The sweetest sin

I had never been a very religious or spiritual man.  I was raised Catholic and even attended Catholic primary and high schools, but always just went through the motions to appease my parents and teachers, my mind much too logical and analytic to blindly accept all of the contradictions and leaps of faith that came along with the Church and the majority of their teachings.  Sure, being a good person and loving your neighbor are great ideas that I think everyone should live by, but the concept that the only way people will do good is under the threat of eternal damnation seemed a bridge too far for me.  The scare tactics set off blaring alarm bells, like the idea that you’ll be sentenced to a fiery hell for the rest of eternity if you don’t join the right religion and donate at least a certain percentage of your earnings, that even innocent babies will be banished from heaven if their parents don’t get them baptized into the Church before they die.  It all seemed a little too … convenient for the Church, when it just so happens these rules allegedly expressing ‘God’s will’ result in the Church getting a never-ending supply of money and members.  Add in the contradiction of the Church’s tacit acceptance if not outright encouragement of perverted priests, televangelists, the prosperity gospel, MAGA Christianity and so many others, and you can see why I distanced myself from Catholicism as early as I could.  And I would have happily kept it that way, if not for Kathryn.  Little did she know at the time, but her faith would bring me back into a world that would lead to the discovery of my ultimate sin … you.

I met my wife Kathryn in college.  Like most college kids, she was a walking contradiction, going to mass in the mornings, getting wasted and snorting coke off my dick in the evenings.  She came from a devout Catholic family that believed it was a sin to even question the Church’s teachings, taking the concept of the Church’s infallibility to heart, and Kathryn was no different.  But she was also a sexually repressed twenty-something living on her own for the first time, so when she partied, she went HARD.  And she partied almost every night.  Within hours of meeting, I had her back in her dorm room, her cross necklace swaying back and forth against her tits as I railed her from behind like an animal.  Like many Catholics, she didn’t believe in contraception, and being the horn dog I still am, I went in raw from the start, once I saw she wasn’t going to stop me.  Naturally, it wasn’t long before she was carrying my child.  Of course, with her family, abortion was not an option, so as soon as they found out, I found myself in a cathedral saying ‘I do’ to a life I was in no way prepared or excited for, just weeks after our college graduation.  At least the sex was amazing, I told myself.  But after the baby came and Kathryn put her ‘wild college days’ behind her, I couldn’t even truthfully tell myself that anymore.  Even on the few occasions we are intimate these days, it’s bland and feels like more of an obligation than the passionate union it once was. 

Though she lost her wild side, Kathryn dove head first into her spirituality once we were married.  And since she is a true believer, she wasn’t about to leave me or our two kids behind.  That’s how I ended up in church every Sunday over the fifteen years we’ve been married, trying to keep my mind occupied for an hour while going through the ‘sit, stand, kneel’ motions before watching Kathryn give even more of my money to the pastor whose new Rolls-Royce I must have personally funded ten times over by now. 

The one good thing about our Church was the type of people it seemed to attract.  Located in the heart of one of the richest neighborhoods in town, there were plenty of trophy wives and daughters of trophy wives to keep my attention distracted and my spank bank fully stocked while the pastor droned on and on about the importance of tithing.  And they LOVED to dress up for the Lord, I will always praise Him for that.  But one Sunday, my neglected cock nearly burst through my pants as I saw you shuffle graciously into the pew in front of me and my family.  Your tight dress hugged your every curve and showed off your spectacular cleavage as you bent down in front of me to put your purse down.  You must have sensed me drooling over you, because you giggled and smiled at me minutes later when you looked back to catch my eyes ripping your dress off.  The whole mass my eyes were glued on you, watching the way your body moved, the way you showed off for me, teased me, as if you knew how desperately I wanted to jump over the pew, grab you like a brute and take you savagely right then and there on the Lord’s altar, in front of my family, your husband (brother? father?) and the whole congregation, offering up the sweetest sin to any gods that might be watching. 

The next week, you wore an even lower cut gown, making sure to sit in my line of sight again so I would see when you leaned down to ‘adjust’ yourself several times during the service, a knowing smile plastered across your face as you watched me walk up to the altar for communion with a massive bulge pressing desperately against my slacks.  Our eyes met as I walked back to my pew, your eyebrow raised as you motioned to my throbbing manhood, my boyish shrug and gesture towards the restrooms making you gasp out loud in surprise, drawing the attention of everyone around you, but your tone reflecting more excitement than outrage.

Today you are here again, in a scandalous dress that exposes the side of your breasts and barely makes it to the top of your thighs when you sit down, you and your companion taking your seats a few pews in front of me.  As the service begins, you hear my child whining and Kathryn scolding her.  Taking the opportunity, knowing she’s preoccupied, you turn back towards me and, holding my eye contact, bite your lower lip seductively.  I drop to my knees from my seat on the edge of the aisle to hide my throbbing manhood, but actually praying to a deity I don’t necessarily believe in that you’ll stop torturing me soon or that I’ll have the fortitude to stop from whipping out my aching cock and jacking off in front of my children as I stare hungrily at you.  I look up to see you turn and walk back towards me, my heart threatening to explode from my chest as your hand lightly and discreetly grazes mine on your way towards the back of the church where the restrooms are located.  I look back to see a devious smirk on your face, your eyes meeting mine with an invitation, a challenge and a promise as you head towards the small hallway that leads to the restrooms.  I check to make sure Kathryn hasn’t noticed and interrupt her own, likely more pious, prayers to excuse myself, telling her breakfast isn’t sitting right and I feel like I might be sick.  Luckily, she doesn’t look down to my slacks to see just the kind of ‘sick’ I really am.  I quickly and quietly make my way to the hallway where I see you bent over the water fountain, your dress riding up to reveal just the faintest hint of your red satin panties, your luscious lips pursed together against the flowing water.  Without a word I approach, my instincts taking over as I grab your hips and spin you around, pinning you against the hallway wall in a fury of strength and explosion of tension as my lips find yours in a long, wet, passionate kiss…