Her pussy nagged her, reminding her like a nosy neighbor that she had not given it any attention. Two days ago it was like a cat, doing figure eights as it rubbed around her legs, wanting to be noticed. Now it was an excited puppy, bounding, and lapping enthusiastically, demanding to be dealt with.
She could feel her lips were puffy, slick, even walking felt good, whenever she sat, she would squeeze her legs together, but nothing brought relief. Even her breasts betrayed her, so full and her nipples sensitive and firm, rubbing subtly through her bra against the fabric of her shirt as she walked.
In desperation she ducked into a church, the cool darkness welcoming her out of the summer sun. She saw the shiny metal bowl of holy water, and wished she could just hoist it to her lips, gulping it down, letting it wash away the filthy thoughts and desperate needs of her body.
The church smelled of old wood, candlewax and even older books. It was quiet, even the street noise hesitant to pass through the ominous wooden doors to disrupt the holy solitude. The water felt cool on her fingertips as she dipped into it. Instead of touching her forehead, she brought her fingers to her lips, softly sucking the translucent drops.