Days later, a pastor preached on the stage of an unfinished church. My body still hummed from our last encounter. I’d sworn to resist Neddy, but his hands lingered in my mind, pulling me to the vigil where I knew he’d be. I begged my mother to let me go, did my chores like a good Christian girl, kissed my dad’s forehead, and hugged her. They thought I’d changed, chasing Christ. I never found him. My mind burned with something else, my groin alight, n!pples perked beneath my bra until clothes felt suffocating.

Neddy was a drummer, sweating as the choir sang, beating his drum with energy and rigor. I wanted that energy, wanted him to pound me like those drums, his long fingers penetrating me to make me sing louder than the lead chorister. The longing inside me ached to be quenched. Luring him out like a dog hungry for a bone was easy. Where the shadows took us, his hands roamed. He leaned for my lips, but I refused—sugar attracts ants, and I wanted none of his saliva.

He groaned as I pulled his n!pples, tearing off his sweaty shirt. He looked scared when I made him strip, yet stood there, c0ck in hand, watching me tease my clit. I didn’t care—Lord, I should have. His touch was a forbidden hymn, vibrating through my core. The choir’s voices masked my gasps as I pushed him to the floor. No need for foreplay; I was so h0rny I sank my pu$$y onto his hard c0ck, my wetness enveloping him, the slick heat clashing with the cool, musty air of the church. His c0ck throbbed inside me, a rhythm drowning out my stifled gasps.

I should have ridden harder with the hate in me, but his size made my pu$$y squelch and squeeze, desperate for space. He gripped my @ss, fingers digging into my flesh, pulling me down until I was full. His breath came in sharp, desperate pants, eyes locked on mine, burning with hunger that matched my own, urging me to ride harder. My juices poured like rain. Thrusting back, my brain felt filled with clouds or cocaine, turning me into a wild animal with one thought: to c*m, to c*m like my life depended on it.

I moved up and down, a cattle rancher seeking greener pastures, stroking my n!pples, teasing my clit. He came inside me, the final straw. I grabbed his throat, squeezing, wanting to kill him, but he thrust into me from behind. When I came, I couldn’t restrain my mouth. A shout erupted from my belly, squeezing out of my lungs like a living thing. I opened my eyes to people staring, no time to adjust.

Where not to have an 0rg@sm, a church should be first.

She looked at him with a smile. “Beg,” she said. “Beg, and I’ll consider.”

There was something in her voice, some tenderness buried in cruelty. She leaned closer, whispering, “You want this, don’t you?”

Was she insane? He was a man, not a boy to be toyed with. He wasn’t supposed to be here, breaking his vows. Did she think he was weak? He stood, chest puffed with bravado, ready to walk away from her insolence. But his knees buckled, his body betraying him. He sank to one knee, then the other, hands clasped like in prayer. The words slipped out, unbidden: “Please, let me sniff your panties.”

A smile curled her lips; she knew she’d won.

“Sit,” she commanded. She knew she’d won again, the world bending to her will. He obeyed, a hungry boy, a submissive deer ripe for her hunt. He wanted to be broken, and she knew it.

She dragged her gown up, revealing curvy hips bathed in moonlight, dipping toward her soft thighs. She slipped off her panties, handing them to him. He grabbed them with both hands, pressing them to his nose. The intoxicating aroma—musk and sweetness—filled his senses, surpassing any spice his mother ever cooked with. He chewed them, tongue and teeth savoring the fabric, desperate to taste her essence.

“Who’s a hungry boy?” Oma purred, getting closer with a glistening gap between her thighs.

“I am,” he sniffled, his mouth full of her panties.

She climbed onto the chair, straddling his face. Akpos couldn’t breathe; her juices ran down his nostrils, his mouth seeking the soft mound of her pu$$y, tender as fresh meat. He gulped every drop, his breaths short and ragged. Living didn’t matter—only her taste, her weight pressing down, her loud moans filling the room. She gyrated, riding his face like a reckless okada bike, pushing harder until he thought he’d pass out.

Then she paused, sliding down, grabbing his jaw. “You don’t know what you’re doing, you hungry boy,” she teased, her voice dripping with control.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered, and he did, plunging into darkness.

He heard the rustle of her gown, the soft thud as it hit the floor, and then her weight settled over him, her thighs brushing his hips. Her warmth hovered above him, teasing, until she lowered herself slowly, her slick heat enveloping the tip of his c0ck.

Akpos gasped, his hands clutching the chair as she paused, letting him feel the exquisite pressure of her entrance. “Relax,” she whispered, her voice a sultry purr, her breath hot against his ear as she sucked his n!pple, sending a shockwave through him.

Then, inch by torturous inch, she sank down, her walls gripping him, warm and pulsing, until he was fully sheathed inside her. The sensation was overwhelming—velvet heat, slick and tight, pulling at every nerve in his body.

Oma moved slowly at first, rocking her hips in a deliberate rhythm, her curves swaying in the moonlight, her br£asts brushing against his chest. Akpos’s hands found her waist, tentative at first, then gripping harder as she rode him, her movements growing faster, more insistent.

She leaned forward, her lips grazing his neck, whispering, “You’re mine now,” as she thrust down, meeting his desperate upward pushes.

He was breaking every vow he’d made, yet her moans made him feel like a god. Oma’s fingers dug into his shoulders, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure, as if his surrender was her true prize. “Good boy,” she murmured, and the words sent a shiver through him.

The pleasure was blinding, a crescendo of heat and friction, their bodies slick with sweat. Akpos felt the pressure building again, unstoppable, and when he came, it was with a shuddering cry, his release flooding deep inside her, her own moans echoing as she clenched around him, milking every drop.

The next thing he saw was flashlights, boots pounding against the cement floor. “Who’s there?” a gruff voice shouted. Akpos’s heart stopped as four security guards stormed the classroom, their beams pinning him like a trapped animal. Oma adjusted her gown, slipping into the shadows before the guards could reach her.

Akpos scrambled to cover himself, his newly deflowered body crashing to the cold floor, shame and adrenaline flooding his veins. He could still imagine the scent of her panties as they dragged him away, and he knew, despite the shame, he’d do it again.

Where not to have an 0rg@sm? An empty classroom shouldn’t be one.