Virgin
2004-05-01
Legs
In church again, in long pews, all the people and all the women's legs. Crossed, feet together at the ankles, "the serpentine" or "entwine", skirt tucked under, skirt along thighs, skirt revealing, suggesting--the way women cross or don't cross their legs. Taught from infancy and certainly pre-puberty instruction. And the males watching these feet of adolescent girls wonderingly and college girls knowingly. Still just legs. Only two feet, ten toes at the bottom and a mustachioed mouth at top with two soft concealed lips. The curious path from a beginning of tiny toes along sometimes longing limbs to a pouting, inviting and delicious jointure, occasionally wet and swollen and a mouthful or a handful or the point of desire for men and some women; often neglected or unused in the young and old or a puzzlement to those in between young and old. The crossed legs withholding, concealing or revealing some emotion or none at all. But repressed emotions or curious and unexplored feelings. Feelings denied or feelings nasty--what they were told and the feelings denied and lectured and threatened--feelings real, intense, pushed down, prevented, diverted- -"Don't forget your genes [You slut!]" Feelings covered with panty hose and corsets and tight panties and fears and threats. Feelings expressed, released and then guilty feelings. Feelings released and then hurt feelings of the scorned or the cheated feelings. Feelings defiled by lies, unkept and false promises and reflected in crossed legs, crossed thighs, puckered lips that are dry on the outside and yearning within. Legs of all kinds. Ankles, slender and otherwise--all kinds. Knees, thighs, fannies .
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. wet mouths, pouting mouths and lips waiting to be kissed and licked and opened and probed. All along the church pews, with music and song and sermon; hell's fire; damnation; sinners all. Hands on legs, knees, crossed, resting. . . petting, holding hands. Smoothing legs and calves. Hidden, forbidden, secret and private hands, legs and . . . excited thighs, wet fannies, On one side of the room or the other, on benches for buses and in parks and in wedding chapels or just chapels . . .
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in pews. Kneeling. I looked down the row of people and saw her kneeling and looking up. The corner of her eye was wet and the sun glistened on the wet. I stared at the light on her face and her shape as she was kneeling. At her bare knee and the shape of her thigh up to the hip and a soft and shapely bottom. I knew she felt my stare. We were in a holy, sensual place. Where Christ's symbol was high on the wall. Jesus wept. His tears stained his cloth. It was a place of feeling and I was feeling toward her and her bent legs and thighs and could feel my hand petting her thigh and bottom and feel her flex when I touched between and nuzzled her flesh with my hand. I pulled off her skirt with my hands and laid her bare to me as she lay back in the pew and opened herself to me. She looked at me and looked away. She could feel me looking.
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Could feel me touching, probing her private places, where she was wanton and responding even while she was kneeling in prayer. I was praying, too, for her, her legs wrapping my waist and her warmth touching the point of me and playing on her flesh with my point; dipping into her and feeling religious and naughty at the same time. Touching her fleshiest part, her private, secret mouth. She opened her mouth to me and closed around me, pulling me in and stroking my balls with her fingers and licking with her tongue and I dipped again and withdrew; then she tasted her wetting on me and played with the tip and down. She had delicate fingertips and her hands were joined as she knelt. I played with her from behind; made her stiffen and shudder; touched her nipples and held her breasts. Warm in my grasp and stiff nipples on my fingertips. She looked my way, eyes sparkling again and quickly away and adjusted herself on the kneeling pad and put her nose in her joined hands.
The line of her body was shapely and I felt her back, down to her bottom and felt her front and down her front as she sat back on my lap and fumbled for my fly to unzip and release me between her legs. Stroking me from tip to base and holding my balls. Both of her hands now stroking me upward and I could feel coolness. She was wet and yearning and naughty there in the pew, in the church and with the symbol on the wall looking down at us and blushing and she adjusted herself in her seat on top of me and stuffed me inside her. I spread her apart and she was straddling me. Desparate now, she shoved my cock in her wet mouth between her legs. I felt her hair against the base of me and lifted up in her.
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She stopped praying and was only feeling now and leaning her head on the front pew and opening her legs for me to enter and re-enter and plunge deeply into her, splitting her apart until she was ready and lifted to my movements and I reached and held her breasts and pulled her down on me and slapped into her mouth and she kissed me and suckled me and teased me and milked me into her body. Her face was hot and red now and she rested on the front pew and words were in her ears . . . thy kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven . . . and a smile was on her lips. She reached between her legs and stroked, not wanting me to leave her body, not wanting her breath back . . . forever and ever, amen . . . and I was soft and timid and limp and her eyes closed in prayer.
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She stood and walked toward me and past me while we stood in the pews and I could smell her as she passed. She was delicate and looked away for she knew we had sinned and she knew she wanted us to sin again, there in the pew, in God's eyes, with his blessing. It was a sacred bonding. Hot! Hell's fire in us both. She adjusted her skirt and I wanted to kiss her and hold her and lick her clean and smell of her again . . . here on earth as it surely must be in Heaven!
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