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I was in college when my family started going to church for the first time. I’d grown up an atheist, maybe going to church with the grandparents the occasional Christmas and Easter. Then, suddenly, once I turned eighteen and moved out of the house to go to college across the country in California, my parents decided that my younger siblings ought to get some church in their childhood. Or something like that. From what mom and dad told me, my little sister was an active member of the youth group, my baby brother enjoyed his time in Sunday School, and my mom had already become a member of the choir. Only my dad remained as skeptical as I was of the whole thing.

Whether I was packing my bag to head home for summer vacation, moving my things into an on-campus storage unit, or hugging my college friends goodbye, I couldn’t help but wonder what had possibly possessed my mom to get involved with some church after forty years telling me God wasn’t real. The plane ride home on Wednesday afternoon, I dreaded the idea of being dragged to church on Sunday morning when I could be sleeping off a hangover after a night of partying with my high school friends. Hopefully Mom wouldn’t force me to go if I didn’t want to.

I stepped off the plane in Boston tired from a day of traveling. My highlighted auburn hair was up in a messy bun. I wore my most comfy black leggings with a cropped white tee and sandals to slip on and off through security. Underneath, a sports bra compressed my C-cup breasts into one unattractive lump. I’d barely bothered with makeup, swiping some concealer on my under-eyes and doing a half-assed job shaping my eyebrows. The airport was not the time for vanity.

When I stepped out near baggage claim, I spotted Mom almost immediately. I was her mirror image, with full lips, dark brown eyes, and high cheekbones. She’d cut her hair into a chic bob with bangs while I almost always wore mine up on top of my head, out of my way. At school, I ran track, and I had no interest in long hair flying in my face.

Mom’s eyes met mine and a big smile spread across her face. “Lily!” She wrapped me in a big hug and insisted on taking my backpack from me. “Sorry the rest of the family couldn’t come; they should all be home by the time we get there. Soccer practice, karate, you know how it is. Your sister has youth group tonight, so dinner’ll be on a tight schedule.”

“No worries; it’s good to see you.” I gave her a tired smile and pulled away from the hug. Then I scrunched my eyebrows. “Daisy’s going to church on a Wednesday?”

“Yeah, she’s gotten pretty invested. I think she has a little crush on Pastor Mark, but I figure if she’s going and making friends, no harm done.”

I nodded, trying to pretend it wasn’t super weird to me. We picked up my suitcase – I tried to pack my cutest summer clothes, shoes, and a few random things from college so I wouldn’t be stuck wearing the clothes I left behind after high school – and tossed it in the trunk of Dad’s little black car. Dad must’ve been on pickup duty with the family SUV.

The ride home was about forty-five minutes to our suburb on the outskirts of the city. It was a medium-sized town with a lot of families. A mix of progressives and conservatives, religious people and atheists, etc. Just a pretty average town. I liked being back for the holidays in the winter semester, but I was worried about spending the whole summer here. Being back in California for spring break was magical, full of beach days and skateboards and total freedom. The idea of a summer spent in my lavender childhood bedroom, hopping between childhood friends and babysitting my younger siblings, felt a world away from what I’d come to know at school. Hopefully I could make the best of it.

When we got home, the house was still quiet, so I set to unpacking some things into my dresser and closet. Soon enough, though, the chaotic sounds of a middle-school girl and a six-year-old boy coming home from practice in need of dinner sounded through the house. I hear Mom clanging pots and pans around in the kitchen whipping together food; her muffled voice told them to come upstairs and visit me.

In about thirty seconds, my siblings Daisy and Louis were wrapping me in bear hugs and peppering me with questions about college. Dad appeared in the doorway to join the flurry. It was chaotic through dinner, with lots of questions and comments and catching up to do. Soon enough, we were sitting in front of a sink full of dishes with leftovers that needed to be packed.

“Lily,” Mom said as Daisy ran upstairs to change her clothes and Dad whisked Louis away for bath and play time. “Would you mind taking your sister to youth group so I can get all these dishes done?”

I counter-offered. “I can do the dishes tonight.”

“No, no. No chores your first night back. Just run your sister over to the church and then you’re free tonight, okay? Address is on the fridge.”

My mom was not one to argue with, so I just copied the address escort sincan into my phone. Daisy came down from her room and we went out to my car, which had been sitting alone in the garage since December. I started it up, mounted my phone on the window holder for GPS, and started off down the street.

I attempted some prying small talk. Teenage siblings are the most likely to talk. “So…church. What’s, ah, what’s going on there?”

“Mom and Leanne, the lead pastor’s wife, became friends at her book club thing. So we all started going. I have a couple friends from school who are in the youth group so I’ve been going to that too.”

“Mom thinks you just have a crush on the youth pastor.”

Daisy’s face turned bright red. “Wait til you see him, Lils! He’s gor-gee-ous.” She gave me a poke in the ribs as we turned into the church’s parking lot. “He’s only a few years older than you, I think.”

I laughed. “I don’t think pastors are really my type, but thanks for keeping an eye out for me. Want me to walk you in or anything?”

“Yeah, you have to meet Pastor Mark.”

I rolled my eyes and put the car in park. “Alright.”

I figured if I was going to be dragged to church the whole summer, I might as well make nice with some of the locals.

Daisy made a face at me. “Can you, like, touch up your makeup or something?”

With a joke about vanity and Jesus on the tip of my tongue, I glanced at myself in the rearview. Oof. Not my best at all. I smoothed out my hair and swiped at some of my dried concealer, but not much else could be done. I was still wearing my airport lounge clothes. Whatever.

We left the car and walked into the church. The whole first floor was dark and eerie, only a few lights on so, presumably, the kids could see the path up to the youth room. We headed up a stairwell off the side of the foyer. It felt low-key like a horror movie to me. I’ve never liked churches much.

“We usually start in the gym,” Daisy said, throwing open a set of double doors near the top of the stairs. “Then we do like a discussion in another room. I’ll get Pastor Mark for you.”

Inside was a carpeted gym with a stage at one end. On the end closest to us, a half-wall/counter with a kitchenette behind it. Weird. Did all churches have an outdated hang-out space, or just this one? Daisy ran up and joined with the group of kids, who ranged from a few years younger than her to a few years older. She tapped pointedly on the sleeve of one of the adults in the space. There was him, who I assumed was Pastor Mark, and then a young guy tuning a guitar and an older woman with a warm smile.

Daisy returned with Pastor Mark a step behind her. Once he was delivered to me, she gave me a double thumbs up and ran back to join the other kids.

The hype was warranted. He was over six feet tall, muscular in a red tee shirt that hugged his biceps. He wore relaxed black jeans and beat-up converse. His long hair was a warm, natural blonde that he wore tied back in a bun behind his head. Three-day scruff lined a jawline that could cut through glass. His eyes were cool, water blue and I felt blush rising in my cheeks as he looked me up and down. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me, probably no more than two years out of undergrad. I’d never seen a pastor radiate the same energy as the guys at my school who surfed along the coast or rode skatboards around campus.

Mark offered me a hand, pretending not to notice my staring. “You must be Lily; I’ve heard so much about you from your mom and Daisy.”

I swallowed and tried to gather my composure. God, I wished I was wearing foundation to disguise my open blushing. Or something besides a tee and leggings. His palms were rough and his handshake strong. “Only good things, I hope.”

“Of course.” He dropped my hand and smiled. “Psychology major and track superstar at UCLA, right?”

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘superstar,’ but it’s rude to disagree with your mom, so I’ll say yes.”

He chuckled at my poor attempt at a joke. “I went to USC before I moved up here to get my master’s. Love the area; I’d love to move back there someday.”

“That’s great. We’ll have to talk sometime about how the hell you ended up as a youth pastor after spending time in LA. Shit, I’m not supposed to curse here, am I?”

Another laugh. His laugh was warm and honest. “I’m not really a traditional guy, don’t worry. I’ve got to get things started over here; you coming to church on Sunday?”

Without thinking, I said, “Yeah, what time’s the service?”

He looked me up and down again, his gaze lingering in a very non-Christian way. “The second service is at 11 a.m. You don’t look much like an early service girl.”

Awkwardly, I replied, “Well, I, ah, I’m usually much more put together than this.”

“I certainly hope not.”

He gave me a wink – a wink! – and rejoined the teenagers with a big, goofy smile on his face.

Sunday morning, Mom woke ankara escort up the whole family for the early service, which apparently started at 8:30 a.m. She popped her head into my bedroom at 7:00 and asked, “Want to join us for church this morning?”

I stretched out my arms and said, “Yeah, why not?”

I could hear the smile in her voice without getting out of bed to look at her. She said, “Great, come down for breakfast in half an hour. Put on something nice.”

“Will do.”

She closed my door and I got out of bed. I looked through my closet carefully, considering the various options I’d brought home from college. I decided on a sundress that felt church-appropriate (not that I really had any sense of what that meant) while still hugging my curves and showing off what the good Lord himself gave me. It had a low sweetheart neckline, thin spaghetti straps, and a defined waistband that made the slopes of my hips apparent. I made sure to wear one of my cuter push-up bras – pale pink with a little gemstone at the center – because it gave me confidence. I applied my makeup carefully. I didn’t want to be recognizable as the girl in old leggings with the messy bun. I curled my hair into beachy waves and applied fake lashes. I avoided anything that would seem trying too hard like a bold lip or high heels, keeping it simple but timeless.

We ate breakfast together as a family and then piled into the SUV. Daisy teased me about how I blushed when I met Pastor Mark and I teased her for having a crush on him in the first place. We arrived at the church a few minutes before the service was set to start. Mom and the kids shuffled into an empty pew towards the middle while Dad excused himself to use the bathroom.

Pastor Mark was standing at the front of the sanctuary, chatting with members of the choir. He looked up when the doors closed loudly behind us. I couldn’t tell from this distance if he was smiling or just checking to see who’d come in.

I knew if I sat down early, I’d be swarmed by Mom’s friends who wanted to meet me, so I decided to find a water fountain and get a drink before everything got started. I found one over by the bathrooms and bent over for a sip. The cool water hit my tongue and calmed me down a little bit. I felt air-conditioning ruffling the back of my short skirt, tickling my exposed thighs. I wondered if my pink thong was visible from behind and tried not to get a thrill from the thought. Being horny at church felt a bit taboo, even for me.

“Good to see you again.”

My skin bristled all over. I turned around and, of course, the voice belonged to Pastor Mark. Deep and clear and confident, slippery smooth. Today he wore a pastel blue button down that was fitted to emphasize his broad shoulders. His gray slacks were held up by a black leather belt.

I gave him a warm smile. “You too.”

His eyes roved all over me, from my bare legs to my waist to my face. “You look…really nice today.” He chuckled a bit. “Very different from the last time I saw you.”

“I spent most of Friday on a plane running on three coffees and no sleep. Not exactly my best look.”

He didn’t even seem ashamed to be devouring me with his gaze. “I see that now.”

The sound of an organ playing lilted through the walls. I said, “We should probably get in there, shouldn’t we?”

He took a step closer to me and I didn’t take a step back. My heart rate quickened. “Yeah, probably.”

“I usually sit in one of the back pews so I can greet anyone who comes in late. Would you like to join me?”

I gave him a small nod and we walked back to the sanctuary together. I noticed as soon as we walked in that the back pews were mostly empty save a few stragglers. Almost the whole congregation was packed toward the front, I guessed to hear the pastor and choir better. I quickly shot Mom a text – was texting allowed in churches? – that I was sitting in the back. She sent a happy face emoji, so I figured a bit of sneaky texting was fine.

For the first few songs, Pastor Mark seemed totally engaged with the service. We stood to sing and I mumbled along as I could. We listened to Bible verses prayers. Then I started to catch his eyes drifting to the hem of my skirt, where my tan thigh peeked out. When we sat back down after the third hymn, I noticed him sitting a few inches closer to me. The fabric of his slacks just barely brushed my legs.

Our eyes met pointedly. While I looked into his pale eyes and him into mine, he placed his hand, careful but sure, onto my thigh. He moved an eyebrow as if to say, “this okay?” and I gave him a little nod. We trained our eyes forward again as the head pastor started up his sermon. His hand, palm rough and warm, slipped intentionally to my inner thigh. My heart began to pound. Was he going to do what I thought he was going to do?

His fingers grazed the skin under the hem of my dress. Goosebumps prickled up and down my thighs and he let out a small laugh. I was no virgin, but in a etimesgut escort bayan church? The taboo of it sent my heart racing. And, more importantly, had His pinky brushed against the lace of my thong, right where my clit waited, already throbbing.

Pastor Mark leaned in close to my ear, right up against it so I felt his hot breath on my skin. “Is this alright?”

I nodded sharply, not wanting to open my mouth for fear of some sound coming out. A gasp, a moan, who knows. Here was this wickedly attractive man clearly wanting me in the most inappropriate moment; I couldn’t resist. The lead pastor took the podium to begin delivering a sermon and the congregation’s attention was trained forward.

With my permission given, Pastor Mark shifted his fingers to the hem of my panties and touched my bare skin. He roamed lower. I said a quick thanks to my past self for shaving smooth last night. He found my clit effortlessly, dipping into my wetness before rubbing me in slow circles. It was obvious by the slow, confident motion that he knew what he was doing.

I felt myself beginning to tighten, the sensations building as he stayed steadfast on my clit, not increasing the pace but just teasing it out of me. Most men went hard and fast and it was impossible to get lost in the feelings, but not him. He was methodical, keeping the rhythm right at the place where I wouldn’t go over the edge but fast enough to have me nearly grinding into his hand with want.

A few minutes into the sermon, with me squirming in the pew and my breaths coming faster, Mark leaned in again and asked, “Want to take things elsewhere?”

I nodded and got up, walking out the sanctuary’s back doors without another thought. A few moments later, Mark followed me. He placed a firm hand on the small of my back and ushered me into a little alcove next to the sanctuary, off the hallway and separated by a set of double doors that were usually propped open. He closed them and set a chair in front. Still, there was a side door into the sanctuary a few feet up, a staircase nearby. Anyone could walk in. But I was still dripping wet and worked up; I couldn’t care less.

Mark placed his hands on my shoulders and, for a second, I thought he might hug or kiss me. Instead, he pushed me into the wall by the stairs, careful to cradle my head. The contact made me shiver. He returned his attention to my clit, now speeding up since we were alone. His lips made contact with my neck. I felt his teeth on my skin as he kissed and suck. My pulse quickened along with his touch.

It didn’t take long for my orgasm to start building. He stayed at my neck all the while, increasing his pace to a fever pitch. My cunt began to clench and a tingle shot through my thighs. The orgasm rocked through me and finally I let out a moan and a ‘fuck’ loud enough that it could’ve been heard in the sanctuary. I prayed the choir was back to singing to drown me out.

Pleasure still coursing through me, I dropped down onto my knees, intent on giving him the same feeling. I made quick work of his belt and took his cock out. It was already hard, easily seven or eight inches, and thick enough that I was a bit intimidated to take it. If he would give it to me. Still, I gave it the college try and slid my tongue up and down the shaft, slicking it for my mouth. He sighed and rested a hand in my hair as I wrapped my lips around the head.

Pastor Mark looked down at me with his cock in my mouth and said, “Man, you really are a little whore, huh?”

The words sent a jolt of pleasure through me. He was right, of course. The part of this that turned me on was knowing it was wrong. I moaned around his cock as a response. The vibration made him moan in return. He began to thrust into my mouth gently, unsure. I could tell he cared not to freak me out. But I loved having my face fucked, so I moaned again and looked up at him with wide eyes as if to say ‘yes, please.’

He knotted his fingers in my hair and took my mouth faster, using me to get off. He couldn’t fit his entire length in my mouth, so I used my hand to work the base of his shaft. The feeling of his dick sliding back and forth through my lips turned me on more than I expected. Despite the orgasm I’d just had, I still found myself growing more and more wet once again.

Once again he spoke to me with that same almost mocking tone that left me feeling perfectly submissive. Not removing his cock from my mouth, he brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes and asked, “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

I stood and nodded. “Yes. Please.”

He flipped my around, my hands and face pressed up against the wall. I heard the sound of his pants unzipping, the metallic shuffle of a condom wrapper, and his deep sigh as he hiked up my skirt. He yanked my panties down around my knees. Soon enough, I felt the head of his dick pressed against my slit. It felt larger than it had in my mouth, but I was wet and turned on enough to take whatever he could give me.

Agonizingly slow, he pushed inside of me, holding back a groan as he went. I was only able to stifle my moan a little bit; the feeling of his cock inside of me was perfect. When he bottomed out, he breathed, “So fucking tight.”

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