Sarah loved the chance to raise her skirt and promote whatever brand of lingerie she wore at the time by exposing it to the light of day. But whenever some man—or woman—made it known that they desired to get beneath the silk, Sarah quickly reverted to her reserved, composed self.
How did it go wrong today, she wondered as her breasts jiggled from the way she propped herself against the altar. Surely she had been alone as she polished the railing used by the faithful to lower themselves onto their knees to pray.
It wasn’t the first time Sarah removed her silk panties to give the railing that extra sheen; the scent of her musk mixing in with that of the pine cleaner.
Apparently it was more than Father Matthew could stand because he grabbed her by the hair.
“Sinful harlot! You dare mock me in the house of the Lord?” And with that, he bent her over the altar she had polished only moments before. As he positioned himself between her legs, Sarah looked up into the giant rose window, noticing how the sunlight was much less harsh as it shone through the glass. The window could use a good clean…and polish, she thought.
What could Sarah say in her defence? Nothing. Father Matthew spoke the truth. She did mock him, every Sunday when she wore dresses that barely concealed the voluptuous body the Lord had blessed her with.
Ever since she saw him ejaculate into the baptismal font before ushering the new soul of the Wannamaker’s daughter into the fold of the Lord, Sarah did mock Father Matthew and the way he stood in his pulpit every week preaching about sin, sacrifice, and salvation.
Funny how he never did that when a male child was to be baptised. Only girls were blessed with the seed of the Lord by way of Father Matthew’s loins.
But as he thrust into the warmth of Sarah’s ass, making them both cry out and sigh with their need, Sarah looked up to see the choir director, Mrs. Begg, and the rest of the choir come in through the choir entrance in time for rehearsal.
The sharp, shrill shriek of Mrs. Begg’s words pierced Sarah’s eardrums and electrified her spine. The jolt conducted itself through Sarah and into Father Matthew, and the shock of it all sent the holy man’s manly essence rushing into Sarah’s receptive chalice.
She smiled, and to the shocked congregation of the choir cried out part of one of her favourite verses: Revelation 3:11.
“Behold, I come quickly!”
©2015 Jayne Marlowe. Moonchild Press