Sunday worship

You step out of the restaurant and into the pouring rain. A morning walk around the village, some window shopping followed by a delicious lunch had been a welcome escape, a perfect Sunday. Luckily you finished your walk before the heavy rain set in and drove everyone inside. As he steps out of the restaurant behind you he motions over to the small church across the street.

“Come on let’s go check it out until the rain passes, then we’ll head home.”

You jog across the street holding hands, laughing as the water splashes up from the street. You feel your feet and legs getting wet, good thing you decided to wear a dress today, at least you won’t be driving home with soaked pant legs. 

You enter the church together and close the door behind you. Neither of you are religious, but you find beauty in this old wooden building, with light streaming in through stained glass, shimmering in the streaks of rain running down outside. You imagine all the people who must have sat in these pews over the decades, some seeking comfort while mourning a great loss, others giving elated thanks celebrating one or another of life’s little victories. You remember reading somewhere this small chapel has stood here over 100 years. It no longer held services, but was restored as part of the locals trying to bring some charm and tourist dollars to the town.

“I spent my childhood in a church like this,” he remarks looking through the Bible placed at the altar.

“Really?” You reply, slightly caught off guard by his confession. 

“Mhm. My grandfather was a preacher, Church of God. Real fire and brimstone stuff. I used to sit in the front and read the Bible passages out for him. He wasn’t a great reader so that was my way of helping him out.”

He continues flipping through the pages until he finds what he’s searching for.

“Blow on my garden, that its fragrance may spread abroad. Let my lover come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.” Songs of Solomon.

He turns and steps towards you as you ponder those words. His hands extend and grab your waist, pulling your body firmly against his, a brief second looking into his eyes before his lips meet yours. You feel your body responding to his touch, his kiss. Warmth radiating from your core begging for him to keep going. 

As his lips glide from your mouth to your cheek to your neck you feel his hand slipping under your dress, sliding up your thigh. Suddenly you remember where you are and pull back.

“We can’t do this here. What if someone walks in?” You glance over at the door and realize he flipped the lock on the way in. As you look back at him a flash of lightning illuminates his smile, he looks at the window as thunder rolls by. 

“It’s storming out there, no one is out walking around right now, it’s just you and me in here right now.”

You realize he’s right, the village wasn’t very crowded today to begin with and surely the rain had driven everyone inside for now. And besides that, you realize your thighs aren’t soaking wet because of the rain.

You smile at him as he steps forward and pulls you to him again. His hand slips under your dress, up your thigh, between your legs.

“Mmm no panties?”

“It’s Sunday, I didn’t forget” you reply, remembering one of his rules for you. Always sexy panties on Saturday and no panties on Sunday.

“That’s my good girl” he growls softly as he pulls you over to the altar at the front of the sanctuary. He lowers you down seated on the steps front and center. He kisses his way down your neck, his tongue lips and teeth dancing across your breasts, kissing and licking and biting your cleavage, your collar bone, your neck, down again. You feel your nipples swelling under his touch, stabbing against the thin fabric of your bralette and dress, begging to be released.

As you watch him work his way down you decide to help him speed things along. Looking up at the stained glass cross at the back of the church you smile, taking deep, unsteady breaths, pushing his head down as you pull up your dress.

You feel his warm breath on your pretty little princess pussy. You love this part almost as much as what comes next, the way he always pauses for just a second, breathing your scent into his nostrils, his eyes, savoring what he’s about to enjoy. He has told you many times how much he loves having you in his mouth, and you can tell he enjoys it every time. 

Looking down at him kneeling before you as you stroke his hair you’re reminded of devout worshippers partaking in the communion. Body of Christ, drink the wine, all that pomp and ritual. 

Then you remember it’s almost Easter. Easter. Eostre. Worshipped for millennia before Christianity arrived in Europe. The pagan Goddess of spring, Goddess of fertility, bringing spring rains and blessing crops. As his mouth spreads your lips and his tongue glides across your clit you feel your inner goddess awaken, he is your worshipper, your adorer, your devotee and for his piety you will reward him with your own spring rains to quench his thirst.

You lean back on the altar, eyes fixed on the century old chandelier hanging overhead. You take a deep relaxing breath as his fingers slowly begin to enter you. You feel his entire mouth taking in your clit, your eyes roll back.

“This is my body which is given for you, remember me”

Lightning and thunder, the storm rages outside as you feel a storm begin to rage inside you, his tongue dancing all over you, licking you, sucking you, fingers spreading you and exploring you, you grab his head and pull his mouth harder against your holy place. 

“Devour me. Eat every last bit of me. Waste nothing.”

Your thighs squeeze him as your nails dig into his skin, your entire body and soul lost in glorious rapture, for a few brief moments you hold him there, feeling him hold you in his mouth as waves of ecstasy wash over you. Release.

You begin to relax, heart still racing, breaths beginning to return as he kisses his way up your body again, pausing to pay special attention to your tummy, that part of you he seems to worship and revere most of all.

As you come face to face again his eyes fixed upon yours, you feel him enter you. Slowly. Inch by inch. You can tell by the look in his eye he wants to tease you. He is Daddy after all, and teasing his baby is something he has every right to do if he wants. Normally. 

But right here, right now, he is in a house of worship. And you are a FUCKING GODDESS. 

You push up and roll him over. Climbing on top and lowering yourself onto the throbbing shrine he erected in your honor.

You pull out your left breast, closest to your heart, and pull him to it. His eyes close as his mouth finds your nipple. You begin grinding against him as he sucks you, drinking in part of your life force that he needs to sustain himself through those hardest times in life, the times he can’t be with you.

You feel yourself beginning to squeeze around him, looking down at your lover, watching him suck you like a newborn, you are all he needs in this world, you are his heaven. You begin grinding harder, faster, your heart racing again, face blushing red as you prepare for the second coming. 

Your fluids gush, washing over him, cleansing him of a lifetime of sins as he empties his seed inside you, your body milking every last drop from him. You release him and allow him to fall back limply against the altar, gasping for air, righteously sacrificed to your divinity.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/fyqbnk/sunday_worship