to erupt in laughter, which quickly subsides... all but mine; a couple extra giggles slip out and a few people look my way, laughing too, including you. As I calm myself, I catch your gaze, a couple rows up and in the section of pews to the left. At first, all I see are your eyes: dark, mysterious and powerful, like a hawk. The intensity of your focus makes me shiver visibly and the corner of your mouth begins to curl up. I lower my eyes, suddenly feeling warmth on my cheeks, as my gaze settles into my own cleavage, my large breasts starting to move with my rising breath and heart rate.
I know you're a hunter; I know I am prey, and I know you know it too. Suddenly my pussy is very wet. I glance back at you and your eyes are still on me, but that's when I notice your arm is around your wife. You know what I see, but it changes nothing. I look away and swallow hard. Reaching into my purse, I pull out the small glass bottle of frankincense essential oil and remove the lid. Holding it under my nose, I inhale deeply.
"You need to calm the fuck down!" I tell myself. I tip the bottle and a single drop falls onto my finger. I quickly swipe it across my forehead. "You shouldn't be lusting after man in church! A married one, at that! Ground those crazy emotions, right now!" I continue my internal, self-pep talk, while I recap the bottle and return it to my purse. I wait as long as I can but have to look at you again; god, your eyes, I might cum from your stare! A knowing smile lifts one corner of your mouth, and before I can suppress it, a submissive smile spreads on my face. I swallow hard and shake my head.
"Well, fuck." I murmur as I close my Bible, stuff my notebook into my purse and stand, easing out of the pew, past one of the nice old ladies. I make my way towards the back, trying not to be obvious when I glance your way. Your arm leaves your wife's shoulders and you stand. My breath quickens; the chase is on. I walk quickly to get out of the sanctuary before you can catch up, and see you calmly follow me, buttoning your suit coat as you walk toward the back.
I hurry for the women's restroom, trying not to squeal in fearful excitement; surely you wouldn't follow me in there! But you do, and since everyone is in the service, you simply lock the door behind you. All is quiet for a moment and then you call out to me as you slowly walk in front of the row of stalls, your dress shoes clicking on the hard tile of the floor.
"Come on out, Little One..." Your voice is deep, unnervingly sexy, and makes the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stand at attention, even as my pussy prepares to welcome you. I'm sitting on the toilet seat, one shaking hand pressed on the back of the cold, metal door, the other covering my mouth. I lean forward a bit and lock the stall door carefully before pulling my feet up so you don't see them if you look under the door. You push the first stall door open easily with two finger tips, it creaks a bit before hitting the side wall. I cover my mouth harder as if to keep even the softest whimper inside. But I know it's only a matter of time, you will find me.
The next door swings open... and the next... and the next... I am crying softly, listening to your impending footsteps and deep, controlled breaths.
"It's rude to giggle in church, only bad girls do that." You scold. "Weren't you taught proper behavior for the house of God?" Another stall door swings open, hitting the partition and making me tremble all the more. "So, are you a bad girl or a good girl?" I shake my head quietly, but I'm undeniably submissive and I can't help but to respond to such dominance. You're at my stall door. You push on it but it doesn't open. You sigh and tap the barrier between us. I whimper, my pussy so wet in anticipation my panties are starting to soak it up.
"Bad girl, or good girl?" You ask again. I sniffle loudly and sigh. "Hmm?" You push. I open my mouth to speak but close it again, repeating the sequence several times before I find my voice.
"A good... a good girl." I claim, quickly covering my mouth with my right hand. You moan and tap on the door once more.
"Then open this door and prove it." You shift your weight just beyond the barrier between us, your confidence is terrifying. My hand falls from my face and I shake my head wildly as if it will help me resist the urge to submit to you.
