Whore in Church Ch. 01

She hauled the mammoth carved wooden door open, and stepped out of the rain. The sound of the rain against her hooded coat was replaced with an austere, calming silence as the door softly closed behind her. Lowering her hood, she shook off the rain a little like a cat, from head to foot, and got her first glance at the chamber before her. The interior was dimly lit, and the glow of many tiny candles lit the walls of the vast chamber. She was standing in one of the most beautiful cathedrals she had ever seen. He had instructed her to come here tonight, at this hour. She did her best to follow his instructions to the letter.

She was wearing her soft, black leather ballet style flats, and she moved almost silently on the marble frescoed floors. She wore a long, beige London Fog trench coat, buttoned fully, and tied at the waist. Her coat was appropriate for the weather. However, the fact that she was completely nude beneath it was quite inappropriate for the setting.

Traveling to the church in a cab, she wondered if the driver had an inkling of her exposed body beneath the coat, but perhaps not. She was just glad he kept the car warm. Although the satiny interior lining had felt sexy and erotic at home, it couldn't remove the gooseflesh that came both from the weather and her anticipation for the night's yet untold agenda. Beneath the trench coat, her own neatly trimmed trench was already warm and wet. Her nipples had tightened to sensitive little buttons, being pressed and teased as she moved.

She wore two pieces of jewelry, per Sir's instructions. First, a simple rosary with a cross that hung low between her breasts. Second, a stainless steel jeweled anal plug, which was lodged inside her now. He loved sending her out in public with her ass jewelry. He loved knowing that her sex juices were being stirred, while she felt the fullness of the steel within her asshole. He loved knowing that she found the sensation overwhelmingly erotic, but also that it made her feel conflicted in public. Even with her clothes on, when Sheila wore the plug in public, she felt utterly exposed.

Before this night, she had never dreamed how exposed she could truly feel though. Here, in this holy place, wearing nothing but a button up thin coat, a rosary, and the jeweled anal plug held tightly in place by her sphincter, this was the ultimate exposure. Even though she saw no obvious members of the clergy, she felt somehow the church officials must be watching her, knowing she wasn't here to pray. Though she had an inkling that at some point, she would be on her knees in service to her master.

Around her, the streetlights backlit some of the stained glass from outside, but the most dramatic lighting was cast on a beautiful alabaster statue of Christ, hanging from the cross. The white stone looked almost as if it were glowing, against the soft lighting around the rest of the cathedral. There were only three other parishoners present at the cathedral at this hour. It was late, near the close of public hours. She padded to one of the stations with many small lit candles, flickering inside their red glass holders. She lit one, and bowed her head. She was not a religious person, but tonight she felt a holy kind of spiritual energy around her. She said a silent prayer to the universe, and turned to sit in a pew midway down the rows.

Her Sir wasn't here yet, which surprised her. She assumed she would be meeting him here. She sat silently, marveling at the beautiful mosaics around the ceiling. Millions of tiny glass pieces had been laid by master artists, and each sparkled down at her like precious jewels. She loved the grandiosity of the building's architecture, with its sweeping arches and towering domed ceilings. It was then, while she was lost in admiration of the beauty around her, that a man dressed in black slipped silently into the pew directly behind her.

"Hello Angel," he whispered.

She startled at hearing her Sir's voice. Then she smiled. She knew enough not to turn around to greet him, though she wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him right here in this church.

"It's a beautiful space, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically. "My beautiful angel in this beautiful cathedral." Then his voice dropped even lower, and he whispered in her ear, "And I will make you my whore in this holy place you know." Her grin widened. Her thighs clenched. She ached for him, for him to use her here.

"Now, do you see the confessional near the entrance?" He asked. "I have already visited it to confess my sins, but it appears the priests have all moved to other duties, since they are about to close for the evening. I want you to go into the confessional quietly, sit down, and raise your feet so that they can't be seen beneath the door. Are you wearing your jewelry as instructed?"

"Yes Sir," she whispered.

He smiled a wicked smile and whispered, "Then draw your knees up to your chest as you sit in confession. You should feel more pressure inside you then. I want you to edge yourself while you're in there. You may touch yourself anywhere, except your clit and inside your juicy cunt. You're going to be in there a while, but make sure you do not cum. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," she whispered again. Without hesitation, she left the pew, and without looking down at him, she found her way to the confessional. She sat down and pulled the curtain back, half expecting a priest to have come in, but Sir was right, there was no one to hear her sins. That was probably a good thing. The list was long, and they really didn't have all night! As instructed, she waited a minute or so, then pulled her knees up to her chest. She was quite anxious really. She felt she would be caught at any moment. Her heart was beating rapidly. The blood was flowing, and it made her skin even more sensitive to her nakedness beneath this thin jacket she wore.

As was often the case when Sir was tasking her with something beyond her comfort zone, she questioned how she got here. What was she doing in a Catholic confessional, nearly naked, praying only that she wouldn't get caught? She really had been a goody two shoes her whole life, always on the straight and narrow. She was so inexperienced, so sheltered just a few months ago. Now, she had willingly given herself as submissive to this man she called only Sir. He lit her body and soul on fire in ways she had never imagined before. She had come to crave him, to yearn for him, to desperately fiend for his touch, his words, the next interaction. No matter how embarrassed or afraid she might be, she would sit in this confessional, aroused by all the emotions, letting her imagination run with the words he had whispered, "I will make you my whore in this holy place..."