Cece

He was always in the same place before mass, however, and you knew this well. As you lined up on your way into the modest church with the rest of the arriving congregation, your eyes were drawn right to his heavenly presence on the top step of the church, welcoming everyone alongside his family. His father, the loyal pastor, was already wearing his attire in preparation to deliver the morning’s mass, standing at the front of the line of his family and shaking everyone’s hands as they entered the church, greeting every family by name. His family members did the same, offering handshakes to each person and cheerful ‘good morning’s or similar polite comments, welcoming them into their church. 

You felt your heart in your throat as you ascended the stone steps at the front of the church, following behind your parents in your spring dress and short white heels, careful to not make too much of a fool of yourself. Out of necessity, you shook hands with the pastor’s wife, their daughter, and then their eldest son before you were faced with their youngest. 

George was wearing his usual black slacks and a perfectly ironed white button up that was fastened right up to the folded collar. His soft brown hair was brushed and styled just how he wore it every Sunday like a true image of God - perfect and polite in every way. He held his hand out to you, the light of the morning sun catching on the shiny black metal band around his ring finger, and his handsome face offered the same smile to you as he did to everyone else. 

“Good morning.” he spoke to you angelically, his voice rich and glorious. 

You set your soft hand in his and he gave it a gentle squeeze, the cool metal of his purity ring pressing into your palm. The shocking memory of how it felt against your pussy flashed behind your eyes and shot shivers up your spine.

Swallowing back your shutter without tearing your eyes away from his face, you replied sweetly, “Good morning.” 

His polite smile seemed to pull up a little higher in one corner as if he were trying to smother a forming smirk, and when he licked his lips and his eyes dropped to your outfit as your hands separated, you had to turn away quickly to avoid bursting into a blushing mess. 

His father then greeted you by name and a handshake of his own as if nothing was wrong in the world and you barely mustered a ‘good morning’ to him before rushing into the church after your parents without a look back. You didn't notice the way George’s eyes followed you for a moment. 

As always, George’s family sat in the front row of the church in a perfect little line up in the first pew. Often, the brothers would join their father at the altar to help out or do the readings for the congregation which gave you an excuse to stare at more than just the back of George’s head. He took his job as altar boy very seriously, always with this somber look on his face as he assisted his father or read from scripture into the microphone at the podium. It was in moments like these where you had initially grown your little crush on him, being able to watch from a safe distance as the handsome and soulful young man catered to the Lord’s house like it was an honour. An easy bonus was that he looked so effortlessly good while doing so. 

Once the offering had been blessed and the organ player began, George, his father, and his siblings each took a brass bowl and made their way to their spots along the front of the altar for communion. The congregation got up one row at a time and equally spread themselves between the four lines to receive the blessing. George and his father often took the main aisle while the older two siblings took the sides and usually you would have single handedly avoided George’s row at all cost but there was something that pulled your feet towards him this day. Maybe it was a sense of bravery that came from your salacious rendezvous on Tuesday and the fact that he had seen more of you than anyone had in your life up to that point or maybe it was just the insufferable lust that had grown tenfold for him since. Regardless, you waited in the line behind the rest of the congregation, in front of your mother, with your hands folded politely in front of your modest dress. 

Before you knew it, you were standing face to face with George once more. He lifted one of the circular wafers from the brass bowl in his hand and, like always, announced quietly, “The body of Christ.” 

You were transfixed on him and the way he stared at you with that serious expression and you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue just the slightest amount. Some people chose to receive communion this way so it wasn’t totally odd but the little crack in George’s solemn exterior that came with the prick of a smirk almost gave the true meaning behind your action away. He gently placed the wafer on your tongue, lingering his thumb there a moment longer, just enough for you to dust your lips over his warm fingertip as you closed your mouth, teasing him with a stain of your lip gloss. 

Then, you bent at the knees in front of him in the routine way, doing the sign of the cross, and before you straightened up again, you looked back up at his face. He was so obviously staring, right down his nose at you, shoulders squared and formal, that you were sure if there was no one around he would have said something—yet alone done something—to counter your teasing, but he was silent. 

You rose up again, kept his eye contact, and whispered, “Amen.” 

Then you looped back around to follow your line back to your pew, leaving him to finish his holy work. 

That Sunday, the church was running their monthly pancake breakfast after mass in the basement hall which meant George was going to stay occupied for a while longer. That was fine with you as part of you was still entirely nervous to face him outside of your reassured safety that the company of the congregation and your families brought. You figured you didn’t really need to talk to him anyway and maybe keeping your distance was better. You didn’t want to risk going against the Lord anymore. 

That concept only lasted so long until the usual mothers and grandmothers of the congregation were taking it upon themselves to try and play matchmaker for their young ladies. You sat at one of the round tables with your parents, eating room temperature pancakes off paper plates and cheap plastic table cloths, watching George talking politely with a grandmother and her granddaughter. 

The girl was in the church’s Sunday school uniform - the same one you were wearing last Tuesday - and George had that angelic smile of his on his face as he humoured the grandmother with conversation and feigned interest in the girl’s traits. It wasn’t new that every parent in town wanted their daughter to end up with the pastor’s youngest and last available son and it felt almost like a race to the finish line at times. You rolled your eyes and sipped your watered down orange juice. 

Your mother, noting your isolation while the other young adults from the church were mingling at a table of their own, leaned towards you to ask gently, “Have you spoken to Pastor Steven’s son at all?”

You flinched at her question, your defences immediately going up in fear, but her calm expression was that of innocence so you took a breath. You answered calmly behind a tight smile as you set your styrofoam cup down, “Uh, not really.”

“You should! He’s a very nice young man. So Godly too. He could be a good example for you.” she sent you one of those cheeky smiles that mom’s always gave when they thought they were being sneaky and cute. 

You shifted in your chair, “It’s fine.”

“Go say hello.” she gave you a gentle nudge, “Tell him his reading today was so moving. Tell him I said that, if you want.”

Anything to get away from your prying parents and to keep the grandmothers away from George, you got up from your spot and headed towards the buffet table. George was there with his sister, tending to the food spread while she refilled the juice pitchers. A little boy no more than seven-years-old was holding out his plate in two small hands and George served him a pancake with the metal tongs. 

With a toothless grin, the little boy said, “Thank you, mister George.”

George just smiled that warm glow of his and ruffled the boy’s hair, “If you want some extra syrup just come let me know.”

Then the little boy bounded back to his parents. 

George stood up straighter and set the tongs back on the serving platter, not noticing you there at first as you lingered a few paces away. Why were you so nervous? You almost backed away silently and disappeared again but then he caught a glimpse of you. 

“Hey.” he said casually, his blue eyes nearly shining. 

“Hi.” you stepped towards him.

“Want more pancakes?” he asked. 

“No thanks.” you shrugged, “I just…my mom wanted me to come tell you that your reading today was ‘very moving’. Her words.” 

“Well, that’s very kind.” he briefly set his hand over his heart, “Tell her thank you.”

This persona he was showing was so different from the young man below the surface that you were witness to on the previous Tuesday. This was the God-loving angel boy that your whole community knew and loved; always so gentle and patient and polite and never with a foot out of line. If only they knew the positions he had bent you in and the words he spoke down upon you while you were crying for him and shaking with pleasure. Some of those grandmother’s would have heart attacks at the mere thought. 

You cleared your throat and shifted your weight, not quite knowing what to say. Before Tuesday, you hadn’t even really spoken to him at all and certainly not since. It was a weird purgatory you found yourself floating in. 

George, as personable as he was, easily took the lead of the conversation, “What did you think of the reading?”

“Oh,” you held your hands together behind your back, “it was good.”

“Good, huh? What was your favourite part?”

You chuckled breathily, nervously, especially as he took a half step closer towards you, “I couldn’t pick just one.”

George’s little smile appeared innocent to any possible on-lookers but you could see the glint in his eye, “You don’t remember a thing that was read, do you?”

You shook your head ever so slightly. 

“Mind’s elsewhere, angel?” he asked with a cock of his head, still with that stupid sweet grin on his face. 

“Shut up.” you mumbled as you looked to the ground. 

“You know,” he took another step towards you, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot this week.”

Your breath shuttered for a moment. He glanced over the church hall to make sure everyone was busy, his sister having disappeared into the kitchenette for more juice. 

George looked back at you and discreetly linked his finger in yours, speaking ever so quietly, “Could only think of you and that fucking perfect pussy of yours every time I had a wank.” 

Your head lifted quickly to look him in the eye again, eyebrows furrowing at his blunt confession. You swore he smiled wider as if he were enjoying how his very public words were having such an effect on you without even really trying. 

“How you’ve been, angel?” he asked like he hadn’t just said that last comment, giving your hand a tiny tug. “Keeping out of trouble?”

“No.” you answered quietly, letting the worry tumble from your lips in a breathy, “You said it would cure me and it didn’t.”

George licked his lips as if he were struggling to hold back that smirk of his again, “Wanna go somewhere to talk?”

You nodded. 

He took his hand away from yours and set it against your back gently as you turned around and he guided you away from the buffet table and towards the double doors that led to the stairwell at the back of the church. You both took the flight of stairs up to the main floor, the click of your dress shoes echoing over the walls as you left the bustling pancake breakfast behind. 

“Will they wonder where you are?” you asked worriedly, voice quiet as if you could be overheard. As if sneaking away to talk was a sin in itself. 

“No, we’re fine.” George assured you.

He led you back into the empty church and over to the first pew and you sat down together in the spot that was usually only reserved for his family. You sat with your knees together and your hands folded on your lap while George, out of the public eye now, allowed himself to relax back against the wood pew and he slung his arm around the back of it where you sat. 

“Talk to me.” he coaxed. 

“You said it would cure me.” you whispered, “The…things we did on Tuesday? You said that doing that and then confessing would rid all those…nasty thoughts from my head but it hasn’t.”

George cocked his head to the side in intrigue, “It hasn’t?”

You spoke to your hands on your lap, confessing to him outside the confines of the booth, “I’ve touched myself too. Lots. Just like you showed me.”

“Mhm?” George sat up a little straighter to get slightly closer to you, “How often did you touch yourself?”

“Like…” you hesitated. 

He tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, melting your heart into his hands. 

“Every night.” you finally answered. 

“Mhm?” George stroked your cheek with the back of his hand, “And what did you think about while you did that?”

“You.” you mumbled, “You and everything we did on Tuesday. You said it was supposed to cure me but it hasn’t. It’s just been worse.”

“Oh, my dove,” George tisked softly, guiding your eyes to his by a gentle hand on your chin, “the things we did on Tuesday did cure your salacious thoughts and that annoying little ache you had but it’s not a permanent cure.”

“It’s not?”

“When you touch yourself,” he asked, “did you make yourself cum?”

You tried to look away in embarrassment and shame but his hand caught your cheeks to hold you in place, his eyebrows raising expectantly. 

“Yeah.” you breathed after a second, staring into his eyes.

“And did those thoughts go away? Did that pesky little ache go away?”

You shook your head, frustrated tears brimming in your eyes, “No.”

George’s eyes widened in slight surprise, “No? Not at all?”

You reached out to set your hand against his chest, desperate to feel his warm handsome body under your touch, rambling to him hurriedly, “It just made me want you so much more. It even made me cry sometimes because I just wished it was you touching me again instead. I don’t know what to do!”

“Then I have to take responsibility of you, angel.” George pulled your hand up to rest it higher against his chest, right over his heart, “If the only way your sinful thoughts go away is after I rid them for you, then that’s what we must do.”

You couldn’t deny the leap in your chest at his offer, staring at the way he held your hand over his heart, that black ring standing out against his soft skin. His thumb rubbed over your knuckles, his gorgeous blue eyes staring at your face and awaiting your response. The church was silent around you, empty. You swore your heartbeat was going to be echoing off the walls any moment. 

“Okay.” you breathed, barely able to recognize your own voice. You pulled your hand away from his to slide up his chest and around the side of his neck and into the back of his soft brown hair, pulling him towards you until your noses brushed. 

George stopped just enough to ask, his breath falling against your cheek, “You promise to come to me and only me when you have those dirty thoughts, angel?”

“Yes, sir.” you purred, “Only you.”

He let that smothered smirk finally bless his lips, “Good girl.”

The urgency with which you kissed him was almost pathetic, landing off-centered in your haste but George guided your mouth onto his properly into the next kiss and, with the third, your lips slotted together effortlessly. You audibly whimpered into his kiss, tugging at the back of his neck like you wanted him impossibly closer, sharing open mouthed kisses in the safety of the wide open church. 

George’s hand rested heavily on your thigh and he gave you a squeeze over the fabric of your dress, his head tilting slightly to deepen your kiss and his tongue slid over your lips teasingly. You gladly opened up for him, welcoming his tongue in your mouth and against your own with a soft moan, eyes shut as tightly as you could bear it as if this whole thing was a dream. George’s other hand slid over the side of your neck and his thumb pressed under your jaw to guide you through your kisses until you were falling into the rhythm of it once more. 

Despite Tuesday’s escapades, you were still incredibly inexperienced and the simple concept of him kissing you with tongue had your heart racing in your chest and your stomach filling with butterflies. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders to hold him close while your tongue tasted his hungrily, still sharing the faint flavour of maple syrup and watered down orange juice. You giggled softly into his mouth and took what you wanted from his lips and your tongue-led kisses, sharing more spit than what would be normally deemed appropriate. 

Then, his hand was drifting farther around your neck and tangling itself in the back of your hair with a firm grip that was just enough for him to pull your head back slightly and break your kiss. You grunted softly to the arched ceilings and his lips attached themselves to your neck, licking and kissing over your soft skin that smelt of your sweet floral perfume. He was careful not to leave marks; knowing better when you both would have to return to that pancake breakfast afterwards. But he showed his possession over you by his hand in your hair and the way he gripped you in place. 

You moaned sweetly, eyes struggling to stay open, and your hands rested on his shoulders dumbly, letting him have you how he wanted. You missed him so badly that even this was enough to give you what you wanted. But, after only a few short minutes of making out, you were pulling away from him with a soft sigh and you sat back slightly to tuck your hair behind your ears as his hand fell away. 

“What is it?” he asked, rubbing his hand up and down your thigh while his other arm draped over the back of the pew again. 

“We can’t do this here.” you giggled. 

“Why not?”

You sent him a pointed look like it was obvious, “Everyone’s downstairs.”

“They’re busy. Besides, everyone will be leaving out the back door from the hall anyway. They won’t come up here.” George promised and leaned in to kiss at your neck again. 

You shivered and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip to smother your grin before reminding him, “This is the church though.”

“It is.” he acknowledged against your neck, nipping at your earlobe. 

“God is watching.” you whispered. 

“God was also watching when I fucked the shit outta you on Tuesday. What difference does it make?”

“Mm.” you hummed in agreement. “True.”

“And I just wanna help my perfect little dove get rid of that pesky ache.” he cooed against the shell of your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your neck while his hand teased under the hem of your knee-length dress and over your inner thigh. 

You smiled bashfully and leaned your head back to nudge your lips against his for a brief kiss and then he gave you another before pulling away with a bite to your bottom lip. 

“You remember what we start with?” he caressed your cheek, “I need you to get on your knees for me.”

You glanced over to the doors that led to the back of the church where the entire congregation was cluelessly enjoying their pancake breakfast a floor below you, and with a burst of trust towards the young man on your left, you slid off the pew and onto the floor in front of him. Five whole days of you silently and torturously dreaming about his dick made it easy for you to make the decision to obey him. George spread his legs slightly to give you just enough space to kneel between and his hands popped the button on his slacks and you watched with eager eyes as he pushed down the small zipper. 

“Can I?” you asked as you slid your hands up his thighs, your request even taking you by surprise.

“Of course.” he nodded you on and draped his arms over the back of the pew to let you take over. 

You pulled open the fly of his pants a little more and slid your hand over the front for your first feel over the fabric of his underwear and the seam of his slacks. The shape of the obvious bulge could be traced by the palm of your hand and you licked your lips as you touched him testingly a little more before reaching for the waistband of his briefs. They were pulled down next, just far enough for you to reach in and guide his dick out by your gentle hand. 

He was already somewhat hard but when you wrapped your soft fingers around him and rose up on your knees to lean over his lap and dribble a string of spit onto the head, you could feel him starting to stiffen more with every slow stroke. You tucked your hair behind your ears with your one free hand while your right kept those gentle pumps going, slicking him up in your spit without tearing your eyes away from his large cock in your dainty hand. Part of you even wondered how you had managed to take it all on Tuesday. Part of you just wanted to try it again. 

“Open your mouth, angel.” he ordered. 

You let your jaw fall slack and your tongue slipped past your lips, having already learned so much from his generous teachings to you from Tuesday. George reached down and set one hand on the back of your neck and with the other, he took his cock from your hand so he could slap it against your tongue. You whimpered softly in surprise, eyebrows furrowed, staying perfectly still as the filthy wet slap of his heavy dick on your tongue sent your skin burning. 

But then you were grabbing his wrist to stop him and you pushed his hand off to take over yourself, rubbing the underside of his cock with your tongue back and forth a few times before you were wrapping your lips around it. George groaned faintly, resting back against the pew, and he watched you carefully with his hand in the back of your hair as you sucked sweetly on the head of his dick before finally taking him deeper in your mouth. 

“Yeah.” he exhaled, licking his lips and biting the bottom one as he watched you unwaveringly under furrowed brows as you bobbed your head into his lap, “Such a quick study, angel. Such a good girl.”

You carefully held the zip of his pants out of the way with one hand while your other worked in time with your mouth, driven out of instinct. He was so thick in your unfamiliar mouth that your jaw was starting to cramp a little but the way he made you drool forced you to ignore the ache. He had taught you that any pain was just there to be a reminder of your sin. You deserved it. You were lucky you had him to help you repent. 

George’s hand on the back of your head followed your shallow motions with ease and soon he was pulling a little harder at your head to get you to take him deeper. You gagged around him, the sound echoing through the empty church, and he shushed you sweetly. 

“You can take it.” he said angelically. 

Your hand twisted around the base of his cock a little stronger as you forced yourself faster, your wet mouth drooling down his cock and over your fingers just enough to create that lewd slick sound with every stroke. He tasted so good that you had to close your eyes with a moan, savouring him gladly like your forbidden fruit. 

“There we go. My perfect little cocksucker.” 

With your face in his lap, you could imagine yourself anywhere, and you convinced yourself you weren’t currently in God’s house doing horribly sinful things. Despite the way you had to imagine yourself elsewhere, you certainly didn’t want to imagine stopping. He was far too delicious for that. You gagged steadily with each stroke as if to remind him just how big he was - or how small your inexperienced mouth and throat felt around him - and the spacious church held your secret in silence. 

George’s head lolled back a little so he could peer up at the peaked rafters of his father’s church, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his one hand tightening on the polished wood back of the pew he found himself on while his other hand kept tugging your mouth down on his cock. His breaths seemed to be falling in good time with the bobs of your head, his handsome cheeks dusted faint pink with pleasure and sinful lust. You could feel the eyes of the Lord over your shoulder, watching you take the son of your pastor in your mouth like this, down your throat, drooling for him in the most obscene ways. 

“Okay, angel.” George exhaled, and his hand tangled in your hair to gently guide you off his dick.

You wiped your mouth daintily with the back of your hand, “Yes, sir?”

George unbuttoned the top few buttons of his collared shirt, revealing his silver cross necklace resting against his chest - the same one you had gripped between your teeth on Tuesday while he fucked you into his bed. He nodded his head towards the altar, “Get up there.”

You glanced over your shoulder to the altar that had just finished hosting Sunday mass and then you looked back up at George from your knees between his legs, “Am…I allowed?”

George peaked an eyebrow at you, “Funny thing to be asking permission for, angel, given that you just sucked my cock in church.” 

Lowering your head in shame, you slid your hands off his thighs and they fell softly onto your lap. George reached down and took your chin in his hand, guiding your face up to look at him again. 

“We gotta be able to stand before God and show Him how dedicated to your cure we are, my sweet dove.” George purred, stroking his thumb across your cheek. “What better way than right here? Offering our dedication to Him at the altar.”

“Yes, sir.” you exhaled, hypnotized by those brilliant blue eyes, barely even flinching when he slipped his thumb in your mouth. 

He let you suck on it haphazardly for a second before telling you again, “Get up and bend yourself over that table for me, angel.”

You lifted off the ground like second nature, getting to your feet while his thumb pulled from your mouth with a wet pop, leaving him sitting slouched back on the pew while you turned to face the front of the church. The lights were off and the candles were blown out since mass had concluded and there was no one around, only the main lights above the aisle of the church left on like they always were, allowing the morning sunlight through the stained glass windows to sparkle colourful shapes and shadows across the worn wood floors. You took a few short steps to the foot of the altar and then stopped, hesitating. 

Out of natural religious etiquette that you had been well raised to, you bent down into a curtsy like you did when receiving communion and offered the sign of the cross to the empty altar and the large crucifix of Christ that hung alongside tapestries on the rear wall. You then permitted yourself to take the four steps up in front of the church and you turned back around to face the rows upon rows of empty pews. George stood from the front row and followed you slowly with a proud little smirk on his face, his pants still unzipped and his dick still out, and when he took the stairs, it bobbed faintly in the air with how incredibly hard it was. 

You kept your eyes on him as you walked around the large communion table, dragging your gentle fingertips over the white linen tablecloth that covered it, gazing upon God’s most magnificent creation. George followed behind you until you were both standing behind the table and you habitually slumped forward onto your forearms without taking your eyes off his. 

“Good girl.” he breathed, slowly trailing his fingers up your thigh to ride up the skirt of your dress, leaving shivers over your flesh in their wake. “How much are you aching for me to touch you right now?”

“More than ever.” you mumbled, discreetly nudging your ass back against his hand to try and get him where you wanted him, “I need you so bad, sir.”

“Mhm?” George drifted behind you and he pressed his body against yours so you were pushed farther forward over the table until the thick stone edge was pressing into your stomach and you could feel his dick against your ass. “I gotta admit, angel, when I was up here today, all I could see in the crowd of faces was you.”

His hands rubbed up your back and you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, your inhale shutting in your chest as his fingers ghosted over the sides of your neck before brushing through your hair. George leaned over you a little more so his lips dusted over the shell of your ear and his hard cock ground against the curve of your ass, his breath falling against your neck warmly. 

“The last time I saw you, you were crying beautiful tears of pleasure and dripping cum all over my bedroom floor…wasn’t easy to not think about that when you showed up today. You played innocent so perfectly, my sweet little dove.” he cooed, nipping at your earlobe, hands kneading your hips, “In your cute little dress and little hairbow…singing with the congregation such beautiful hymns that would have made God cry with how angelic your voice sounded. I could so easily pick you out of a crowd of thousands.” 

“George.” you breathed, eyes struggling to stay open with how the heat burned across your skin and deep within you. You turned your head back slightly to try and kiss him but he kept away just far enough that your lips could only dust across his jaw. 

His fingers lazily slid down your front and over the fabric of your panties, making you flinch at the first graze of his fingertips over your clothed clit. He hummed lowly as he slid lower, pressing against the thick wet spot nestled between your legs, before he continued tauntingly against your ear, “So fucking wet. Physical proof of those disgusting little thoughts of yours…proof of your lust…your sin.”

You whimpered faintly, trying to kiss him again but only getting his jaw as he teased you cruelly. With his one hand rubbing painfully slowly over your panties, his other dropped behind you to slowly link his finger in the fabric and he carefully tugged them to the side. 

“Shame you weren’t listening to my reading today.” he told you. “It was all about greed…about wanting something so badly it drives you insane. You might have learned something…instead of getting in that pretty little head of yours and wishing I’d just shut up and pull you up here and fuck you in front of the whole congregation.” 

“Oh my gosh.” you exhaled, folding your hands together tightly on the table you were bent over, staring out across the rows upon rows of empty pews that had once been filled by your entire community. 

“Mhm?” George worked behind you to angle the head of his cock between your full cheeks before he was spreading you open and dropping a thick string of spit down onto the both of you. He slid his dick down between your pussy lips and back and forth a few times before nudging it against your asshole, “Is this what you were imagining, angel?”

Your fingers wrapped over the front edge of the communion table with a soft shuttering inhale in anticipation, “Uh huh-”

“Yeah? Are you gonna pray for it?”

Your hesitation had his left hand reaching up to grab your hair in his fist and he yanked your head back so you were forced to look out across the church and almost towards the ceiling. 

“He’s listening.” 

“Please, God.” you whimpered. “Please rid these horrible thoughts from my mind. I will do anything. Please, dear Heavenly Father.”

George stepped a bit closer to you, guiding his cock slowly into your ass from the natural lubrication of your cunt and his spit but the friction still burned and you let out a sharp cry that echoed through the church. He reached his hand up to press over your mouth with a gentle hush as he eased deeper inside you and dribbled more spit between your cheeks. He gave you a few shallow thrusts to stretch you out to take his sizable girth and the tears that pricked the corners of your eyes burned. 

The soft white tablecloth was bunched into your fists as he pushed himself all the way inside you until he was as deep as he could go and you could feel the open fly of his slacks pressed against the backs of your thighs. Your eyelashes fluttered as your eyes rolled shut, finally feeling filled by him after almost a week of torturous lustful cravings that had been going unfulfilled. It hurt but you knew that was your penance; that once he got going, that pain was going to melt into the most euphoric pleasure you had ever felt in your life. 

George’s large hands shoved your dress up a little higher and he bunched the fabric in his fists while simultaneously holding onto your doughy hips, keeping you right where he wanted you as he eased out of you almost all the way before sinking back in as deep as he could go. Your withering moan was uncontrollable and he repeated that action just to hear you do it again. Then he was starting to speed up a little more in the risky location you found yourselves in and you slumped yourself forward over the table until your chest was pressed right to the top. 

“Good girl.” George praised handsomely, his voice tight with pleasure, “You take it like such a good little whore, I can’t get over it.” 

“It hurts.” you whimpered, pulling the fisted fabric of the tablecloth to your mouth to try and smother your shaky cries. 

George’s thumbs pulled at your cheeks to spread you open a little more so he could drop some more spit on you, staring lustfully at how your snug muscles clutched the shaft of his dick mercilessly. His jaw clenched and he let out a stifled grunt as he started to thrust into you again, finding a lazy pace with his hands holding you securely right over the table. 

“Oh-” you whined, dropping your head forward onto your arm. 

“That’s my good girl.” George cooed, brushing your hair over one shoulder so he could see you, “Gonna get those pesky little thoughts out of that pretty head of yours, hm?”

“Please, sir.” you exhaled. 

“Gotta be quick with this one, okay, angel?” George’s voice was quiet to keep from echoing through the empty church in fear of giving you away. “Remember how I taught you to touch yourself? Can you do that for me right now?”

You slowly let go of the tablecloth with your right hand so you could shift it down underneath you and right between your legs. Eyes wide and staring out towards the stained glass windows that lined the church, you touched yourself testingly, feeling how stretched your body was to accommodate him inside you and how soaked your pussy was getting despite how empty it was. Your fingers swiped up some of that dripping wetness before rubbing slowly at your aching clit which had your muscles pulsing around him. 

“Good fucking girl.” George groaned, reaching his hand around to grab you by the throat as he thrusted into you faster, “Keep rubbing that for me, angel.”

“F-Fuck.” you squeaked quietly. 

“That’s it.” he huffed, using his free hand to grope the flesh of your ass to keep you spread, the lewd slap of his skin against yours muffled the slightest amount by the fabric of his slacks. “Don’t hold anything back.” 

“Oh my God.” you swore, cheeks red with shame as you were forced to stare out at your church as he took you over the communion table. The blessed sacrament of him and you. 

You were a panting mess, heaving for breath with the sensations of pain and pleasure that tore through you, your legs starting to quiver in your kitten heels against the worn wood floor of the altar. George spanked your ass hard without missing a beat, the sound echoing through the church quickly followed by your shriek. 

George’s hand smacked over your mouth, holding by your mouth and your throat to keep your head back as he leaned you right up against the table until the edge was certainly leaving a mark across your hips and abdomen. Despite the way he smothered your trembling moans and hushed you right up against your ear, you kept rubbing at your clit with that powerful feeling of need that had filled you throughout the past week since seeing him last. You just needed to cum and now, in that moment, you knew you would finally get the proper fulfilment that you had been craving. 

“Dirty fucking sinner.” George growled against your ear, “Wants my cock so bad she’ll bend over anywhere for it…anything to let me fuck the devil from your body.” 

“Yeah.” you mumbled into his palm, “Please, sir. Please, please, please, please.”

“You’re so fucking lucky sodomy isn’t a sin, angel. You’re so fucking lucky you can take it up the ass like this like such a good little slut.” 

Your whimpers were growing louder against his hand, your body shuttering underneath him, and you tried to fuck yourself back on him desperately. Without a word, he could tell you were close and he kept his pace going, fucking you harder over the table with your fingers tugging at your clit faster and faster. His hand squeezed tighter around your throat and he pulled your head back so he could speak right against your ear, 

“Fucking cum for me, my little dove. Let the salvation wash right through you and cleanse you of sin through pleasure.”

With his permission, you were shuttering with what you swore was the presence of God, feeling the unprecedented relief coarse through you with the onset of your orgasm and an honest smile came to your face. Your fingers stretched over the tablecloth and around the edge of the table like starfish, reaching out for heaven itself, and you moaned so angelically that George swore no choir could replicate how beautiful you sounded. 

“Gonna let me cum in your ass, angel?” George asked lowly. 

“Yes, please!” you sobbed pleasurably. 

He shoved hard into you with a tight grunt, thrusting you forward against the stone table, and you could feel his cock twitch deep inside you before he was filling you up with warm thick spurts that had your head spinning. You clutched the edge of the table you were bent over, gaping down to the tablecloth as he took his hands back to hold your hips and keep your dress out of the way. He pulled back before thrusting into hard again, making sure you got every last bit of him just to make it count and then he was spanking you across your blushing pink ass again and pulling out. 

You whimpered at the aching emptiness and he tucked your panties back into place and dropped your dress back around your knees, giving your hips a tender squeeze and he leaned over you to kiss your neck. You sighed breathlessly and pushed yourself up onto your forearms and then your hands against the tabletop so you could look back at him and you guided his lips to yours for a few greedy off-centered kisses. 

“How’s that?” he asked you. 

“So good.” you confessed shyly. 

“Is that ache gone?”

You stood up straighter and turned around to face him so you could rest yourself back against the table, smiling at him dreamily as your arms draped around his shoulders, “Mhm.”

“I’m glad.” George set his hands on the table edge on either side of you and stepped up close so he could brush his nose against yours and you both opened up to lock your lips in a slow salacious kiss. When you separated, George asked you quietly, “Have you gone to confession since Tuesday?”

“No.” you admitted softly. 

“Bad girl.” he tisked. 

You looked down in shame despite your arms still around his neck. 

He set a finger under your chin to guide your eyes back up to his, “It’s okay. Go tomorrow morning, first thing. Make sure you uphold your penance. Whatever Father tells you, right?”

“Yes, sir.” you whispered. 

He leaned in to kiss you again, lingering on your lips until you swore your knees turned to jelly. You had to pull away with a bashful grin and you hid your smile against your cheek while he stayed nice and close even as he tucked himself back in his underwear and buttoned his pants and his shirt back up. 

Running your hands down his shoulders and his chest, you spoke to his lips softly, “We can do this again, right?”

“That’s what I said, angel.” George nodded, straightening out your dress for you, “Whenever you can’t get rid of that ache, come right to me. And only to me.” 

You slid your arms around his waist and leaned in to kiss him through your smile. 

“Our little secret, okay?” he said against your mouth, raising his hands to the side of your neck as you took selfish kisses from his lips. 

“Mhm.”

“And weekly confessional at a minimum.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good girl.” George pinched your waist, “Now let’s go back downstairs before they come looking for us.”

You both took a second to make sure you looked somewhat tidy before walking side by side back down the rear stairs of the church towards the basement hall. You could feel the essence of him leaking out of you with each step and once you reached flat ground, you took smaller strides to try and keep it inside the best you could. It was thrilling. 

When the two of you entered the hall again, you found that some of the guests had gone by then but there was still a good amount of people eating and mingling and the children were still running around and making the most of their little Sunday morning sugar high. Your parents and George’s parents were talking with another couple at one of the tables and you made your way over to them, trying to keep yourself looking discreet. 

“There they are!” his mother greeted. 

“Where have you been?” your father asked, before following it up with a little lighthearted joke, “We were getting ready to send out a search party!”

“We just went to talk.” George said with that angelic smile of his, twisting the truth effortlessly, “Little discussion about today’s readings and how to better connect to God.”

Your mother sent you a little wink, “Oh, that’s so nice.”

George glanced over at you and you exchanged casual smiles and you tried not to let the obvious flush of your cheeks show. But then he pulled out his phone from his back pocket and he unlocked it before holding it out to you, “Here, why don’t you give me your number and we can connect and meet up to study and have some more discussions? It was really nice getting so deep with you.”

He said it so casually, so calmly, but the twinkle in his eye was apparent only to you that he was insinuating exactly what you thought he was insinuating. So while your parents shared approving compliments about your shared dedication to God and the nearby grandmothers looked on in near horror that it wasn’t their granddaughters exchanging numbers with the pastor’s youngest son, you typed your number into his phone and passed it back. 

“Thank you.” you said to him, your fingers brushing as he took his phone back from you, “I am indebted to you for all your help.”

“Now, now.” George chuckled bashfully, “No need to thank me. It’s my pleasure.” 

And then his arm was around your shoulders and he pulled you in for a modest side hug that was over almost as quickly as it began under the clueless and watchful eyes of your parents. 

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

It was no surprise that you found yourself slowly falling for him over the years as you grew into your late teenage years and into your early twenties together. You weren’t friends and honestly you hardly spoke to him but the stories that your mind created certainly seemed to make up for that missing piece. 

He sat in the front row of the church every Sunday with his mother and his siblings as his father addressed the congregation and read the scripture. Despite the stories and prayers that filled the agenda, your eyes would be locked on the back of the youngest son’s head more intently than anything else. George paid close attention to each prayer, delivered each response effortlessly, and always took his spot on the altar to help his father with the blessing of the sacrament. He was perfection and you swore he himself had a shiny yellow ring of light hovered above his head at every given moment, just like the statue of Jesus hanging on the crucifix behind the altar. He was heavenly. 

As a devout Christian, you took the word of the Lord seriously, and more so once your little infatuation with the pastor’s son only grew - you did want to impress him after all. With nightly prayers and a chapter of the bible before bed, you were sure to soak in each word into your memory and it filled your chest with warmth and spirit. 

But it was only a matter of time before your mind started to drift from the words on the pages of the bible in front of you and formed thoughts that you were not proud of. It was a downhill slope from that first night you happened to think a little too hard about the way George’s shirt hugged his torso at the community volunteer afternoon. Your hands nearly itched with desire to take it off him in front of everyone although alone in your room that night, you had the privacy of only your conscience. And God. 

They only got worse day by day, to the point where sitting in a stuffy church listening to Pastor Steve drone on was the breaking point. George caught your attention again, sitting perfectly in the front row of the congregation with his fluffy brown hair styled neatly and his button up ironed free of any creases. You just wanted to rip the buttons off and get him out of it, feel him breathing air into your lungs from his supple pink lips pushed with yours, and straddle his lap with your skirt hiked up until you could feel his-

“Amen.”

The chorus of the church goers around you startled you shamefully out of your thoughts. George, eight pews ahead of you, stood from his spot and walked up to the altar to kneel on the bottom step as if to show off to you how his slacks hugged his bum favourably. He then performed the sign of the cross before ascending the few steps to assist his father with the offering like every Sunday. His hair was a bit longer now and was swooped back from his forehead in light brown waves that almost never moved out of place. The expression on his face was solemn and professional as he worked quietly. 

You were sure you were the apple in the garden of Eden, poisoned by the Devil, as you imagined George bending you over the altar and that white linen tablecloth embroidered with crosses. You may have felt poisoned with sin, although George was undoubtedly your forbidden fruit. He was tempting and you were convinced this was God testing you and your devotion. 

Purity was of vital importance after all. 

You couldn’t believe the thoughts that flashed through your mind despite the promise of abstinence you had made from the moment of your first communion more than a decade earlier. Sex was to be between you and your husband, married in the church and under God, not between you and the pastor’s son. 

You couldn’t book a confessional soon enough. 

Your time was on a Wednesday afternoon with one of the secondary priests from the church which meant you had to endure three full days of sinful thoughts that seemed to have made a comfortable home in your mind. It pushed a strong warm ache between your legs, a feeling you had never experienced before, and you laid flat out on your bed each night and stared at the ceiling as you let the sensations overtake you to the thoughts of George and every gorgeous part of him. 

Touching yourself was a sin - that fact had been engraved into you from a young age even if you didn’t know what it meant at first. Yet, laying on your bed with the images of what George looked like under his Sunday best had your hand shyly slipping down your body. You were going to confessional the next day after all which would undo anything you subjected yourself to before that. Right? 

You were sure he could treat you so well. He was nothing less than an absolute gentleman after all and your heart raced at the thought of him taking your virginity and making sweet passionate love to you right in your very bed. All you could get yourself to do was cup your hand over the front of your panties, squeezing your thighs together to the thought of him in their place. George was a good boy...an angelic young man...and the flush of your face only rose with guilt at the thought of you wanting to deflower him as he did you. It was so terribly wrong and so terribly sinful but you craved nothing more than all of him. 

You went to sleep unfulfilled; too shameful to really even do anything to yourself apart from thinking about what he was hiding under those pressed slacks of his well into your dreams. 

The church was nearly silent when you arrived for your confessional the next morning and you could hardly make your way across the wood floors quick enough, desperate to repent the sins that had weaseled into your consciousness over the last few weeks. The empty hall echoed the click of your heels against the flooring as you hurried along the side wall towards the two thin doors. One was under the small illuminated light indicating the priest was on the other side waiting for your arrival. You slunk through your door and closed it behind you to take your seat in the cramped and dimly lit confessional booth, smoothing your knee length plaid skirt around you. 

There was only silence and the lingering scent of some sort of blessing you were sure but you hurriedly clasped your hands together, took a deep breath, did the sign of the cross, and spoke as strongly as you could, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

There was a pause before the priest responded plainly, “Explain.” 

“I have had terrible thoughts this last week or so. Terrible, disgusting thoughts. I am so ashamed of myself and I don’t know how to stop them.” you rushed out, trying not to stare at the dark coloured metal mesh screen that separated you. You could only see his shadow on the other side in the dim lighting of the confessional booth. 

“What thoughts?”

His voice was calm and serene, sounding as if you were speaking to God Himself right then and there. You let yourself trust in the man on the other side. He was there to help you after all. Your hands wrung together on your lap as you tried to piece together the descriptions of your sins without being too vile. 

“My mind has been constantly wandering to impure thoughts of Pastor Steve’s youngest son. They’ve only been getting worse and worse and...they’ve been appearing in my dreams. I have been trying to turn away the obvious temptation of the Devil but, my goodness, I don’t think I can anymore.”

“What thoughts? Explain them.”

“I...don’t know.”

The pause that lingered in the stuffy wood panelled booth seemed to urge the answers out on your own accord without any more prompting,

“I’ve been dreaming of him taking me to bed outside of wedlock.” you spoke softly, staring at your hands folded neatly on your lap as you spilled your confession through the screen, “Or even...taking me right here in this church after Sunday mass...tainting the blessedness of the altar or the pews and filling the church with our moans until-”

You cut yourself off as soon as you realized your tangent had started to stray back to more filth than confession. 

“Until the Lord could hear you in Heaven?” he spoke from the other side. 

“Yes.” you breathed, bowing your head in near shame. Your heart was racing in your chest and you rubbed your palms against the material of your skirt. “It sounds so wrong yet somehow...it makes me feel so good.”

“Have you touched yourself?”

The question from the other side of the screen was blunt and your cheeks flushed in near shameful embarrassment, “No. I managed to avoid that temptation for the most part although it seemed to be difficult. Father, I’m sure the Devil has tried to sway me from God and I am frightened as to what I will become if this goes on any longer.”

“You cannot avoid your urges.” he spoke seriously.

“But it’s sinful-”

“That’s why we have confessional...so you can redeem yourself to the Lord no matter what you have done...how many times you have done it...or how many times you sit in this very church and fantasize about being fucked like a little whore by the pastor’s son.”

The vulgar language coming through the screen was enough to startle you silent although the moment the small screen was tugged open and George’s face stared back at you from the other side was enough to rip the air from your lungs. Eyes wide and heart nearly in your stomach, you felt almost lightheaded at the sight of him smirking back at you. He eyed your blushing cheeks down to your collared shirt embroidered with the church name on the left breast and the skirt that you clutched the hem of in your clammy hands. 

George’s eyes raised back to yours and he licked his lips but didn’t do much to hide his smirk, “I think we ought to do something about those sinful thoughts, hm?” 

You couldn’t word an answer in your shock, stumbling out a panicked, “I thought...I scheduled for Wednesday at 1-”

George chuckled softly and raised a lit joint to his lips on the other side of the open screen and took a long drag before pulling it back between thumb and forefinger, “It’s Tuesday, angel.” 

He exhaled, pouring clouds of smoke into your side of the confessional booth which had obviously been the source of the scent you had assumed was some sort of aromatic blessed offering. Obviously, you had been mistaken over a few things that afternoon. The fact that the young man expressing nothing but God’s image was smoking weed while hidden away in the confessional booths startled you greatly, almost more than your mixup of dates. 

George’s gaze lingered on yours, your frightened eyes unmoving from his prideful ones. He raised the drug to his lips again and his eyebrow peaked in your direction as the silence that filled the smokey air between you felt more tense than ever. Yet, you didn’t seem to make any move to escape the stuffy enclosure of the closet-sized windowless booth. 

George spoke sultrily, smoke tumbling from his lips as he did so, “Lust is one of the seven deadly sins…I’m sure you’re well aware of that?”

“Yes, sir.” you answered before you could think. The crimson of your cheeks only darkened at the title that left your mouth without a thought. 

His lips tugged at the corner into a small smirk and leaned his forearms onto his knees to comfortably stare at you from the other side of the small screen. You couldn’t see much more than just his face through the small opening in the metal mesh and the shadows that filled the dimly lit confessional booth made it nearly impossible to read his expression. 

“You must give in to your sin in order to be cleansed properly. Confession is the first step. I am more than willing to help relieve you of your lust if you will have me.” 

“You don’t have to d-“

“I want to.” 

His answer was almost too quick. 

“And, frankly, angel,” he paused to take another inhale of the drug before breathing it tauntingly out into the air between you, “I think I need to.” 

George stamped out the joint onto the wrought iron ledge of the open screen and tucked it into the pocket of his pants as he stood. The height of the opening only had his belt buckle and front zip of his chinos in view, right in front of your face, and despite the fact that you had initially come to be cleansed of your sins, the thoughts that swirled around your mind were enough to make your mouth water. 

In only a second, he bent back down to look at you through the screen, “Well? Come on then.” 

His gorgeous face disappeared just as quickly and the dark closet sized room was illuminated by the bright light of the airy church just beyond the doors as he stepped out. Your eyes squinted slightly in the sudden change, from the reminisce of the smoke that was left behind, and the fact that you were sure you were dreaming. Even if you were, it was a dream you did not want to wake up from.

You opened the thin door in front of you and stepped back out into the open church to the relief of cool air compared to how suffocating it had gotten in the confessional booths. The large stained glass windows shone sparkling rays of coloured light across the wood floors and empty pews but the true beauty of the space was truly taken by the man in front of you. With his back to you, you admired him shamefully in a white button up tucked into his cuffed chinos; his initial appearance was that of any Sunday mass. When he turned around from where he had grabbed his leather jacket off one of the pews, you noticed how unbuttoned his shirt really was - almost completely open - and a cross pendant rested easily against his tanned chest. 

Just the way he looked at you made the air disappear from your lungs and your knees to nearly go weak. He was a marble statue in and of himself. 

George pulled on his leather jacket over his shirt and adjusted the collar, “Ready?”

“Where are we going?” you asked almost innocently, following behind him like a shy puppy as he led the way towards the front of the church. 

“I’m taking you somewhere better than those stuffy confessional booths.” George answered plainly. His pace was quick as if he were nearly in a rush and part of you felt a little guilty for interrupting whatever he had been doing that day for your meaningless spiritual chores. 

“I should text my parents to tell them I’m not coming home for a bit then?”

It came out more of a question than a statement, your nervous voice quiet through the back hall of the church and George navigated the thin passageways past the basement stairs and the few offices with ease. 

“Definitely.” he agreed. 

“Where should I tell them I am?”

His sudden stop had you nearly crashing into him with a small “oh” in surprise. George stared back at you right at the back door of the church, a soft tug of a smile present on his supple lips. 

“Do you tell your parents everything, angel?” 

His question seemed a bit more judgy than you had anticipated and your cheeks only rouged under his intimidating blue eyes. 

“No.”

You didn’t sound too believable to even yourself so you added a just as accusatory, 

“Does your father know you smoke weed in his church?”

George scoffed, “What do you think?”

“I think I was surprised.”

George turned to face you completely and he leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, “Why were you surprised?”

“Well,” you cleared your throat, trying to keep your stand against him, “you just seem like an angel yourself. Figured you didn’t get up to that kinda stuff.” 

“That kinda stuff? Like what? Drugs? Drinking? Sex?”

Your heart squeezed in your chest at his sinful half-confessions and you tried not to pine it to jealousy in terms of the last one. You crossed your arms yourself to mirror him, “Yeah. Makes you look like nothing more than a liar now.”

“Does that turn you off your little filthy crush on me, angel?” George taunted, tilting his head to the side. 

His blunt expression of the secret you had nearly forgotten you had exposed to him had you stumbling over your response, your flustered self only making him smile wider at you. He stepped closer and raised his right hand up to brush his finger along your jaw, his warm touch shooting shivers down your spine and your lungs desperately pulled in oxygen as his eyes bore into yours. 

“I still carry the word of the Lord, you know. I have been the best altar boy in the entirety of this church’s history, most reliable volunteer for Sunday School and Pancake Breakfasts, and the most respectful and devoted Christian this congregation has ever seen. I am my father and Our Father’s honest pride and joy, and as long as I confess to my sins like routine, I will always have a place in Paradise.”

His finger tapped the end of your nose to punctuate his little speech. 

“So I think I ought to show you how it’s done, don’t you think, angel?”

You could only nod, falling into putty in his hands as he cradled your jaw with his ring clad right hand. His purity ring. Was he really as sinful as he claimed to be? Maybe it was naive of you but you were a bit hesitant after his seemingly so blunt confession to you. 

“Yeah.” George chuckled darkly as his eyes stared at your lips. “God doesn’t want you to deprive yourself of the pleasures of life, angel. He just wants you to be able to reflect and acknowledge the filth of the acts and still respect Him. He wouldn’t make it feel so good if it was so wrong. You understand that?”

“Yes, sir.” you stumbled out. 

George swiped his thumb over your bottom lip and tugged at his gently before stepping back towards the exit door, “Good girl.”

You were drawn after him like instinct, like some natural pheromone was luring you out the back doors of the church and across the alleyway in his wake. Your thumbs typed an excuse to your parents, the phone almost unrecognizable in your hand, and somehow trusted him enough to not walk you into oncoming traffic. When you finally looked up from your phone, you were startled by the motorcycle standing beside the back fence and with wide eyes you watched as he swung a leg over and pulled on his helmet. 

George grabbed the second helmet and held it out towards you casually. He eyed your startled face before speaking cockily, “What? The bible says nothing about motorcycles being a sin, does it?”

A small smile played at your lips and you took the black helmet from him, “No. I suppose not.” 

Proudly, George cocked his head, “Climb on.”

You secured the strap under your chin and then helped yourself to the small back seat of the metallic black bike, swinging your leg over daintily in an attempt to keep your skirt from riding up too much. Your innocent hesitation was nearly comical to him as you held your hands shyly on your lap, hesitant to touch him as if he was a holy artifact. 

George reached back and grabbed your wrists in his large hands to tug your arms around his waist, “Hold on tight now, angel.” 

You hid your bashful smile against his shoulder and smelling the fading scent of leather along with his intoxicating rustic cologne that surrounded him. With a kick of the engine, the motorcycle rumbled to life and you grabbed your own wrists around his middle in nervous fear as he pushed off the pavement and headed off into the street. 

The late summer breeze ruffled through your hair that peeked out the end of the helmet and once you reached the main road, riding on the back of a motorcycle didn’t seem so terrifying. You still weren’t quite sure where he was taking you but you felt yourself trusting him entirely, especially with how good he looked right in front of you. With your cheek pressed close to his shoulder, your eyes struggled to watch your surroundings as they focused on his hands on the clutch and how the muscles in his hands clenched with each acceleration. You weren’t sure how you had fallen for him so strongly without knowing he drove a motorcycle but it was a far too attractive surprise now. 

As your nervousness melted into trust, you let your grip loosen on your wrists and you set your hands gently against his stomach as discreetly as you could. George noticed but you couldn’t see his smirk from where you sat behind him and he didn’t make a move to stop you. With careful hands, you savoured the feeling of taut muscle below the soft thin material of his white button up under your palms. You swore you could feel abs and you couldn’t help but slide your hand up higher to shamelessly try and feel more of him. 

Your front was pressed right up against his back and you never wanted to let him go. You had dreamt about holding him like that for far too long and innocent or not, you only craved him more. That ache was back between your legs and the steady rumble of the engine and the warmth of George’s body had your skin flushing warm. You were all too attuned to it now. 

Off the main road and down a side street lined in trees like picture perfect suburbia, George drove his bike into the driveway of a nicely trimmed brick house and parked it by the back garage. You held onto him a moment longer, feeling as though if you let go you would never be blessed with the touch of his body ever again. With your hands pressed flat to his torso and cheek resting against his stiff shoulder, you squeezed him tighter in your embrace. It happened before you could even let the idea graze your thoughts: your hips rubbing up slightly against his denim clad bum sat right in front of you. 

“Angel,” George chuckled lowly as he set his right hand over top of both of yours against his stomach, “that’s so filthy.”

You stopped quickly at his acknowledgment, hiding your blushing face against his shoulder, and tried to pry your hands out of his grip. He held you in place and spoke to you over his shoulder, 

“You’re horny, aren’t you, angel?”

“I dunno.” you mumbled. 

“Yeah, you do.” he encouraged, holding your hands tighter when you tried to tug them away again. His feet on the pavement kept the motorcycle steady in the driveway of his family home. He was already in control. “You can tell me.”

You rested your forehead against his back. 

“Give into your sin, angel.” George sang quietly, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. 

“I really…I would really like you to touch me.” you whispered. 

“Yeah? Good girl.” George praised softly. 

You hummed in gentle agreement, rutting your hips up against his bum again to try and find some sort of pressure that eased the ache between your legs. George reached behind him with his left hand and grabbed your hip to stop you. 

“Not here, angel.” he glanced down towards the street, “Inside. Now.” 

You almost tripped over yourself getting off the motorcycle and George reached out a hand to steady you as you caught your footing on the pavement of his driveway. With the keys in hand and the helmets tucked away, George let you up the back porch steps and into the back door when he unlocked it. The house was silent and you stepped into the prime example of a country rustic kitchen that was nearly spotless apart from the small messy stack of dishes in the sink. There was a decal sign above the pantry reading “God is Good” and you swallowed your nervous shame. 

George grabbed your arm and nudged you towards the hallway, “Get upstairs.” 

“Where’s your family?” you asked as you followed his instruction without question. 

George tailed you quickly down the wood floor hallway to the foyer and right up to the straight run wood stairs, “Siblings are moved out and parents are on a mission trip until Friday.”

The privacy that lingered had your stomach flipping with an indescribable feeling. George was the image of God and angel of a young man to everyone in town and part of you still believed that to be the truth, even if his smooth talk and one-off smoking of a joint seemed to go against everything you once thought of him. After weeks and months of dreaming of him and nothing else, climbing the stairs of his house felt like a hazy hallucination. Was this real?

You stopped at the top of the stairs in a beige painted hallway lined with closed doors, wondering which passage would lead you to the ease of your conscience and the confession of your sins. George stopped beside you and his hand dusted along the small of your back, his face only centimetres from yours as he stared at you in the muted light of his empty house. 

“You look so cute in your Sunday School uniform, angel.” George whispered against your ear, his hand sliding lower over the back of your plaid skirt. “Like such an innocent little flower.”

Your pussy nearly throbbed at the lust in his voice and your natural physical reaction to him took you by surprise. These feelings and these thoughts were so new and kept deep in uncharted territory you had no clue what to do next. 

George seemed to know though as he led you to the first door on the left and guided you into his bedroom. It was anything you’d see out of some sort of parent design magazine from the standard little-boy-blue walls to dark wood furniture and a matching accented duvet draped on the double bed across from the door. His bookshelves framing the window to the left were filled with simple novels - nothing fantasy or magic of course, that was never allowed - and the empty spots were filled with little figurines. Said figurines were those of religious icons, likely given at a first communion or baptism by grandparents or distant relatives, as well as picture frames holding family portraits or bible quotes in calligraphy. 

Your eyes soaked up his room that you had only pictured in your mind since you first laid eyes on him and yet seeing it in person just fit his angel boy persona that he expressed so well. A perfect little church boy down to the few study books stacked neatly on the corner of his desk and his bible resting front and center alongside a small row of various coloured highlighters. 

Of course he was someone to highlight his favourite lines of scripture. 

The click of the door shutting behind you drew your gaze back to him and he stepped closer to you, standing in the middle of his childhood bedroom. So childhood that there was still a white painted piece of plywood on his wall marking his growth over the years tick by tick on the makeshift ruler topped with his name in neat blue font. He was much taller than the growth chart now, his name now only reaching his shoulder, and it was a simple fact you seemed to hang onto. His bedroom was as flawless as his Sunday persona. 

George only stepped closer and you habitually stepped away until you backed into his desk with a soft gasp, eyes unmoving from his. He raised his hand up and swiped his thumb over your bottom lip, “Have you ever kissed anyone before, angel?”

“No.” you breathed. 

“No, what?” he pressed gently. 

“N-No…sir.” you tried. 

George only smiled politely at you, the same smile he offered the neighbours at Sunday mass, but the scheming lust in his eyes was unmissable. Even to you. 

“Kissing isn’t a sin.” he reminded you softly, his fingers stroking along your jaw and down the side of your neck until shivers rose in his wake. “You won’t even have to confess it.” 

You had already formed a slight attachment to his lips over the weeks, always admiring how pretty they were, so full and soft and pink. Kissing him was the least shameful of your daydreams and your heart pounded in your chest at how close he was standing to you, waiting for the moment he would allow your dreams to come true. Your hands gripped the edge of his desk behind you, wide eyes staring at his pretty face mere centimetres from yours, but you didn’t dare move away. 

“You can touch me, angel.” George offered gently. “I won’t break.”

It was as if he read your mind, had sensed your innermost desires to hold more of him than when only on the back of his bike, and you slowly raised your right hand from the desk to set against his chest. His button up was still mostly unbuttoned and the smooth skin of his chest was grazed by your fingertips nervously. The simplest touch felt like fire was trailing up your arm and setting your insides ablaze in fierce anticipation. 

You didn’t even notice you were breathing so heavily until he made the air in your lungs stop as he stepped even closer and dusted his lips across your cheek. Your hand tightened on the open edge of his shirt as he pressed a feather soft kiss to your cheek and then moved slowly to the corner of your mouth to leave another. You were shuttering with anticipation and you let your head turn towards him slowly to finally feel his lips against your own. 

There was a pause as you stood motionless for a moment and shared a single chasté kiss between you. With pink cheeks, you pulled back with a gentle little smack and bowed your head shyly, leaving your hand resting against his open shirt. 

But George easily tilted your head back up by a finger under your chin and slotted his lips with yours, trapping your bottom lip between his two. Your legs nearly gave out right then and there, letting a soft surprised hum fall from your throat as you let your mind wrap around this situation. It was addicting and his lips tasted like the sweetest poison, luring you in for more when he pulled back for a half second. 

Your hand slid up his chest to his shoulder and around the back of his neck, letting him lead your passionate kisses but you followed along eagerly. His lips felt as soft and supple as they looked, even better than you had imagined them, although you had never imagined that kissing would set such a fire in your stomach and deep between your legs. The feeling of his warm tongue swiping over your bottom lip had you shuttering and he cradled your face in his hand as he parted your lips with his own and tilted his head to the left a little more. 

You couldn’t help but let your other hand rise to his shoulder too, draping both arms around him to keep him close as if you never wanted him to part from you. It was too good, he was too good, and the innocence that coursed through you saw nothing wrong with it. Nothing wrong with the way he held you and kissed you and the way his tongue finally pushed against yours. 

The room was perfectly silent apart from your messy slow kisses and the muffled pleasant hums that you both shared, craving for more of each other. George’s hand caressed your face and his other rested politely at your hip over your plaid skirt. There was a bit of distance between you and as his tongue and yours pushed together effortlessly, you only craved his touch more. With nervous hands, you slid your fingertips down his chest and over his open leather jacket to the hem of his jeans. You had no idea what you were doing but all you knew was that you needed more and you linked your fingers in his belt loops and shyly pulled him closer to your body. 

George chuckled softly into your mouth, biting teasingly on your bottom lip as he stepped closer with his legs staggered with yours, and tilted his head the other way to kiss you more. The warmth of his face against yours was addicting in itself and you found yourself arching into him as your body pulsed behind the material of your skirt. You held his body against yours by his two front belt loops as if trying to keep him from moving away for even a second, welcoming his hands down your neck and along the collar of your own white buttoned shirt. 

“Let me see you.” George whispered into your mouth between slowing kisses as his fingers started to blindly unbutton your shirt, “I want to appreciate God’s masterpiece for myself.” 

His words had you blushing and you shifted your arms to let him push the scratchy white material from your shoulders and discarded it to the ground. In only a blush pink lace bra underneath, George tried to move back to admire you but your lips chased his pleadingly. He smiled against your mouth between off centered kisses as his fingers raised to the tiny white bow resting between your breasts and he tugged gently at it. 

“You’re so cute, angel.” he whispered, pausing to kiss your lips a few more times, “So pretty.” 

You tugged at his belt loops again to urge him closer and your tongue nudged its way ungracefully into his mouth enough to have him groaning softly. His hands grabbed at your waist greedily and you let him press his body flush against yours and the slight bump in his jeans that pressed against your thigh had your heart skipping a beat. 

“Can’t believe such a sweet looking little lady has such salacious thoughts about me. Succumbing to lust so easily.” his thumbs pressed into your hips like wet cement, his hands massaging your waist until you were easing into his touch more and more. 

“George.” you breathed. 

“Ah, ah.” he corrected coolly. 

“Sir.” you tried. 

His chuckle stemmed from nothing but desire and it had your pussy fluttering with need for his touch. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip and he soothed it with a lick before grabbing your wrists and led you a few short steps away from his desk and to the centre of his room.

“What are you thinking about right now, angel?” George tried, standing in front of you with his large hands holding your own in a tender grip, his eyes unmoving from your face even as you only stared at his tempting lips. 

“I dunno.” you mumbled out. 

“You had some things to say when you were in that confessional booth. I believe you’re thinking lots more than you’re letting on.” George pressed. His thumbs rubbed over your knuckles back and forth tauntingly, “Are you thinking those dirty thoughts again?”

You nodded. 

“Yeah? Are you thinking about what my cock looks like?”

You inhaled shakily, eyelids nearly fluttering. You couldn’t lie to him. You couldn’t lie to the pastor’s son, not when he was a direct link to God. “Yeah.”

George smiled knowingly at you but you couldn’t meet his gaze, “Good girl...don’t want you lying now. I need to know everything so we can properly cleanse you of your sins. Leave no stone unturned, yeah?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah, that’s my good angel.” George raised his hand to stroke his thumb across your flushed cheek, “Now tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

“I don’t know.” you whispered, “I just want you to do whatever you want to me.” 

“I’m going to have to work your desires and your sins out of you then, won’t I?” George pulled off his leather jacket and tossed it to the ground in front of his closet before starting to unbuckle his belt, “Kneel before sir and open your filthy mouth. I’ll cleanse you and then we can really get started.”

You hesitated, glancing down to the hardwood floor beneath your feet, “Right here?”

“Yes. You know how to kneel, angel, I’ve seen you do so during mass.” George retorted. 

“But there’s usually a cushioned kneeler.” you argued softly. 

“There won’t be cushioned kneelers in hell, angel, and that’s where you’re going if you don’t work with me here.” George warned, his voice dripping in warning, “Now kneel.”

You did. 

Eye level with his belt buckle, you watched as he unpinned it and then unbuttoned his jeans and dragged down the small zipper. You were barely looking at anything and your mouth was already watering, sitting on your knees patiently as he pushed his jeans down his thighs. The bulge in the front of his snug underwear had your mouth opening habitually and you rose up from sitting back on your ankles to kneeling right in front of him, hands finding his thighs as your mind whirled. 

George set his finger under your chin and guided your head up to look at his face. He then pinched your cheeks to pry open your mouth and he leaned down to let a thick string of spit fall into your waiting mouth. You couldn’t hold in the hungry moan that died at your lips as your tongue accepted his blessing and he smeared his spit across your lips with the pad of his thumb. You were so focused on his face that you didn’t even notice his other hand shoving down his boxers to rest at his knees with his jeans, not until his hand that cradled your chin moved to the back of your head and urged you down. 

Your eyes widened at the sight of his dick right in your face, unlike anything you had made up in your imagination or from the scientific drawings in religiously censored textbooks. Was it at all sane of you to say it was beautiful? He was beautiful. He was already hard and had the slightest curve to his thick impressive length with his pretty rounded tip swollen a gentle rouged pink, peeking out behind a thin protection of foreskin. Your thighs clenched together in lustful desire, the mixture of your spit dripping from your bottom lip onto his bedroom floor. 

Despite the obvious dominant nature of the pastor’s youngest son who now stood in front of you half nude, he let you take your time to process what was happening. You moved your hand out first, glancing up at him for permission and he nodded you on, hiking up the bottom of his button-up out of your way as he watched you wrap your fingers around the base of his dick. It was warm and you whimpered softly. 

“Open up those pretty lips, angel.” George said gently. 

You followed his instruction. 

“Tongue out.” 

When you let your tongue slip past your parted lips, another string of spit dripped onto the floor. George held his hand to the back of your head and used his other to feed his dick into your mouth slowly. It was heavy against your tongue and you stared up at him with your heart racing in your chest as he pulled your head down in slow time. It was a strange sensation, having your mouth stuffed with dick until you had no choice but to breathe through your nose, unable to speak. He tasted slightly salty and so perfectly soft and warm you couldn’t help but let your eyes flutter closed as he helped himself to your mouth. 

“Good girl.” George spoke down to you lowly. He moved his hand back to his shirt to hold it up out of the way and you took his place around his dick with your own hand, kneeling still as you got used to the unfamiliar feeling. 

Your spit was leaking down his length and slicked up your hand that held him snugly, letting you move smoothly as you pulled back with your mouth, sucking gently to keep from drooling too much. That only had him groaning and his fingers laced through your hair as he watched you suck lazily at the tip like he was nothing more than an innocent lollipop to give you your sugar fix. You craved him just as strongly after all. 

George unbuttoned the last two buttons on his shirt and let the sides drape open to let himself have two hands free to pull your hair back from your face. With his bottom lip between his teeth and his dark stare angled down at you over the bridge of his nose, he pulled your mouth down around him deeper once more. You gagged softly as he filled up your mouth and nudged against the back of your throat, your hands gripping onto his thighs tightly. 

“Yeah, this is how we take care of that sinful little mouth of yours.” George spoke sternly down to you, pulling you back by your hair to show you the rhythm he wanted you to mimic. 

You could only moan softly in agreement, drooling down your chin with how delicious he was as he took up your mouth more and more once again. You never imagined it being so physically filthy with how wet it was, your hand and your mouth smeared in spit and tears pricking your eyes as you dropped down on him again, gagging yourself gladly. 

“You’re such a good girl.” George praised from above you. 

He had the perfect view too, staring down at you on your knees for him like he was yours to worship, you in your pretty little bra that pushed up your breasts like plush heaven and plaid skirt draped politely over your lap. Not to mention his dick in your mouth, feeling how warm and wet you were, drooling for him, moaning for him, sucking him with honest innocence that just made it so much hotter. You were a virgin and that fact only made him want to ruin you. 

It sounded so incredibly hot, the mix of the wet muffled gags of your mouth and the soft whimpers that vibrated from your throat, only urging him to grip your hair tighter and pull you deeper. Your hands splayed pathetically against his thighs, desperate to hold onto something, choking hard on him as he pushed himself down your throat. Your gargling gags had his head falling back with a deep groan, his fingers tugging at your hair to speed you up, using your mouth in sloppy motions. 

You didn’t protest, letting the tears stream down your cheeks and the spit drip onto the material of your skirt over your lap, trying to keep up with him just to please him. Your eyes blinked up at him, staring up his body to his face scrunched up in pleasure and that silver cross pendant resting between his pecs. It moved slightly with each jagged breath he took, taunting you, reminding you that God is always watching. 

Just thinking, He was watching you at that very moment, George’s dick balls deep in your mouth; the same mouth that had earlier tried to ask for forgiveness from Him. That was in no way the act of you being forgiven. How did you get there? 

Despite the shame that was lingering in your stomach, you couldn’t get yourself to stop, drunk on the taste of him and the concept of worshiping his body the way you had only ever dreamt about. Your hands dug your nails into his thighs, bobbing your head faster down his whole length despite how your throat constricted and gagged. 

“That’s it, angel-” George panted, “Ah, you’re doing so good.”

It felt so wrong but his words sounded so good. He was as tempting as the forbidden fruit and there was no going back now; confessions had already been said. You wanted all of him. 

His left hand dropped to your cheek and he tugged at your cheek with the pad of his thumb, “Mm, you’re being so good for me. Taking it so well. Look at you.”

Your hand moved from his thigh to the base of his dick, holding him still as your mouth worked for you and his grip in your hair helped you along. George groaned steadily as you sped up, choking yourself on him harder and faster and he twitched in your mouth. 

“Fuck, angel-” his words were dripping lust, each syllable lengthened in the most addicting way until you wanted to hear him moan for you and praise you forever. If this was so frowned upon then - he was right - why did it feel so good? And to think, you hadn’t even been touched yourself. 

George was getting loud, moaning and breathing hard as his hands stayed tangled in your hair that had once been hairsprayed perfectly for confession. You could feel his cock throbbing in your mouth until you were wrapping your hand around him to stroke him off, seemingly unable to get enough of him. What George had on his mind though, was nothing less than fixing you and the fact that you still had your penance to uphold. 

His left hand gave your hair a good tug, yanking your head back until his dick pulled from your mouth with a filthy pop and you gasped in surprise, coughing and sputtering for air. He held you in place by your hair, smearing the tip of his cock against your glistening lips but didn’t give you the satisfaction of putting it back in against your tongue. 

You whined pleadingly, trying to pull out of his stiff grip to take him back in your mouth, “Sir, please.”

George was adamant on his decision, his free hand stroking over his cock in quick rapid flicks of his wrist, “Sinners don’t get the pleasure of swallowing.” 

Your hands held onto his thighs, eyes unable to choose between looking at his face or his throbbing dick right in front of you. His bedroom welcomed the filthy wet slick sound of his hand working himself off like it was habit, his breathing falling shallower by the second, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. You looked so eager and innocent that it didn’t take him long to finish, catching that last glimpse of your doe eyes and parted lips before the first shot of warm sticky cum streaked across your cheek. 

His moans were like angels singing, setting your body on fire as he covered your face in filthy white ribbons of sin. You looked like a heavenly mess, pink cheeks streaked in tears and cum and spit still dripping from your chin until he was completely finished. George smeared some of it over your lips with the tip of his dick and let you earn your first taste of him right from the source, blessed by the fruit of his holy garden. 

He watched you lick your lips, eyes staying closed with the shots that had stained up to your eyelashes and into your hair, and then he grabbed the edge of his open shirt and wiped your face clean. You couldn’t bite back your fulfilled smile well enough, swiping your hand across your cheek and licking off the remanence of his pleasure with an eager tongue. 

“Where are your manners, angel?” George tisked. 

“Thank you, sir.” you whispered up at him, still perched sweetly on your knees in front of him as you sucked on your finger, “You taste so good.” 

“Are you still thinking disgusting little thoughts?” he asked. 

“More than ever.” you admitted softly. 

George’s hand grabbed your cheeks to keep you looking up at him and then slid down just enough to wrap his fingers around your throat, “Like what?”

“Like wanting you to touch me so fucking bad.” you whispered. 

“Watch your mouth, angel.” George scolded. “Swearing is a sin. You know that.” 

“Sorry, sir.” you breathed. 

George grabbed your arm and pulled you to your feet in front of him before turning you around and shoved you forward over the end of his bed. You tried to move but he held you down by the back of your neck and tossed up your skirt with his other hand, giving him room to spank you over your soft pink panties. You shrieked in surprise at the impact, fingers curling into his duvet as your feet stayed planted on the hardwood floor. 

“Hands flat on the bed. Arms straight.” George ordered. 

You were one to follow his instruction and did as told without complaint as he stripped out of his jeans and boxers to leave him only in his open button up and cross necklace. Bent over the end of his bed with your arms straight underneath you, you had a perfect view up to his headboard, right where a carefully carved wooden cross was hung on the blue painted wall above. 

“Oh my goodness.” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone. 

“You’re going to take your penance for your sins, angel?” George taunted, folding up the hem of your skirt to reveal your bum. 

It was worded like a question but it sounded more like a demand. You replied shakily, “Yes, sir.” 

He slapped his hand down hard against your skin and you bit down hard into your bottom lip behind a soft whimper at the sharp sting he left behind. 

“Yeah? We gotta get rid of those filthy disgusting devilish thoughts of yours. Make sure they’re gone for good.” 

There was a pause and you filled the momentary silence with a soft, “Yes, sir.” 

George’s hand grabbed your ass and kneaded your flesh in his palm, “You better ask for mercy, angel.”

The brown leather bound bible surprisingly stung a lot more than his hand—maybe from the emotional weight it carried with it—and you shrieked at the impact, hanging your head between your arms. He spanked you with it again, really pulling his arm back to hit you hard, leaving a blush pink shine to the curve of your flesh. 

“He’s listening.” George reminded you gently but sternly. 

“Forgive me, Father.” you hurried out before George spanked you hard again. “Oh God!” 

Another slap with the book. 

“Don’t use His name in vain.” George scolded. 

Tears pricked your eyes as he spanked you again, forcing a blubbery choked moan from your throat. So you used his name instead, “George, please. Touch me. Rid these shameful thoughts from my head.”

“What thoughts?” he urged you on. 

“It aches-“ you whimpered distractedly, reaching a hand down to press over the front of your panties. 

George spanked you hard once more with the bible before letting his hand slide between your legs. He nudged your fingers away as he took over, gliding back and forth over the thin sopping wet material and right up to your clit. 

“Right here, angel?” he asked soothingly. 

“Yes, sir.” you withered. 

“Yeah, does that feel good?” his fingers drew lazy circles in place that had you shivering. 

You stared down at his bed sheets, mouth agape, and gently pushed back on his hand, “Yes, sir.” 

“You’ve soaked your pretty little panties, angel.” George tisked softly, rubbing his fingers in long stripes back and forth over the fabric that covered your pussy, “No wonder you’re aching.” 

He was barely touching you but somehow it felt so much better than when you tried yourself. Your legs were almost trembling in desperate anticipation as he teased you over your underwear in feather soft touches and you let your eyes close to bask in it, bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Turn over, pretty girl.” George instructed. “I’m gonna show you what it means to be touched by the hands of God.” 

His cocky words did nothing but urge you on. You shifted around from your hands and knees so you were sitting on his bed facing him, eyeing up how he was only in his open button up and nothing else and holding the leather bound bible in hand. He was staring right back at you like a county fair prize from your flushed cheeks to your heaving chest and your thighs pressed snugly together. 

George tossed the bible back onto the desk behind him and then stepped up closer to the end of his bed where you were sat. He nudged up your skirt again and linked his fingers in the sides of your panties and pulled them down your legs and onto the floor. Shyly, you kept your thighs pressed snugly together. No one had ever before seen you so exposed and as he started to undress you, you were filled with a sudden shyness. George greedily grabbed your knees and shoved your legs apart. 

“Spread your legs for me, angel. Let me see your pretty pussy.” George whispered. 

His vulgar words had your eyes widening but you obeyed him anyway, an embarrassed blush rising darker to your cheeks as you exposed yourself to him. The first man to see you like that, the first man to look at you in that light, and the way he licked his lips at the sight of you had you throbbing. 

“So natural.” George breathed, “So pure.” 

His stare was intimidating, big blue eyes trained in on your most intimate spot, a spot that you were raised to be protective of, shamed. You watched him closely, your chest heaving faintly in anticipation, waiting for some sort of reaction out of him as if you craved his validation. George’s large hands were warm against the flesh of your thighs as he pushed your legs apart wider and then nudged up the hem of your skirt around your waist to see you better. 

“The Lord took His time on you.” George said, his voice dripping with lust. “Now back up for me, angel.”

You shuffled farther onto his bed, keeping your legs spread how he left them, not wanting to go against any of his demands. He was helping you repent, after all, so you had to listen and obey. As you settled yourself near the centre of his double bed, George followed after you, kneeling in front of you on the mattress. He pulled his shirt from his shoulders and dropped the material to the floor without a look back, letting himself be exposed to your desire completely. 

The tattoo on his chest drew in your eyes right away, the black ink carefully forming the shape of the hands from The Creation of Adam right over his heart. God had created George in the same image as he had created Adam; perfect, raw, masculine, and ready to carry the word of the Lord. Although, both creations seemed just as eager to disobey their creator. 

The deadly sin of greed coursed through your veins as you tried to soak in each and every curve and angle of his body, that shameful warmth building a throbbing in the pit of your stomach that was hard to avoid. Without thinking, you breathed out a dreamy, “You’re so…beautiful.” 

“You think so?” George smiled cockily as he nudged your legs father open to kneel between. His fingers toyed with the little bow on the band of your bra right between your breasts.

You barely nodded in response before his hand was reaching around your back and unclipping your bra with expert precision. The lace was tossed to the ground and in a split second, his mouth took its place, covering you in wet open mouthed kisses across your breasts and over your hardening nipples. His hungry moan against your skin had your mouth falling open lazily, tangling one hand in his hair as he helped himself to your chest while your other held you up in the centre of his double bed.

You hadn’t anticipated this. For all you had been aware, the only thing to ever touch a woman’s chest was to be her baby for nourishment reasons and that alone. But then George was wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking on it with enough force to pull a gasp from your chest, your fingers snug in the back of his soft hair. Your soft gasp had him smirking and he shifted to your other breast, his teeth tugging playfully at your nipple while he raised one hand to knead the flesh of your chest, claiming you up until your chest had a light sheen of spit across it. 

“So good.” George mumbled, pulling off your breast with a wet suctioned pop. His fingers pinched both of your nipples as he shifted out from between your legs and settled at your side. 

You couldn’t help but lean over to kiss him, sighing pleasantly into it as his lips locked perfectly with yours in messy wet kisses. His hand raised to cradle your face, keeping you there for a moment longer as he bit at your bottom lip and tugged it back gently. He licked his way into your mouth between sloppy kisses, making you feel so incredibly salacious and wrong but in a way that still felt so good. It was dizzying. 

As he broke away from your kiss, his hand dropped down to your thigh, his gaze quickly following, and he pushed up the hem of your skirt over your spread legs. The cool air of his air conditioned bedroom against your soaked pussy made you shiver and you watched his fingers dance teasingly over your thigh. He traced the hem of your knee-high socks and then slid up higher, dipping along the soft skin of your inner thigh. So untouched and sensitive to his every graze. 

George was sitting so close at your side he barely needed to lean in to whisper against the shell of your ear, “I’m gonna show you how to touch yourself so when you’re thinking filthy little thoughts again, you can make that pestering little ache go away.”

“Please, sir.” you breathed, your voice quivering with desire. 

George chuckled softly and kept his steady strokes over your thigh, up and down, teasingly slow and taunting, and his words only matched it, “You’re gonna think of me touching you just like this, up your thighs and over your hips.”

His slender fingers followed the instruction of his words, dancing over your legs and up to your hips, teasing the bunched up fabric of your plaid skirt and down to the apex of your thighs. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, staring down at his hand, watching, anticipating. 

“And when you can’t take it anymore,” he whispered against your ear, “you’re going to push your pretty little fingers over your pussy.”

You could have shuddered at only his words but as you watched his hand slide down between your legs, your breath froze in your chest. He dragged painfully slow stripes down and back up again with two fingers, teasing every inch of your cunt right up to your clit and back down. Your eyebrows raised at the unfamiliar sensation, a shaky inhale pulled into your lungs, as your ears were attuned to the sticky wetness of your body just like that. 

“And when you’re nice and wet…like how you are now…you’re gonna touch your clit just like this,” George’s fingers pressing down against your most sensitive spot—the spot you had never had the courage to explore—had you jolting with a gasp but he hushed you against your ear with ease mid-thought, “don’t squirm, angel—and you’re gonna think of me while you do it.”

“George-“ you whimpered, staring down at his hand between your legs, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth as he drew slow circles over your clit. You couldn’t hold in your soft, “Oh my God.”

“Louder, angel. He’s listening.” George whispered right under your ear, his breath hot against your neck. 

His fingers pulled quicker circles, forcing another trembling gasp from your throat as your body habitually tried to squirm away from the unfamiliar overwhelm and your thighs squeezed together. George easily shoved your legs open wider, staring right at your profile as he kept that consistent pace on your clit and you tried to stay spread for him. It felt insanely good, ripping hot warmth through every limb in your body, unlike anything you had ever felt before, until your mouth was dropping open and your eyes were nearly rolling back in your head. 

“S-Sir-“ you whimpered, holding yourself up on one hand as your other reached out for him beside you to grab onto something and ended up holding onto his cross pendant still draped between his pecs. 

“Is this what you wanted?” George taunted, pressing his fingers down harder on your clit in tighter circles, “Or did you want more?”

You nodded quickly, absolutely speechless with the realization of how good it felt and how long you had put it off. Watching his fingers intently, you could barely get yourself to make a sound, too embarrassed and overwhelmed to even know how to react. 

George stopped his circles and pinched your clit gently to make you squeal as he quoted scripture against your ear, “Ask, and it will be given to you. Matthew 7:7.”

“More. I want more. Gimme more.” you rushed out, dropping your hand from his necklace just long enough to urge his fingers lower, your insides physically aching for something else. 

“There’s a bit of greed coming in with your sinful little lust.” George chuckled, reminding you of the deadly sins you were committing, “At least have some manners, angel.”

“Please, sir.” you exhaled pleadingly, holding his hand down against your throbbing pussy. 

George shifted to sit behind you and tugged you close so you were resting back against his chest between his spread legs like you were his little dolly to play with. The embarrassment was overpowered by lustful desire and you didn’t even care how pathetic you looked with your flushed cheeks and heaving chest and legs hooking over his to leave yourself spread wide. George’s lips found your neck as he pulled your skirt up with his left hand and slid his right between your legs once more. 

“This likely won’t feel as good when you do it to yourself but since you wanted this so bad…I must help you to uphold your penance.” he said between slow kisses over your shoulder, his fingers slicking themselves up in your arousal that was dripping out of you and onto his duvet. Back and forth, back and forth. “Gonna give you what you want and rid those sinful thoughts from that pretty little head of yours.”

You could only spread your legs wider between his, trying to push your hips up against his painfully gentle touch, and his left hand raised from your skirt to grab onto your right breast snugly. He was nearly holding you in place that way and you stared down your body to his slender fingers teasing slow circles over your dripping cunt. There was no warning before he slid his middle finger entirely inside you. 

You gasped loudly, mouth fallen open, and your hands gripped onto his thighs on either side of you. George’s soft groan fell against your ear as he slowly started to pump his finger inside you, biting his lip at how tight you were around only a single digit. He had shamelessly taken many church girls’ virginities like that but none of them ever felt or sounded as good as you before he even got inside them properly. You were something else and he craved to savour each second. 

“Good girl.” he praised against your neck, leaving soft kisses over your skin, “Deep breaths, angel.”

You inhaled shakily and on the exhale he added his ring finger into the clutch of your warm wet walls. Your face scrunched up at the unfamiliar stretch and your hand flew down to grab his wrist as if to stop him, but he only yanked your hand away with his other, gripping your wrist in his hand, and started pumping his two fingers inside you. 

Voice quivering, you whimpered out a strained, “Holy sh-shit-“ 

Despite your curse, George only smirked and curled his fingers steadily inside you, “Feels good doesn't it?”

“Yes, sir.” you whined, staring down at his hand between your legs that pumped inside you quickly to push the filthy wet squelching sounds of your body taking his invasion around his room. 

The black band on his right hand ring finger reflected the afternoon sunlight streaked in through the open window. The faint engraving of a cross and his three initials around the band caught your eye in the slight blur of his motions. GWR in small font, a good strong Christian name in first and middle, and now taken to deface your purity and the very symbol that the ring itself stood for. 

George held your arm around your body to keep you in place as his two fingers pushed stronger in and out of you, soaking themselves greedily in your arousal. You withered softly with the sweetest sounds, gripping his thigh with the hand he wasn’t pinning to your chest and watching him help himself to your body. He sped up quickly though, shoving his fingers into you in rapid motions, faster and faster. You moaned shakily, wincing through the unfamiliar stretch but letting your mouth fall open at how good it somehow felt. It was completely overwhelming and you tried to squeeze your legs together to ease some of the rush that was flooding over your body, panting for air and whining and squirming in his grip. 

“Shh, that’s it. Spread your legs, angel.” George praised softly, slowing down to let you open your legs again. He linked his ankles over yours to prevent you from closing your legs again and his fingers easily picked up the pace once more. They fucked into you quickly with an aggression that looked far more painful than it actually felt as his two slender fingers were simply pushing shots of indescribable pleasure through your body. 

“George!” you gasped, trying to move again but he held you down. You whimpered loudly, straining against his tight grip as he kept his fingers shoving quickly into you again and again, filling the room with the filthy wet sound of your pussy gladly taking his fingers. “S-Sir! Oh my God!” 

“Louder. He can hear you.” George spoke lowly against your ear, his own breathing slightly shallow as he fingered you faster. 

“Fuck!” you sobbed out, tossing your head back against his shoulder as your eyes screwed shut and toes started to curl in your socks. 

“Give into it, angel.” George breathed, his eyes focused on nothing but your face, the way your expression fell into ecstasy. His fingers ravaged your body, moving at such a great speed it could only be compared to the rapid flutter of angel wings.

When he let go of your arm, you immediately grabbed onto his thighs, digging your nails down through your trembling uncontrollable whimpers. His left hand then slid between your legs and pressed down on your clit to give you that greedy little bit of friction as his right hand ravished you at unbelievable speeds. 

“Oh my gosh! Oh my God!” you sobbed out, tossing your right arm up to grab onto his hair over your shoulder, tugging roughly at the roots and he groaned deliciously against your ear, setting your insides ablaze, “Fuck!” 

“Good girl.” George growled softly. 

“Oh fuck!” you swore to the ceiling, head tossed back against his bare shoulder as his fingers rammed into you harder, faster, more persistently. 

“Give into it. Don’t hold back.” George instructed behind the filthy wet smacks of his soaked fingers and palm meeting your dripping body. 

“What’s h-happening?” you cried shakily, your thighs starting to tremble and your skin flushed hot with pleasure. You felt tight all over, like your body was coiling in on itself. It felt like Satan had his hand on you, pulling you to some unimaginable place that you would never come back from. 

“You’re gonna cum, angel.” George whispered softly against your ear, keeping that same insane consistently rapid pace of his fingers, his voice sounding almost echoey against your ear as he reassured you, “Give into the pleasure.”

Your muscles were tightening around his fingers and you were getting dizzy with overwhelm, feeling every single inch of his slender fingers buried deep inside you contrasted by the cool metal of his ring that pushed against your warm lips with each rough thrust of his hand. You couldn’t stop shaking, moaning and whimpering so loudly that you were lucky his house was empty, and you tugged at his hair and his thigh for some hint of solace. 

“George!” you cried, “George! Sir-”

Your heels dug into the sheets beneath you, trying to push your trembling body away from his overwhelming touch. He gripped you by your hips tighter as your legs physically shook, holding you down on his hand as he fucked his fingers into you faster, relentlessly. In a second, you were falling perfectly silent and your head arched onto his shoulder with your eyes nearly rolling back in your head.  

It felt like a resurrection came over you, pulling your soul from your body as waves of pleasure tore through you. You could only try to breathe, gripping onto him as he fingered you right through your orgasm despite how you trembled underneath his control. It only got wetter, soaking your pussy, his fingers, and his duvet in your juices that leaked with each movement of his hand between your legs. 

You finally gasped for breath after having your entire body tensed and silenced with pleasure, echoing a blissful moan to the ceiling as your nails dug into both of his thighs. Your head fell forward and your eyes scrunched shut as you trembled with overwhelm and reached a hand down to grab his wrist and slow his rough movements down. 

“Okay, okay, okay- oh my...God…” you panted, your voice quivering. 

George let a soft chuckle fall against your neck and his lips followed in a gentle kiss to your skin. He finally pulled his fingers out of you and cupped his hand down nice and snug over your pussy until you were pushing his hand away with over sensitivity. His left hand raised to your throat and eased your head back onto his shoulder so he could lean in and kiss your lips, sharing sloppy breathless open mouthed kisses between you as your eyes struggled to even stay open. 

You were nearly limp between his legs but the obvious poke of his erection pressing against the small of your back had you licking your lips with unwavering desire for even more of him. He had been the catalyst for the awakening of your sin called lust that overtook you. Both the catalyst and the fuel that now kept this overpowering sensation going. You wanted all of him even if his simple touch sparked tremors of overwhelm through your body. 

When he pulled back from your lips, you tried to follow, leaning in after him with a pleading little whimper until he gave you his fingers instead. His big blue eyes watched as you silently permitted his two fingers in your mouth, your eyebrows furrowing slightly at the taste of yourself that grazed your tongue. 

“Tastes like heaven, huh?” George taunted. 

You could barely nod, sucking gently on his fingers for a few more seconds before he pulled them from your mouth and a string of spit dripped down your chin. 

“Turn over, angel.” he instructed as he shifted out from behind you. 

“What are you doing?” you mumbled as you shifted over onto your stomach. 

“We have one more step left in your penance until you’ll be free from your sin.” George explained as he situated himself to kneel on the mattress and he pulled you closer across the sheets by your hips. “You said you wanted me to bend you over and fuck you? Making you moan until Heaven can hear you?”

Your pussy pulsed at his words and you smothered a soft anticipatory moan into his duvet. You weren’t sure how much you could even take but despite the lingering sensitivity from your very first orgasm, you still craved more of him. After having his dick in your mouth it was only fair to give the rest of your body its turn. 

The silent filthy argument that your mind offered had you flushing pink into the sheets and you looked over your shoulder at him. George grabbed your hips and pulled your ass up so you were kneeling and bent forward onto the bed. His hand came down hard on your flesh and you yelped in surprise, wincing as he did it again and the metal of his ring stung your skin. 

“Answer me.” he ordered, his voice warm and firm.

You responded without hesitation, your voice foreign to you, “Yes, sir.” 

George got himself situated, kneeling between your spread legs, and he swiped his hand along your dripping pussy and smeared your excess liquids all over you just to make you more of a mess before using his slicked up hand to stroke his dick. 

“Don’t we need…a c-condom or something?” you asked shakily. 

“Contraceptives are a sin, angel.” George explained coolly, “I don’t think you need anything else added to your list of things to ask forgiveness for.”

“No, sir.” you breathed. 

“We’re going to start with something God won’t smite you too much over.” 

You rested yourself on your forearms with your back ached for him as his hand slid down your spine and rested between your shoulder blades to keep you in place. You glanced back at him over your shoulder just as he dragged his fingers through your soaking wet pussy and right up to the tight muscle of your asshole just above. His simple touch had you gasping as he smeared your wetness around and prodded gently at your hole. 

“George…” you spoke warningly, uncertainty present in your wavering voice. “Sir…I don’t think-“

He ignored you, grabbing two handfuls of your flesh and spread you open to lean down and let a thick dribble of saliva fall between your cheeks. Your eyes widened at the sensation, shutting you up expertly. Without lube or a condom, he slicked you up the best he could, finishing with a messy spit into his palm and a few more quick strokes to his dick. The feeling of the tip of his dick being angled against your asshole had you gripping the sheets nervously but you stayed perfectly still for him, waiting with bated breath for a feeling you didn’t know how to expect. 

“Just breathe, angel.” George cooed softly, setting one hand on your hip to keep you in place. 

You exhaled just as he started to push slowly inside you, stretching your tight hole open around his thick girth and nearly ripping indescribable pain right through your body. Your face screwed up in discomfort, breath freezing in your chest, and a trembling whimper fell from your throat. 

“Ow-” you choked out, fingers bunching around the sheets until your knuckles were turning white, “Ow, ow, ow, wait-”

“You’re being such a good girl.” George praised breathily, still pushing slowly into you. His thumbs tugged at your flesh to spread you open some more and he dropped another thick string of spit down to where you were connected, trying to help make himself slide a little easier. He cleaned up his lips with a lick and then bit the bottom one snugly as he watched himself bottom out inside you, his deep groan sending shivers up your spine. “You’re so fucking tight, angel. You’re so good.” 

“It hurts really bad.” you mumbled, tears stinging your eyes. 

“Just for a second.” George assured you before easing a short way out of you and then pushing back in. “It’s gonna feel so fucking good, angel, I promise.” 

You swore your entire body was burning in pain but you trusted his words. Somehow everything he said just came out so reassuring and believable, like he was a direct messenger from the Lord. It felt easy with him but it felt so wrong too, bent over on his bed in the filthiest of ways. 

You knew the concept of ‘God’s Loophole’ well from church camps where other teenagers made dirty jokes around the campfire about how sodomy was the one way to still guarantee a pass to heaven by avoiding true premarital sex. Hearing those things shocked you in the years passed but now, it all seemed to make sense. It was the best of both worlds: getting George and still getting your salvation. 

The talk seemed so much more casual than the act as you found yourself struggling to piece together if it was uncomfortable pain or pure overwhelming pleasure you were feeling. He gave you another slow thrust, his large hands gripping your hips until you were sure his ring was leaving intents in your skin. It would have been almost unbearable if it weren’t for his deep beautiful moans that fell from his chest everytime he pushed his hips right up against the curve of your bum and they honestly made the tight friction worth it. 

George pushed the bottom of your short skirt up again and hand came down hard on your cheek in a loud spank, enough for you to drop your forehead down against the duvet with a shaky groan, your fists gripping the sheets. He held you in place and started to pull you into each thrust, his eyes unwavering from your tight little hole and how perfectly stretched it stayed around his thick cock. It was erotic and he couldn’t help himself but shove a little harder into you. 

“Sir…” you whimpered out, arching your back lower for him without even realizing it. 

“Good girl.” George smirked down to you even though you couldn’t see him. He could sense you succumbing to it, adjusting to the invasion, and his hand slid down your back to grab a fistfull of your hair as he sped up slightly, thrusting into you a bit faster. 

“Oh-“ you gasped out shakily, scrunching your eyes closed tightly as you tried to focus on the pleasure in the pain, face smothered into the mattress. 

“Such a good little whore for sir.” George praised lowly, tugging at your hair to lift your head up, forcing you to stare straight ahead at the wooden carved cross on the wall above his bed as he shoved into you steadily. “And a good little angel for the Lord, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, sir.” you tumbled out. 

“Yeah?” 

“More.” you blurted out. 

“Harder or faster?”

“I-I don’t know!” you whimpered. 

George chuckled lowly from behind you, fucking into you harder and faster, pushing a trembling groan from your throat as he held your hair back in his tight fist. You were so wet that his childhood bedroom was easily picking up the filthy slap of his balls on your cunt, only making your eyes nearly flutter close with disgusting bliss as all your senses focused on him. It reeked of sex in his room but it didn’t phase either of you as he gripped you tighter and fucked into you harder. 

“O-Oh fuck,” you cried out, face contorting in pleasure, “Oh fuck!”

“That’s it, angel.” George grunted, his skin slapping hard against yours, trying to speak through his rough breaths and beautiful deep moans, “Gotta make this quick so I can take you home. Made up some little lie that we were getting some extra bible study in…your parents will never suspect that their innocent little angel is being fucked up the ass.”

“Please-” you sobbed, not quite knowing what you were trying to ask for, clutching the sheets tighter as your eyes screwed shut. “Shit.” 

George slid his hand from your hair to the front of your neck and pulled your head up higher by a tight grip on your throat. With his lips against the shell of your ear, his breaths were sending shivers down your spine, and you arched back for him greedily for more. 

“Naughty little angel.” George growled against your ear, holding you in place by your throat as his other hand spanked you hard again before sliding down to play with your pussy a little, rubbing over your folds as he fucked your ass nice and rough, honestly making your hand slap down on the mattress. 

“Please, sir! Gimme it!” you cried out, letting him ram the syllables from your throat. 

“Shit, angel…fuck.” George groaned, shoving two fingers back into your pussy and thrusted them in rapid time with his hips, only increasing the soaking wet sounds that squelched through the bedroom. “Shit, you’re soaked…so fucking wet.”

“Yes, sir! Yes, sir-r-r, o-oh my-“

“Say it. He’s listening.”

George’s fingers sped up as his body slowed down to a stop and he watched your muscles clench around his dick as your cunt took his second vicious attack from his glorious fingers. 

“Oh my G-God!” you finally squealed, bending lower for him despite the grip he had on your throat. 

“Fuck this.” George huffed impatiently and pulled his fingers out of you suddenly, leaving you to shriek at the sudden stillness. He yanked your head back by your throat again so he could speak lowly right into your ear, his voice thick and low, “You want my fat cock in your sweet little pussy?”

You couldn’t even answer for a moment with how stunningly filthy and desirable those words sounded coming out of his swollen pink lips. All you could manage in reply was a pleading moan of, “Mmm, yes.”

“Beg.” he ordered. “Tell me you want me to fuck the sin out of you.”

Your once censored mind was nothing but a mess of filthy desire and you let the devil speak for you from your innocent mouth, “Please, sir. Please fuck me. Need your dick so fucking bad…need it so deep…”

George eased out of your ass, leaving a bit of a gaping hole staring back at him that he slipped his left thumb into to not leave you painfully empty. You withered for him, wiggling your hips back temptingly and he spanked you with his right hand. 

“You’re going to have to go to confession and beg for forgiveness from the Lord daily if I fuck your pretty pussy. You know premarital sex is one of the greatest sins of all.” George explained as he tauntingly dragged the tip of his leaking dick between your lips. 

Yes, you knew that well. You knew that to take your virginity back properly you may even need to be re-baptized - and what would your family think of that - but in that moment, all that mattered was him filling your deepest desires. You craved him in the deepest part of your soul and the deepest part of your body. 

“I don’t care, I need you inside me!” you cried out, louder than you needed to, and tried to push back on him desperately. 

His hand gripped tighter to the sides of your throat and you fell silent as he shushed you soothingly and pressed the head of his dick just inside you to make you gasp with the slightest taste of that beautiful stretch, “I’ll give you what you want, angel.”

“Please.” you breathed, scrunching your eyes closed in anticipation. 

George pushed into you a little more until he reached some resistance from your body. His fingers had done a good job in preparing you somewhat but, for your first time, it was expected that it wouldn’t suddenly make it easy. You whimpered at the sting that the gentle nudge of his cock hinted between your legs, your body tensing up.

“Deep breaths for me now, angel.” he purred, stroking your hair, “Nice, deep breaths.”

You took a full, shaky breath, and he took that moment to force himself a little deeper. Your inhale was cut off by a pained cry, eyes screwing shut, feeling him forcing himself into your untouched body. He was patient with you, easing into you in slow shallow thrusts despite the way tears welled in your eyes at the ache it pushed over your hips and right between your legs. 

His thick girth and impressive length caused the wetness that dripped out of you to squish filthily as he pushed himself inside all the way. There was a pause and George let out an audible withering moan, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head with how beautifully warm, wet, and tight you were around him, squeezing him so tightly he was sure he had never seen the presence of God until that very moment. 

“Ohhh, fuck.” he swore breathily, keeping his thumb in your ass as his dick filled your pussy to the hilt. His deep groan reverberated through your mind and your jaw fell slack with the pleasure of even simply hearing him, using that as a distraction from the physical strain. His other hand gave your hip a squeeze, muttering out a barely audible, “There we go…”

Then, George barely gave you a second to admire that fulfilling stretch, before he was pulling out and ramming back into you hard. You groaned loudly, eyes fluttering at his intensity as he did it again. His hand pulled his thumb from your ass and he held a two-handed grip on your hips to tug you back into each quick thrust. Your mouth was hanging open with shocked bliss, nearly drooling out the side of your mouth at how good he felt taking you from behind. 

He spanked you again, slapping his large hand down hard right across the pink tinted flesh of your ass, and then propped up one foot flat on the mattress for leverage. His speed and aggression was indescribable and a pitchy moan fell from your lips. 

“Ohh my God!” you shrieked through his room, the pain melting quickly into pleasure as your body accommodated him, drunk on the feeling of having him all. Your voice shook with the overwhelming pleasurable tears welling in your eyes, “Yes, yes, yes, sir, yes!”

Unexpectedly, just as you had started to properly enjoy it and how much you wanted him to keep going, to keep blessing you with this new form of rebirth, he pulled right out of you. You cried out in pleading protest but he didn’t wait a second before grabbing your waist and flipping you right over onto your back. He shoved up your skirt again and pushed open your legs—wide—as he spoke down to you through his teeth, “I wanna see your pretty little face…wanna see my angel’s beautiful, pathetic heavenly tears.”

“Sir-“ you whined, reaching down to grab his wrist as he was lining his dick back up between your legs. The faint streaks of blood on his dick from when he broke your hymen were barely acknowledged by you, far too focused on getting back to the unexplainable feeling of being stretched by him, “Put it in. Put it in.” 

He shoved back inside you in one swift thrust and your head tossed back against his bed with a heavenly moan. He starting fucking into you quickly again, his hands rested strongly on the duvet on either side of your head as his eyes stared down lustfully at your flushed face. 

“Ah fuck-“ you whimpered, the word cutting off right at the end as George dipped down to kiss you and bite at your bottom lip. You moaned hungrily into his mouth, tangling your hand in the back of his hair as he thrusted into you messily. Your fingers raked over his shoulder blades, pulling angry red scratches over his back, struggling to keep kissing him like that when he took you over so easily. 

After a moment, George leaned back, knelt between your legs and he pushed your thighs up towards your chest and outwards, spreading you wide to give himself plenty of room to fuck you. It was a near miracle that your socks hadn’t slipped down from where they rested at your knees and as George held one of your thighs in place, his other hand grabbed a handful of your sock on your other leg. 

His gaze was captured by your soaked pussy and how it nearly pulled him in with each thrust he gave you, watching how you coated him in your liquids more and more each time he pulled back. There was something so mind numbingly addicting about you and the pureness you exuded that made him want to ruin you and claim you completely. Especially in your skirt and knee-high socks. You were effortlessly and innocently sexy. Your sweet moans and whimpers made his mind spin. 

“Lord…have mercy on me.” George muttered, leaning over you a little more to hit deeper, one hand falling heavily against the mattress beside your head, causing his silver cross necklace to dangle above you tauntingly. “Pussy’s so fucking creamy-“

His filthy words and his obvious reaction to your body only spurred you on, hands gripping around to his back as he fucked you into his bed. He wasn’t going as hard as he was going fast and his pendant was nearly hitting you in the chin with each thrust. You couldn’t help yourself as your last sliver of polite Christian sanity dissolved from your existence and you opened your mouth to take the metal cross between your teeth. 

“Forgive me.” you muttered shakily up to heaven, bending your legs back farther as George’s grip tightened on your thighs and he stared down at his necklace in your mouth and shoved into you harder to make you squeal another blissful, “Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me-“ 

He was going harder now, lost in your pleas and your vice-like grip of your cunt, and he fucked you so strongly the headboard was starting to hit the wall. Thud, thud, thud, in time with your heavy breaths and equal groans, nearly shaking the wooden crucifix that hung over his bed right off the wall. You were whimpering underneath him, his cross pendant between your teeth until the metallic taste filled your mouth and your eyes stared up at him longingly. 

“How does it feel, angel?” George spoke down to you darkly, moving a hand from gripping your knee sock to grab a snug handful of one of your breasts as they bounced in time with his rough thrusts, “What if your parents saw you like this, hm? Getting your tight little virgin pussy fucking pounded? They’ll certainly send you away to boarding school to set you straight…trying to scold the lustful slut out of you.”

“George…” you sobbed out, gripping your nails down the side of his back as you clung onto him desperately, “Sir-”

“No, no. I got you. I’m going to set you straight myself.” George said through his teeth, fucking into you in rough consistent thrusts until his double bed creaked steadily underneath you, “Give you just what you want so those filthy little sinful thoughts are gone for good.” 

“Please, please, please-” you begged, trying to slide your legs around his waist but he leaned back and grabbed your thighs again to hold you open. 

He didn’t stop, only finding a different angle to thrust inside you harder and the tip of his cock nudged against a certain spot deep inside you that made you nearly see stars. You fell perfectly silent for a moment, mouth falling open and his necklace dropping from your lips as your eyes nearly rolled back into your head and your hands wrapped tightly around his biceps. He fucked little gasps out of you, shoving right into that perfect spot that left you breathless until you could hardly even wrap your mind around the pleasure. 

“Yes.” you squeaked out, “Fuck! Yes, yes, yes-” 

You were sure his grip on your thighs was going to leave bruises but George didn’t care...in fact, he would have loved to see you marked up by him. He never realized how much he had been holding out for you but finally being able to have you in his bed and have your body to himself, he was nearly in blissful heaven. You were so tight and warm and he was ravishing your body until he was sure he was about to lose it far too soon if he didn’t slow down. 

With a huff, he pulled out of you completely, breaking your silence as you heaved in air with a sob. He licked his hand and rubbed his fingers over your messy pussy to smear around the dripping wetness that leaked out of you and to stimulate you a little more. You whimpered at the emptiness, grabbing him by his silver chain to pull him back towards you pleadingly. 

He slid the length of his aching cock between your folds as he leaned down to kiss you, rubbing up against your clit and between your lips as you found heaven in his tongue. You shared strong moans between sloppy kisses and quick bites until he reached down between you and shoved his whole length right back into you in one precise plunge. You grunted hard at his intensity, gaping up at him as he picked up where he left off, fucking you hard into his bed until his balls were echoing a steady rhythm of wet slapping through his room. 

You were dizzy with pleasure, moaning louder as tears of pleasure blurred your vision, raising your hands above your head to grip onto the sheets as he had his way with you. He found that spot inside you again like it was easy, like he knew your body, like he knew every inch of your entire existence. He pushed your thighs straight up to your chest to give himself nothing more than a tight little gap between your legs to fuck into, feeling how snug you were around him from the inside out. You threw your head back against the mattress, shrieking to the ceiling—shrieking to heaven—over the way he made you see stars.

“The louder you are the harder I want to fuck you.” George warned lustfully, staring right down into your eyes. 

“Sir...please…” you sobbed out, a few tears escaping the corners of your eyes as he imprinted your body into his bed sheets with his own. 

His groans were righteous and beautiful and you forced your eyes to stay open and locked with his, even as your toes started to curl in your socks again, calves hooked over his shoulders. He was slamming into you harder, forcing your moans to reach every corner of his house and your hands had no choice but to grab onto any part of him you could reach as you struggled for air; gripping his hair and his bicep, raking over his back. 

You felt it again, that overwhelming tightness in the depths of your insides and the craving to just give into him. 

“Sir.” you whined out softly, “Sir. I-I’m...Sir, I’m gonna cum.” 

But George was already feeling how your body clenched down on him in desperate greedy pulses, he knew you were close before you even did. He raised one hand to the top of his wooden headboard, using it for leverage as he fucked you right through your overwhelm and into the momentary blissful gaping silence as your orgasm washed over you. 

With a shrieking gasping inhale, you came around him, forcing yourself to stare right into his eyes as he brought so much aching pleasure over you that it was mind numbing. All you could think about was George, George, George and certainly not the terrible heinous sins you were committing with the son of your pastor. 

George was merciless, pounding into you right through your orgasm even as your liquids creamed around him and drenched your thighs in glistening wetness that made his body slap with yours louder and wetter. He was groaning loud, eyebrows furrowed as you squeezed his cock so tightly it was as if your body was ready to suck the very soul from him. 

“Goddamn, angel.” he spoke lowly, his words riddled with breathlessness, “That’s my good fucking girl.” 

“Feels so good.” you sobbed wetly. 

“Yeah? I bet it does.” George taunted without slowing down, “Your sweet little pussy has never been fucked like this before. Just waiting for me to fuck those naughty thoughts out of your brain.” 

“Yes, sir.” you cried, moaning and whimpering as your high tapered off and your aching throbbing body was still being taken roughly by him. “Yes, sir, it hurts.”

“Let it hurt.” George hushed you quickly, “It’s part of your penance, angel, remember? You’re a dirty fucking sinner.”

“Yes, sir.” you sobbed, dragging your nails down his biceps as he fucked you roughly as the bed slammed against the wall over and over even as his hand tried to hold the headboard still. 

It was far too overwhelming and your legs were trembling, but you could only focus on him and how his dick was starting to throb inside your snug body. His slick skin was warm under your touch and he shifted slightly to slide his other hand down between your legs still bent up to your chest and he let his fingertips graze over your clit. Your whimper at his light touch only had him setting his whole hand down on your lower stomach and had his thumb start to rub at your swollen clit, pressing down just to feel how deep he was and you could feel how he filled you. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” you shrieked, tears pouring down your cheeks in overwhelm as his thumb rubbed faster and faster. Your sinful, vulgar words only spurred him on, fucking the sanity out of you harder, his breaths falling shallower as his groans filled his room. 

“Gonna cum in your filthy fucking mouth.” he growled shakily, still fucking into you strongly. 

“No.” you whimpered, grabbing his waist in your tight grip as if to prevent him from even trying to pull out, “I want it inside me. P-Please, sir.”

“Angel, that’s so dangerous.” George warned. 

“I don’t care!” you whined, “I don’t care, I wanna feel you so fucking deep, sir, please!” 

“God, you’re so fucking sinful.”

“In-side-me-ple-ase.” you begged through each hard thrust he gave you. 

George’s thumb rubbed harder at your clit until your legs were shaking, nearly vibrating as they were held down against your chest and he was leaned over top of you, fucking you harder and faster into his bed as his heavenly moans harmonized so angelically with yours. You felt completely on fire, soaking yourself in tears of overwhelm as your mind was fizzing into nothingness. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t focus on anything else other than his thick cock drilling into you so hard your vision was going black around the edges. 

Your third orgasm of the afternoon hit you like a brick wall, sending your whole body into tremors as your pussy clenched down on him tighter than ever, your eyes screwing shut no matter how much you wanted to keep looking at him. It was insane how dizzy with pleasure you felt and the bursts of liquids that spurted out of you had you gasping in surprise as you clung onto him. 

George gripped tighter to the headboard and shoved in as deep as he could go with a rough grunt, pausing there for a second as he spilled his first thick shot of cum right inside you. The pad of his thumb still tugged at your clit as he shoved his hips into yours slowly but strongly through your shared orgasms, not caring how you soaked him up his abs in clear glistening wetness. 

“Oh fuck.” you whimpered shakily, gripping onto his biceps tightly as he came inside you, filling you with the warmest filthiest feeling. You were more than positive that this is what heaven felt like. 

“Oh my...gosh.” George breathed lowly, his eyebrows furrowed in his own surprise and he leaned back slightly to get a good look at how soaked you both were, not to mention his sheets that were lightly stained in pink hues of blood. You whimpered as his body heat moved away from you and you let your arms draped tiredly above your head to let him stare at you. His large hands ran down your hips and held you in place as he pulled out of you, letting his softening dick leave you without that once perfect stretch. 

Your legs fell lazily to the bed even as they trembled slightly and he stayed situated between them to watch as a thick drop of white cream was pushed out of your dripping hole by your aching and pulsing muscles. He didn’t bother cleaning it up, leaving you messy as he raised his eyes back up to your tear streaked face. 

“I’ve never had a girl squirt before.” 

His simple statement had you shying away, pulling your thighs together as your cheeks flushed pink. George tisked and leaned over you to press a lingering kiss to your cheek. 

“Why so shy on me now, angel?”

You felt dirty from more than the sin that had just completed, but at the thought of him doing the same thing with other girls. You mumbled a soft, “Nothing.” 

“Hey.” George’s face turned to concern and he shifted off you to let you sit up the best you could when you made the move and you pulled your skirt back down as if to keep yourself decent around the young man who just took your virginity. Who just took your most sacred gift. He spoke your name softly and reached for your arm to stop you from standing up. With the wave of dizziness that overcame you, you didn’t fight him. “Take it easy for a sec.” 

“I have to go.” you said, your voice quivering.

“Just wait until you get your legs back under you first at least.” George said, trying to pull you by the arm to lay down again. “Why are you in such a rush, angel?”

You sat stiff on the side of his bed, mostly naked and covered in sweat, spit, and various consistencies of each other’s cum, and you held onto the edge of the mattress with your head hung and spinning. You took a soft breath, “How many girls have you...have you taken like this?”

There was a silence that fell and you didn’t have to look at him to know the expression that was taking up his face. He didn’t want to lie to you but the truth wasn’t what he knew you wanted to hear. 

“A few...maybe, like, eight...or...twelve...but-”

“I’m so stupid.” you whimpered more to yourself than anyone, trying to get up again. 

George grabbed your arm to keep you from getting to your feet and he spoke quickly, “But none of them have been like you. None of them have made me feel as good as you. None of them...I never technically had sinful disgusting risky pre-marital sex with anyone other than you.”

“You probably say that to all of them.” you mumbled, sitting on the side of his bed sniffling, and wiped your already tear streaked cheeks with the heel of your palm. 

“Hey.” George shuffled up behind you on the bed and he slid his arm around you and gently urged your head back to look at him over your shoulder with a hand on your neck. You blinked away your forming tears as you stared into his eyes. He stroked his thumb over your jawline and spoke softly to you, “Lying is a sin. I don’t lie and especially not to you.” 

You sniffled and nodded weakly. 

George leaned in and pressed a gentle feather soft kiss to your pouted lips and then another to the tip of your nose. He petted your hair back from your face, “Okay, now just lay down for a bit and I’ll grab you some water. That post-orgasm drop off is really hitting you, angel.” 

“What’s that?” you mumbled, letting him lead you farther back onto his bed and he tucked the sheets up around your shivering body. 

“You’re just exhausted and overwhelmed from all that—and maybe a bit dehydrated—and after such a strong dose of those pleasure sensors in that pretty little head of yours, you’re now crashing a little.” George explained as he made sure you were tucked up securely to keep you from trembling from cold as well as the drop in natural endorphins. “I’m going to get you some water, I’ll be right back.”

He tugged his boxers back up and hurried out of his room and you listened for each quick footfall down the wooden flight of stairs. Fourteen steps. You let your head rest back against the headboard and you stared up at the bottom of the carved wooden cross still managing to stay hung on the blue painted wall. Your heart was racing and you still felt like you were going to cry. Your head was spinning and even though you weren’t cold, you were trembling. 

This must have been your punishment. God saw it all. He saw your sin and this was the first step to your true punishment. You felt sick with guilt, a pit in your stomach like you had never felt before. You needed to go home but you wanted to stay with George but you thought that even the sight of him would bring back the shame of your afternoon rendezvous. 

Only a few seconds later, George was returning into his room with two glasses of water and a box of cookies tucked under his arm. Even though the house was still empty, he nudged the door closed anyway and brought over the snack and drinks to the bedside table. 

“Okay,” he crouched down to drop the opened package of cookies on the night table and then held out one of the glasses of water to you, “Here you go.”

“God’s punishing me.” you said softly without taking the glass. 

George’s soft smile fell, still holding your offered drink out to you, “What? How?”

“I feel...sick with guilt.” you mumbled, embarrassed to share your innermost fears with him, whom you may have been crushing on for months but only spoke to in the last few short hours. 

“He’s not punishing you, angel.” George assured you. He set his own glass of water to the side before he lifted your hand himself to wrap your fingers around your icy glass. “Drink.” 

Your trembling hand rose the water to your lips and you sipped softly. George crawled onto his bed beside you and petted his hand through the side of your hair as you sipped your water. He leaned in to kiss your temple. 

“You did nothing abnormal.” George said softly, stroking his hand through your tangled mess of hair, “Remember what I said? God wouldn’t have made it feel so good if it was something so terrible, right? And you know He always loves you so all you have to do is take it to confession and it will be alright.” 

“How do you know?” you asked shakily. 

“Angel,” George chuckled, “I’m the second son of our town’s pastor; I have been told our rules and expectations as Christains since the moment I took my very first breath. I may have found my way around some of them over the last few years but my father always told me that nothing you can do will make the Lord love you any less.” 

You sipped your water quietly. 

“And making love is certainly not a ticket to hell.” George whispered. 

“Do I have to be re-baptised?” 

“Only if you want to.”

“Promise?”

“I don’t lie.”

You glanced over at him, your nose almost touching his with how close you both sat, and feeling somewhat more comforted, you tested his theory, “So if you’re so truthful, what do you say if your parents ask what you did this afternoon?”

“I praised the name of the Lord with that sweet-hearted girl from church and helped her to strengthen her faith and connection with God.” George answered easily. 

“And if they ask how?”

“They won’t.” George shrugged before leaning over you to reach for his glass of water from the nightstand, pausing with his lips brushing over yours as he whispered, “But if they do, I guess I’ll have to tell them that I had no choice but to fuck your sinful thoughts you were having right out of your head...tell them that you’re cured now...that I made you see the light of heaven...that I turned you from a little dirty whore into a sweet angellic good girl who loves her God.” 

His teasing smile only had you biting back your own, raising your hand still chilled from the cold water glass to set against his bare chest and he tilted his head slightly to kiss you slowly. 

After a few seconds, he pulled back again, “Make me one promise though?”

“Mhm?” you answered softly, still in a blissful little daze from the sweetness of his kisses. 

“Keep your confessional appointment for tomorrow. You definitely need it now.” 

“Yes, sir.” you giggled, tossing your arm around his shoulders as his lips locked with yours again. 

The very next day - after a long afternoon of snacks and kisses and nothing else in George’s warm bed, him driving you home on his motorcycle, and a night of such a deep relaxing sleep you didn’t even dream - you arrived at the white paneled church at 1pm. Like a taunting sense of deja vu, you small heels clicked over the wooden floors of the empty church and towards the two small doors of the confessional booths. There was one light on, signaling that the priest was inside and waiting for you. 

You opened the door and closed it behind you as you sat in the tight space. You performed the sign of the cross, folded your hands, and spoke remorsefully despite the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips, “Forgive me, Father, for I have greatly sinned.” 

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

“Fuck—“ your breathy moan escaped your lips when you scrolled past your photos in your camera roll.

Trying to chase the ache that grew in your groin through the weekend, it felt impossible how horny you were, that need for release being maddening.

The source of this despair was Max’s hands.

You were his personal photographer, always getting the best shots and you decided to make your turnon anonymously famous.

The instagram account dedicated to his hands was full of your pictures you took in the last two years working with him. It was subtle, he was oblivious, because you always took so many snaps and chose a few of them for the official pages.

You were struggling to get to your peak, your pussy drenched but deeply unsatisfied.

With a desperate huff you stopped, trying to get your brain entertained by choosing another great photo for your page.

Max was finally sitting in the private corner of the RedBull hospitality, sipping some water out of his emotionally supportive bottle when he scrolled through the socials only to find a new post on this page he started to follow from one of his fake accounts.

For a few weeks he was trying to figure out who was behind this thing, taking their time curating his hands in different angles and lighting.

It surely must be somebody who’s around him, who’s in the RedBull.

GP? Nah. He wouldn’t be bothered. Maybe…

Laurent? Trying to have some fun in the meantime? No…

One of the PR girls? They’re usually so close to him. But also no…

Lifting his gaze from his phone, he tried to think about anybody else. Then his eyes spotted you walking out of the restrooms, shifting a little and grinning into your phone.

Furrowing his brows, he pinched his jaw, going through many moments you’re around him, like a little shadow, taking the best shots of him.

Then he went through the RedBull socials and this “hands” account and he found resemblance at the angles of the snaps.

But out of all the people, you?

Then you turned around only to meet his glance and you waved at him and smiled, disappearing in the crowd.

Unbelievable, but he was sure he found the right person.

Another quali session, another media pen interview and you with your camera on.

Max was speaking to the reporter, stealing glances at you in the back, noticing how your eyes were dropping to where he gripped the railing of the barrier.

It was amusing how you thought you’re unrecognisable by your little hobby.

When he was done with answering the questions, he was about to look for you, because you suddenly disappeared.

Walking through the narrow corridor at the back of the hospitality, he heard some muffled sounds, carefully and quietly walking to the door on the right side that led into some kind of backroom for staff.

Then he heard you moan.

Something in his guts tightened and he bit his lip.

And again.

It knocked the air from his lungs how sweet you sounded, he wanted to listen to that all day.

Slowly, he reached for the knob and opened the door, sliding inside. He almost laughed at the fact how you were stupid for not locking yourself there.

And then the vision…

You facing the wall in the corner, phone with the picture of him zoomed in in your hand, and the other doing gods work under the waistband of your pants.

In that moment every rational thought fled out of his brain, it took him three steps to get a hold of you, your mouth clasped with his palm and his other hand gripping your wrist between your legs.

You made a startled yelp, trying to scream but…

“Got you.” Max whispered into your hair and you could feel how embarrassment creeped up your spine.

He snatched your hand out of your pants only to slide his own there instead and you almost lost it once his fingertips brushed over your swollen clit.

“I see you got pretty worked up here. All that just from the look at my strong and large hands, hm?” He continued in his talk and you squirmed with a soft whine against his palm.

“You could’ve just asked me.” And his fingers entered you, filling you nicely, stretching you the way you craved so bad.

Clinging onto his forearm with both of your hands, you exhaled sharply, breathing through the arousal.

“Imagine how I’m gripping the steering wheel… how I’m holding you by your neck… my hands sprawled on your lower back when I’d be showing you what a good girl you are…”

His words twisted your brain in the most delicious way.

Max could feel how you clenched around his fingers, his arm flexing to get even deeper.

Eyes rolled into your skull, you almost passed out from the intensity of the pleasure he was giving you.

Whimpering quietly, your hips chased his fingering pace, his palm full of your juices from how you were dripping.

“Wanna come, sweet girl? Want me to circle your little bud to make you twitch in satisfaction?” Lowering his head to your neck, he placed an open mouthed kiss on your sensitive skin, you nodded eagerly.

Then he pulled out, moving to your clit, pinching it between his fingers to tease you. A muffled gasp filled the air, you were sure you were drooling into his hand, same as your needy little pussy down there.

“Look at you. What a good girl you are. Come on. Only this hand can make you come, mhm…” he knew, how come he knew?

No room to think about nonsense, it took about five full slow circles to have you absolutely lost in his arms as the waves of pleasure were crashing down your body.

You would be screaming his name, but not today, he made sure you were quiet, holding his palm over your mouth even tighter.

Once you were out of that orgasmic haze, Max let go of you, letting you process what just happened.

You leaned against the wall, breathing in and out, not daring to look at his face as you adjusted your pants.

“How did you find out?” Your voice was still trembling with the sound of your climax.

Max did what absolutely unraveled you, he sucked you off his fingers, his mouth making all those obscene noises by devouring the taste.

Then his sharp icy eyes landed back at you with an amused smile.

“I noticed fully today. When I was gripping that railing and you were on the verge of salivating.”

You rubbed your neck with a nervous chuckle. “Uh… well.”

Taking a step into your personal space again, you sucked in a breath.

“It’s time to show you something different to make your personal collection even more interesting.” His brows wiggled in a mischievous way and his eyes gleamed with excitement.

And that’s how you ended up with a locked folder in your camera roll full of his dickpics in different angles and positions, all for you when you were hungry.

What was the best turn on? Combination of his hand holding his cock only for you to see and have.

Safe to say that you haven’t updated that account of yours ever since.

© All stories and written content created by me is not allowed to be used without my permission. If you wish to share, quote, or use any portion of my stories, please contact me directly.

So the younger had taken up photography to pass his time while his older self was working or training or travelling and while you had busy days of your own, meaning that said camera was around a lot. He was quite protective of it and no matter how much his older self knew about photography, the younger Lando would never allow him to so much as touch it. 

Yet, alone, twenty-six-year-old Lando capitalized on this rare opportunity. Raising the viewfinder to his eye, Lando peered through it to see the framed reflection of his bedroom. The light from the ensuite was leaking across the floor from around the corner and he could hear your quiet chatter with his younger self as you got ready. He snapped a picture. 

Slowly scanning the room leftwards, the viewfinder framed a second view of the messy king size bed that, nightly, held the three of you. It had been attempted to be made that morning with the sheets haphazardly strewn back across the mattress and pillows tossed into somewhat of a semblance of order against the headboard. The light from the sun made it look beautiful. Lando snapped another picture. 

He then turned the camera around to face himself and pulled a huge, dramatic grin to snap a third picture, half blurry and out of frame. He chuckled to himself and then turned the camera back around to open the gallery of previously taken photos on the display screen. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, calling out in the direction of the ensuite as he flicked through the images, “Are you guys almost done yet?”

Your voice called back happily, “Didn’t know we were in a rush!” 

A few of the photos from the previous day were taken when younger Lando had gone up north on a hike: a few shots of the foliage and trails or the distant harbour and glistening sea. He was quite private about his newly found hobby so older Lando was treading in dangerous territory. 

“What are you doing with that?”

The panicked voice of his younger self was no less than proof he got caught red handed but with a smirk and a quick raise of the camera again, older Lando snapped a few quick pictures of him. 

The nineteen-year-old hurried across the room towards him, “Stop! Don’t touch my stuff.” 

He then proceeded to have a bunch of unflattering photographs taken of himself getting closer and closer to the camera until his hand was blocking the lens. 

“It’s technically mine too. We are the same person, you know,” older Lando reminded him, lifting his socked foot up to push his younger self back against his stomach. 

“Mate,” younger Lando huffed, “Just…don’t look through it.”

“Why? You have your nudes in here? Sorry…our nudes?” 

“Disgusting,” younger Lando turned away from him and his blunt teasing. 

Another picture was taken, indicated by the sound of the shutter through the quiet bedroom. 

The light from the ensuite was turned off and you came around the corner yourself in only your jeans and a bra. Older Lando carefully turned the lens to zoom in and snapped a few candid photos of you as you checked your phone, half hidden behind his younger self who was pulling on his black hoodie. 

“Smile, baby.” Lando sang softly, earning a few quick photos of your curious expression looking over at him and then smiling and then quickly turning away. 

“Stop, I’m not dressed,” you tisked with a little chuckle. 

“You look good.” 

His younger self drifted past you and kissed your cheek on his way, agreeing softly, “Very good.”

“You two are too much for me.” you said bashfully. 

“Wait, Lan, come back,” the twenty-six-year-old called after his younger self who had since disappeared back around the corner. 

He popped his head back around the corner with an unimpressed expression, correcting him away from the nickname he hated, “Lando, to you.”

Ignoring him, older Lando waved his hand towards you, “Kiss her again.”

You and the younger glanced over at each other and you smiled softly at the way he shyly bit his lip. He looked back to his older self, suddenly all too aware of the attention and the camera pointed at him, “Why?”

“Because it was cute. But kiss her properly this time.” 

Never one to deny you a kiss, the sweethearted nineteen-year-old took the few short steps over to you and you welcomed him in for a brief kiss to your lips, barely touching you before he stepped back again. 

Older Lando tisked, “Oh…do it again, I didn’t get it.”

His younger self stepped closer to you with a quick lick to his lips before he was leaning in to kiss you again. 

“Perfect, now stay right there.”

You smiled into it and let one hand grasp the front of the younger’s hoodie as his hands settled innocently on your waist as if hesitant to touch your bare skin. You shared a few soft chasté kisses to the sound of the camera shutter clicking faintly a few times. 

Always wanting more, your boyfriend spoke from his spot across the room, “Gimme some more hands; come on. Kiss her like you mean it.”

A small huff from the younger Lando fell against your cheek and you giggled at his flustered frustration as your lips locked and your hand found the back of his neck, pulling him closer towards you. His hands slid slowly around your waist and to the small of your back, holding your body against his as your lips moulded the sweetest kisses to be stained in morning sunlight and captured by the camera like a scene out of a movie.

“That’s it,” older Lando spoke from the desk chair, zooming in a little more to take one more picture of the two of you with just your faces filling the frame. He habitually licked his lips at the sight of your perfect kiss and then he looked past the camera towards you himself. 

Although the mini photoshoot was done, neither you nor the nineteen-year-old seemed quite ready to end as the warm touch of each other and perfectly delectable kisses were too addicting. It was quiet in the room for a second and your boyfriend just watched the moment progress. 

But then his younger self went for your neck. Your eyes stayed closed and your fingers tangled in the back of his hair, the sunlight blessing your features to the point that older Lando just had to raise the camera up again. It had to be captured. 

The bite of your lip, the rouge to your cheeks, the pleasure on your face as the feeling of his lips on your neck had your hands grasping tighter to hair and hoodie. Your small hum in appreciation.

Click of the shutter. 

Zoom. 

Click. 

The viewfinder dragged down your body to frame the way his fingers pressed into the doughy flesh of your hip just over the waistband of your jeans. 

Focus. 

Click. 

Your hand in the back of his hair. 

Click. 

Younger Lando lifted his head up just enough to dust his lips over the shell of your ear and his warm breath made you shiver. He whispered to you for only you to hear, “Do we have to leave now?”

“Mm,” you hummed to the room, already in some sort of trance from his touch and his kiss, and you spoke his question aloud for your boyfriend’s answer, “Lan, do we have to leave?”

He answered easily from behind the camera, “Not if we’re going to keep doing this.” 

“Good,” his younger self whispered against your cheek and pressed a lingering kiss there before leaving one more on your jaw. His hands slid to the front of your body and with his shy anticipatory breath on your face, he popped the button on your jeans. 

With a proud smirk on his face, twenty-six-year-old Lando took one last picture before he was looking down at the camera in his hands and switching the setting to ‘video’, sealing your desire to stay home just a little longer with a reassurance of, “The coast isn’t going anywhere.”

He stood from the desk chair just as nineteen-year-old Lando guided you gently backwards to the edge of the bed and when you sat down, he helped to pull your jeans all the way off and to the floor. He then licked away his eager smile as he sank to his knees on the side of the bed and positioned himself between your legs, glancing up at you as he linked his fingers in the sides of your panties and pulled them down your legs next. 

Twenty-six-year-old Lando pressed record, carefully fitting the two of you into the frame, and the little red light illuminated itself on the corner of the camera. He took a slow step closer, his heart already racing in his chest at how sudden and surprisingly arousing this was as he filmed his younger self going down on you. The nineteen-year-old had learned plenty since his first night with the two of you and he knew exactly what to do to make you happy, starting with a soft kiss to your stomach as his hands caressed your thighs and he draped them over his shoulders. 

You giggled excitedly, toes curling in anticipation as he kissed down your pelvis and along your inner thigh before finally leaving a slow, open mouthed kiss right over your pussy with his sparkling eyes peering up at you from the floor. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you watched him kiss you teasingly before his tongue was dropping out and he licked right up between your folds, pulling back with a lick to his lips at the first taste of you. 

Younger Lando’s gentle hands held your thighs as he started to eat your pussy, slowly, savouringly, enough to make you whine for more. You slumped back onto your elbows on the soft mattress, staring down your body to his face between your legs and he just kept your lustful eye contact with ease. 

“Oh my God,” you breathed quietly, shaking your hair over your shoulders and out of your face. You licked your lips as your head lolled to the side slightly as you watched him, letting yourself focus on the sweet sensations that grew within you. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” 

The voice of your boyfriend a few steps away had you looking over at him, glancing right into the lens of the camera for a split second, before looking back down at the nineteen-year-old with a sultry smile and blushing cheeks, “Yeah, it feels really good.” 

Younger Lando sent you a little wink before he was pulling back with a soft slurp and he ran his fingers between your lips, stroking your pussy up and down a few times, finally swirling his fingers around your clit to hear how your breath caught in your throat at his touch. Older Lando stepped closer with the camera, zooming in at the same time just enough to get your hips and thighs in frame so he could film the way his identical fingers teased your pussy a little more. 

You hummed softly and he took that as his invitation to keep going, shyly ignoring the thrill of the camera on him as he let a small drip of saliva fall from his lips onto your cunt before his tongue was following. You moaned quietly to the room and pushed yourself towards the edge of the bed a little more so he could reach more of you and your hand dropped to his hair to pull him closer. 

“Dirty slut,” older Lando tisked, “Just can’t get enough of getting her pussy eaten, huh?”

Younger Lando pulled away again, speaking to the room in almost a whisper and to the camera without looking at it, “Gotta get her wet.”

“That’s right. Get her even prettier for the camera.” 

Said camera slowly panned up your body before focusing on your face as you stared down at the younger Lando between your legs and your change in expression when his mouth was back on you was captured with ease. The slight scrunch of your nose, the furrow of your brow, the way your head fell back with a moan. 

Your boyfriend reached down to touch your bra, his filming shifting slightly off centre as his large hands cupped your breasts one and then the other and then he was tugging down one of the straps. You obediently helped to slide your arm out and then the other and he nudged your bra down to let your breasts out, giving him ample room to pinch one of your nipples between thumb and forefinger. 

Your breaths were falling shallow between one of their mouths on you and the other’s hand tweaking at your hardening nipples. It wasn’t hard to get turned on around them. They were a pair to be reckoned with; so different with seven years difference between them and yet so wonderfully identical. 

Older Lando slapped one of your breasts and then the other, pulling a strained gasp from your chest at the sting he left behind and his focus drifted back down to the task of his younger self. With your legs over his shoulders, his arms were nearly wrapped around your thighs and he held you right up against his face as he made out sloppily with your pussy and let his nose graze teasingly across your clit. 

“Yeah, just like that. Come on, mate, pin her legs back,” older Lando crouched down to get a better angle, “Spread her open for me and the camera.” 

Nineteen-year-old Lando slid his hands up your thighs to the backs of your knees and he pushed your legs towards your chest, allowing the camera to have a clearer view of you as his tongue worked your cunt sloppily. He moaned loudly against you and licked you out until you were falling flat on your back against the bed with a moan of your own, hands grasping the sheets above your head. His tongue only moved faster, movements more ungraceful, and your hips pushed up against his face pleadingly. 

“Fuck…spit on her cunt,” older Lando directed easily as if he were letting his innermost fantasies spill from his lips.

His younger self pulled back with a lick to his lips and he spit loudly back onto your cunt before the tip of his tongue was following it closely and rubbing it in up and down and right up to your clit. He swirled it there a little, grabbing you tighter as you cried out to the ceiling as he finally tended to your most sensitive spot and your body arched against his touch. Your hands instinctively found your breasts and you squeezed them in your hands as he brought you warm waves of pleasure, forcing mewls and whimpers to tumble freely from your lips. His tongue flicked at your clit faster, his hot breath falling against your damp skin, and you let out a tight grunt to the ceiling, head tossed back against the bed.

“Oh God, Lando,” you choked out shakily.

The nineteen-year-old pulled back from you with a slurp and his chest heaved, giving his jaw and tongue a break so he could take his left hand, spread his fingers in a v-shape and rub them warmly up and down on either side of your puffy folds. You were glistening wet and he spread you open between two fingers to show you off to the camera, giving his older self a few seconds to zoom and focus on your soaked swollen pussy and the way your muscles tensed and contracted with desire. Younger Lando—with near wonder in his eyes—spit on you again and then slid his middle and ring fingers through it, slicking them up before slipping them inside you in one slow steady push. 

Your shaky little gasp was caught by the camera and older Lando centered your pussy in the frame, nice and close, watching how his own fingers pushed inside you right down to the knuckle. Almost right away, younger Lando was curling his two fingers inside you and started to thrust them back and forth in precise little jabs right against your g-spot that had your eyes rolling and your mouth falling agape. But the sound was erotic and loud and the camera easily picked up the sloppy wet squish of your pussy. 

“Fucking hell, listen to that.” older Lando breathed. He reached one hand into frame to rub the pad of his thumb over your clit, making your body jolt. He chuckled lowly and took his hand back, giving all his focus to the camera and making sure it was filmed just perfectly. 

Younger Lando was greedy with it and he could never get enough of you so he couldn’t help himself but lean in to let his tongue take your clit again in messy strokes while his fingers pumped inside you steadily. You moaned to the ceiling gladly and the camera zoomed back out to capture your entire body plus Lando still on his knees at the side of the bed, with a straight shot of your pleasured expression and writhing body on perfect display. 

Older Lando kept a steady hold of the camera with his right hand while his left dropped to the button of his jeans and he popped it open easily. He kept his eyes on you as he nudged his pants and underwear to his thighs to let himself grab hold of his hard cock, giving himself a few gentle pumps just to take the edge off. He stared through the display screen of the camera as it showed the recording in progress and captured you angelically, every inch of your body with your legs bent back towards your chest to the blissful expression across your face. He couldn’t let all the fun happen without him. 

The dip of the mattress forced your curious eyes open and you peered up at your boyfriend kneeling on the end of the bed right beside you, pants and underwear discarded so his dick was free and in front of your face. The camera was focused down towards you although you didn’t need that incentive to take what he was hinting at. With the nineteen-year-old still tonguing at your clit and fingering you messily, you propped yourself up on your elbow and used your other hand to wrap around your boyfriend’s cock. He shuffled a little closer and let his left hand drift into the back of your hair as you lowered your mouth around him slowly. 

It was hard for you to focus on him with the ripples of pleasure that shot up your back from the younger of the two still working between your legs but you still kept your mouth moving lazily on him with a hand secure around the base to hold him steady. 

“Oh, good girl,” Lando said lowly, angling the camera down his body to watch how you took his thick cock in your mouth through the display screen. You moaned quietly around him and when you had to pull back to breathe properly, you let your hand around him pick up the slack. The camera caught your gaze for a brief moment and you licked away your blissful smile before letting the sensations of the younger’s mouth on you take you over again and your eyes fluttered closed with bliss. 

Older Lando panned down your naked body to get another shot of his younger self between your spread legs, his face smeared in your arousal as his fingers pulled more of that beautiful squelching wet sound from inside you until you were leaking down the side of his hand. The camera moved back to your face and the sight of your fingers wrapped around Lando’s cock and stroking him lazily like he was meant to be in your hand. Your expression was pure erotica and the whimpered moans that fell from your pouted lips were only slightly exaggerated for the sake of the film. 

“Don’t let her come,” your boyfriend told his younger self sternly. 

“No, please,” you choked out, “Please, I’m a good girl.” 

Older Lando hushed you tauntingly and simply pulled your head back towards him, shutting you up with a mouthful of dick. You gagged around him as he held you deeper and let his hand in your hair start to move your mouth on him himself until you took over messily. He wiped your hair out of your face and caressed your flushed cheek, keeping your sweet gaze to the camera in the centre of the frame. 

When younger Lando leaned away from you, you whimpered at loss of contact and pulled your mouth away from your boyfriend’s dick to look back at him with a pout. The nineteen-year-old tapped your ankle, “Scoot back.” 

You did as told and older Lando moved back off the bed to let the younger do as he pleased. It was honestly a bit of a rare occurrence for the older Lando to be so lenient and drift to the backseat in such situations but the addition of the camera in his hand seemed to be the trick. Younger Lando wasn’t going to complain. He would gladly take this rare opportunity to take the lead. 

He unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them off and as he climbed onto his knees on the mattress, you reached up to pull his hoodie off for him. Strip naked, the nineteen-year-old dipped down to kiss you sloppily, letting you taste yourself on his tongue until he was shoving your legs apart again so he could get closer.

“Move her how you want her,” older Lando instructed from the sidelines, finding a spot that captured the entire scene progressing on the bed. 

“Just like this,” younger Lando mumbled, keeping you on your back with your legs spread and bent. 

He spit in his hand and dropped it down to stroke his cock a few times as he angled it against your pussy. You kept your arms draped over your head prettily and let your eyes flick between where he teased you and his lust filled eyes, waiting for that push. 

“Ask nicely,” he whispered to you tauntingly, voice soft and kissed in inexperience and a slight lack of confidence, slipping the head of his dick between your slick folds. 

You shuttered at his hints of dominance, “Please, sir. Please, fuck me.”

Although the nudge of the tip inside you was slow, the rest followed quickly and your mouth dropped open with a stiff gasp at how he filled you, one of your hands raising quickly to the back of his neck to hold onto him. 

“Sh-Shit, you feel so good,” he shuttered, easing back out of you before shoving back in just enough to hear how you sopping wet pussy squished around his cock. 

The soft moan from your chest only grew louder as he started to fuck you in a steady rhythm, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back into you hard. He wasn’t fast with it but he was insanely deep and you were rendered speechless by it, merely gaping up at him as he fucked the moans from your body over and over, getting you louder and louder. 

“Oh my God,” you groaned loudly, face scrunched up in pleasure as you held onto him by the back of his neck and stared up into his sweet face. 

The camera framed you professionally, your body cradled by the bed and laying back angelically under the nineteen-year-old's perfect figure. The strength of his every thrust was obvious and the way his teeth were sinking into his bottom lip was only proof of his efforts right down to the way he pulled his hips back again and again, only to shove back into you roughly in a consistent rhythm. 

Tense with pleasure underneath him, your eyes were nearly rolling back in your head with one hand gripping the sheets and the other locked at the back of his neck, keeping him there. Your moans shuttered in your chest just long enough for you to cry out shakily, “You’re so fucking deep, I’m gonna cry. It feels so good.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he told you lowly, moving one hand off the mattress beside you to wrap his fingers around your throat, just how you liked it. 

“Yes, please, choke me,” you pleaded, lifting your legs back wider for him in thanks which only had the clap of his balls against your ass growing louder with each thrust. 

“Good girl…” he whispered. 

Hardly aware of the camera on you anymore, you were ignorant to the way your boyfriend stood just out of line of the sunlight, allowing natural warm light to bathe the scene on the bed. He was just out of your sightline, giving the camera a perfect view of your spread legs and welcoming pussy taking everything his younger self was giving you with just enough of an angle to still catch the dizzying look on your face.

Younger Lando shifted slightly and bent your legs right up to your chest, pinning you down in half with his hands on the backs of your thighs, shuffling a little closer to start to thrust into you again in those same hard, deep strokes. You were sopping wet and you all could hear it and your aching clit was pleading for attention, urging your left hand to drop down to touch it as the ninteen-year-old fucked you deliciously. 

Your boyfriend drifted to the other side of the bed slowly, making sure to capture every angle on his way, until the lens was focused down your body from a top right angle to frame the look on your face, your hand rubbing your clit, and the full length of his younger self’s cock ploughing itself inside you. His tight breaths were nothing compared to the moans he fucked out of you, filling the sunkissed bedroom with pleasure. 

The shadow of your boyfriend’s toned figure by your head had your gaze shifting to peer up at him and the camera, licking away your bashful smile as he filmed you getting fucked by another version of himself. You reached your free hand up to stroke his dick messily, trying to keep the same rhythm as the thrusts from the younger of the two despite the way he took the air from your lungs. 

But when younger Lando got faster, both of your hands reached up to grab onto his biceps instead, squealing as he fucked you rougher until your face was screwing up in esctacy.

“Yes!” you sobbed out, “Yes! Fuck, don’t stop! That’s so fucking good, baby!” 

“Good girl. Are you gonna cum?” the nineteen-year-old taunted. 

“Yes, sir. Yeah, you’re gonna make me cum!” 

So he pulled out. 

Your thighs clenched together as you groaned in frustration to the ceiling, eyes screwed shut and lips pouted pleadingly as your pussy throbbed for orgasm. He shoved your legs to the side to urge you to turn over and he shifted you onto your hands and knees facing the full length mirror on the wall off the opposite side of the bed, just past where your boyfriend was standing You stared at your reflection with flushed cheeks and a flick of your hair over your shoulder, obediently spreading your knees wider so he could shuffle closer and spank you across your ass. Not quite as hard as your boyfriend might have, but just enough.

“Oh-” you moaned out, flinching at the impact. 

He spanked you again, this time a little harder, the sound echoing through the room and your boyfriend stepped around the bed and moved closer to capture one more full-handed spank across your ass right down to the way your flesh jiggled from it and a faint pink handprint was left behind. Younger Lando’s hands slid up your hips and your back and he grabbed onto your shoulders to slowly pull you back onto his dick. 

“Oh my God,” you withered, keeping your hands flat on the mattress as you arched your back for him. 

He filled you again easily, the creamy sound of your pussy taking him in only urging him to move slowly to savour it. 

Your boyfriend zoomed the camera with a request, “Spread her open…let me see.”

Younger Lando took two handfuls of your ass and tugged at your flesh to spread your cheeks open for the camera, shifting himself slightly at an angle for a better view of his dick hidden deep inside you. The twenty-six-year-old zoomed in closer and shifted the lens to focus, earning a clear picture of his younger self’s slick cock buried in your swollen, leaking pussy.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he mumbled, spanking you once more for himself.

Whimpering, you started to fuck yourself back on the younger Lando messily, pleading for him to take you again as the camera zoomed out to capture the whole scene again. But he simply let you take control for a second, basking in how needy you were. It made for good footage. 

Your boyfriend spanked you again, “Tell me you like his cock in you.”

“I love it,” you mumbled. 

He spanked you again, “You love what?” 

“I love his cock in my pussy,” you whimpered, squaring your shoulders back to try and find yourself a comfortable way to push yourself back on him. 

But younger Lando was easier to break than the older—he never liked to let you work for it for long—so he gave you one more hard slap to your ass before he was grabbing your waist and starting to fuck you himself again. 

“Oh, God, yes—” you groaned. 

In that same addicting rhythm of depth and passion, he was back to fucking the moans from your chest as you stared yourself down in the mirror. The camera followed your gaze into the full length mirror and your eyes shifted to your boyfriend’s reflection and you smiled cockily at him through your uncontrollable moans. 

“Look at that perfect little whore,” he tisked almost proudly, panning the camera away from the mirror again to see the real thing right in front of him, following the tumble of your hair over your shoulders and along the perfect arch of your back. He paused at your bum, zooming in slightly to capture the entire length of his very own dick pounding into your eager body time and time again, the rough impact making your ass jiggle with each slap of skin on skin. 

“Fuck, you’re so big,” you choked out, slumping down onto your forearms against the bed. 

Your boyfriend was playing director again, instructing his younger self, “Put your thumb in her ass.”

Without missing a beat, the nineteen-year-old raised his right hand up to slide his thumb in his mouth to suck on for a second to get it wet before he was easily obeying the orders and slid it slowly into your ass. Your head dropped forward against the sheets with a loud moan, the camera and both young men focused on the way your muscles gripped around it snugly. It earned you another proud spank. 

“Such a good girl. Such a pretty little slut.” your boyfriend praised, taking a step back to get another shot of the entire scene again. 

Your voice was wavering in overwhelm, “Feels so fucking good, sir.” 

“You’re taking it so well,” younger Lando whispered, his voice barely picked up by the camera. 

You reached one hand back to try and grab his thigh as he fucked you, pleading to him sweetly, “Harder. Faster. Please, give me more.” 

“Naughty girl,” he tisked quietly, spanking you with his free hand again before giving you what you wanted. 

The sound of his skin clapping with yours only grew louder and your eyes literally rolled back in your head, mouth agape, and you gave him a pleasured moan through the bedroom. Your head fell forward onto the sheets once again and he held you tightly as he fucked you rougher just how you begged for it. 

You were a mess of incomprehensible sounds, stumbling out for him a string of “Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, mm, mm-” in time with his thrusts, blind to the movement of your boyfriend until he was petting a hand through your hair. You lifted your head up only to see him directly in front of you, standing at the edge of the bed with his hard cock in your face. The way your body was being rammed into had your mouth easily falling around his dick and you moaned contently around it as the way the ninteen-year-old fucked you had your mouth nudging forward into a consistent pace. 

The camera lingered on the way you took him in your mouth, messy moans and whimpers muffled by his size as you took him hands free. Your eyes were closed almost peacefully and the camera focused on your face and the curve of your lips wrapped around him for a few more seconds. 

“I’m close,” the nineteen-year-old whispered from behind you. 

“Mm,” you pulled off your boyfriend’s cock with a sloppy pop, calling sweetly over your shoulder, “come inside me.”

“F-Fuck,” younger Lando swallowed back, leaning over you slightly as his thumb was taken from your ass so he could rest one hand down on the mattress again for stability. His thrusts were getting sloppier and more desperate and you offered him your best whimpers and moans to spur him on. 

“Please, sir,” you pleaded, “Please come inside me. I need you to cum inside me.”

He tensed for a second, his breath catching in his throat, and he shoved hard into you one more time before he was coming, filling you with warm spurts and making your head spin with sweet moans of his own from behind you. 

“Good boy,” you giggled, wiggling your ass back against him, “Keep coming. It feels so fucking good.”

His hands tightened on the sheets as he almost slumped on top of you, grinding strongly against you to fill you up as much as he could offer. But your boyfriend didn’t waste a second before he was gliding smoothly back around the bed with the camera held steadily in his hand and he crouched down to get a perfect view of your swollen pussy as his younger self pulled out of you slowly with a little whimper. The nineteen-year-old shifted across the bed to give him room to his place behind you and without a word, the twenty-six-year-old was kneeling behind your flushed body. 

He spread your pussy lips between two fingers and kept the camera still to focus on how a thick drip of creamy white slipped out of you and fell faintly onto the head of his cock that was right there, angled and impatient. You barely had a second to prepare yourself before he was pushing inside you himself, a perfect match to the one that had just taken you, and you arched your back lower for him. 

“Fuck, Lando, yes.” you whimpered. 

Your boyfriend slapped his hand down hard against the blush red handprint that had already claimed your left ass cheek and he started to fuck your sloppy pussy. With you already having been filled once, he could glide so easily inside you and the wet warmth that encapsulated him had his eyebrows furrowing and teeth sinking into his bottom lip in near concentration. 

His younger self held out his hand, offering quickly, “Want me to film? Pass it here.”

He didn’t wait for a response before taking the camera from the twenty-six-year-old’s hand and turned it to capture the two of you perfectly. It gave your boyfriend two handed reign of your body and he grabbed your hips to pound you hard, letting the camera have a perfect view of the way your eyes rolled shut and your nails clawed at the sheets in perfect silence. The clap of his balls against your dripping pussy was dizzying and you spread your legs wider and arched deeper to feel them against your clit in steady rhythm. 

“Fuck, yeah,” you sobbed out. 

Lando spanked you once more before leaning over you, one hand anchoring himself on the mattress while the other took your chin in a firm grasp and he forced two fingers in your mouth, holding your head up to look right into the camera lens right in front of you. His jagged breaths were panted against your ear and he spoke to you lowly, tauntingly, “Smile for the camera, sweetheart. Smile while I fill your pussy with cum just how you like it.”

“Please,” you mumbled through his fingers, making you drool down your chin, “Please come inside me.”

“That’s my good little cumslut. Wanting us to fill you right up…dirty whore.” 

“Yes, please, sir,” you whimpered. 

Lando’s words lessened as he got closer, his hand slipping from your mouth to grip your throat instead, “That’s my good girl.” 

Younger Lando shifted across the bed to get a perfect angle of the position you were in and when his older self straightened up and nodded him over, he shuffled closer. You were held down by your boyfriend’s two strong hands as he fucked you roughly until you were sobbing into the sheets and clenching down around him. The nineteen-year-old held the camera above, angled down to get a perfect view of how deep his older self was getting inside you and the blush red of your ass from all that perfect pounding. 

With a tight grunt, older Lando came inside you, tugging you right back onto his cock to get as deep as he could go. You gaped into the sheets, stretching your arms out to grab onto the edge of the mattress as you took every last drop gladly, moaning blissfully into the bed and the warm air of the bedroom. You felt so full with two identical loads inside you and you hid your smile into the sheets, grinding back on him sweetly to earn another proud spank. 

“Good fucking girl,” your boyfriend caressed your hips tenderly. 

He then grabbed his younger self’s wrist and guided the camera closer, encouraging the nineteen-year-old to zoom and focus on your messy pussy as he slowly pulled out. The camera was held steady in place, waiting a few seconds, and as older Lando spread your glistening lips with two fingers, a thick drop of cum slipped out of you and fell onto the bed, quickly followed by a second. 

“Oh my God,” nineteen-year-old Lando breathed. 

You were achingly sensitive and so edged that you felt like crying and even the fainted touches from your boyfriend’s hand had you jolting for more. He turned you onto your back smoothly and took the camera from his younger self with one more demand,

“Hold her down. Let’s make our pretty girl come.” 

You licked away your excited smile as you situated yourself in front of him and gladly spread your legs, giving him permission to have you however he pleased. His younger self scooted across the bed to kneel beside you on the mattress and held down your wrists above your head. With the camera in his left hand and the shot focused on your messy cunt and glistening skin that had been claimed by both Landos only moments before, he used his right hand to slide three fingers inside you. They squelched inside you with how wet you were and the fullness they offered you and forced some more of their shared cum to slip out of you and down your puffy folds. 

He didn’t hold back as he started to finger you roughly, keeping his fingers curled at that perfect angle to hit your g-spot head on every time. You shrieked to the ceiling, held down by the nineteen-year-old who watched intently with a lick to his lips as your flushed body drew closer to orgasm for the nth time that morning. 

“Fuck, Lando, please, baby!” you sobbed to the ceiling, “Please, sir, let me come!” 

“Whenever you need, pretty girl. Come for us,” older Lando coaxed. 

You could feel the tension pulling within you and it only grew more powerful as the seconds passed and your arms strained against the grip of the younger man by your head. It was coming on strong and you could feel the warmth filling you quickly and your toes curled with rising pleasure as your face screwed up in ecstasy, uncontrollable moans pouring from your lips, higher and louder. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” Lando spoke beautifully, “Come for us. Give it to us, baby. Come on.” 

“Yes-“ you sobbed out through your teeth, letting yourself go for them. 

You could feel it building inside you but you didn’t speak to it in order to let the clear bursts of liquid happily surprise them instead. You writhed on the bed sheets as the two young men moaned in appreciation for you and your boyfriend kept his fingers going, staying right where he was even as you squirted right up across the camera lens. 

“Good girl. Good fucking girl.” older Lando praised loudly to top your moans, keeping his fingers going quickly to pull more bursts out of you. 

“Fuck!” you gasped sharply, pulling your legs up towards your chest in overwhelm, forcing his fingers to start to ease their attack on your throbbing pussy. 

He chuckled lowly and pulled them out as his younger self let your arms go and he leaned down to kiss you upside down despite how you struggled for breath. The camera was zoomed out and refocused on the last of your few kisses and you turned your head away to breathe, your cheeks dusted red and your once neat hair and makeup a complete mess, your bra still wrapped meaninglessly around your middle. 

“That was so fucking hot, baby,” your boyfriend rubbed your shin. “Anything you wanna say to the camera before we turn it off?”

You shyly turned away to hide your bashful smile against the younger Lando’s thigh, “Nope.” 

“You weren’t so shy a few seconds ago,” he chuckled. 

“It served its purpose,” you muttered. 

Lando smiled at you through the viewfinder and then stopped the video with the final frame of younger Lando petting his hand over your hair. The camera was set to the side and you were tended to adoringly by both young men, showered in kisses and praised until you had to nearly push them off you to let you get up and get redressed for the day. Walking back around the corner into the ensuite on wobbly legs, the two Lando’s watched you with identical proud smiles and when they looked at each other, all they could do was share a fistbump. 

Sitting in the cramped backseat of the twenty-six-year-old’s car, nineteen-year-old Lando was wiping the lens of his DSLR camera for the fourth time since leaving the apartment and you all hadn’t even left the parking garage yet. He had a frown on his face as the cloth wasn’t doing much to rid the smudge that had found its way onto the lens from your morning adventure. You passed him a small bottle of glasses cleaning solution from your purse which seemed to do the trick and he thanked you sheepishly. 

When you were all set—only an hour behind schedule for your Saturday plans—older Lando pulled his car out of the parking garage and into the Monaco sunshine. It was a beautiful day and with the three of you still buzzing off pleasure hormones, the vibes in the car were immaculate and the music was loud as you headed for the coast. 

You had barely gotten out of Monte Carlo before there was a grumbled “fuck” from the backseat. 

Glancing back at younger Lando, you asked him worriedly, “What is it?” 

He had his camera in hand and directed out the window as if in anticipation for a picture of the crystal blue ocean and view of the Monaco harbour in the distance. He turned it to show you the display screen housing a pop-up, explaining in an unimpressed voice, “My memory card is full.”

His elder counterpart just smirked to the narrow road ahead. 

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

By the final month they had opinions on everything.

Prams. Baby clothes. Nursery colours. Whether Max was being dramatic about people touching your bump. Whether the baby would recognise engine sounds. Whether she would prefer Red Bull, Mercedes, Ferrari, or, according to Max, “the correct answer, which is whatever car her father is driving.”

They sent you voice notes when you missed races, asked for bump updates and once spent nearly an hour arguing over who would be the favourite uncle despite none of them having met her yet.

So really by the time she finally arrived the title had already been decided, Ollie was just the first one bold enough to say it out loud.

He announced it loudly and without consultation the first time he visited the hospital, appearing in the doorway with an enormous stuffed bunny tucked beneath his arm and a balloon that read IT’S A GIRL! in violently pink lettering.

“Her favourite uncle has arrived,” Ollie had declared.

“You’ve never met her,” Max replied flatly from the chair beside your bed.

“Doesn’t matter. Some connections are instinctive.”

“You weren’t even the first one here.”

That honour had belonged to Kimi, who had shown up exactly four hours after you had announced visitors were allowed, pale-faced and nervous, holding a small gift bag in both hands. He was still standing several feet away from the crib.

He’d brought her a miniature racing suit. It was bright red with her surname printed across the back and a tiny Italian flag stitched onto the collar.

Max had stared at it for a long moment, then without saying anything he’d reached out and squeezed the back of Kimi’s neck. Kimi had looked unbearably proud of himself for the rest of the afternoon.

After that the others had arrived in waves.

Gabi brought flowers for you and a collection of children’s books for the baby, explaining that his mother had insisted books were a better gift than clothes because babies grew too quickly. Isack brought clothes anyway, including a pink jumper that wouldn’t fit her for at least three years but apparently had “good energy.” Arvid arrived with a tiny knitted blanket. Franco arrived with three different toys that all made noise, which Max immediately banned from the room. Liam brought food for the two of you, earning your eternal gratitude and Max’s quiet respect.

By the time you left the hospital your daughter had seven self-appointed uncles, enough stuffed animals to open a small zoo and a WhatsApp group dedicated entirely to her.

The group had originally been called Baby Updates.

Ollie renamed it Princess Headquarters within twenty minutes.

Max changed it back.

Franco renamed it The Favourite Uncles.

Max changed it back again.

Isack changed the group photo to a badly edited image of the baby wearing sunglasses and holding a steering wheel.

Max threatened to delete the chat.

None of them believed him.

They were right not to, because three months later they’re all crowded inside your Monaco apartment on one of the rare weekends when nobody has anywhere else to be and Max is pretending this wasn’t entirely his idea.

“She needs to spend time around people,” he had told you that morning, carefully fastening the tiny buttons on your daughter’s sleepsuit with the intense concentration he usually reserved for race track.

“She spends time around people.”

“She spends time around us.”

“We’re people.”

“You know what I mean.”

You'd watched him lift her against his chest, one large hand supporting almost the entire length of her back. She had blinked up at him with sleepy blue eyes, her mouth making the soft little pout that appeared whenever she was deciding whether to cry.

Max had immediately started swaying, he did it without thinking now. Standing still had apparently become impossible for him the second he was holding her. He paced during phone calls, rocked gently while talking to his team and had once completed an entire video meeting with her tucked against his shoulder, his hand rhythmically patting her while she slept.

“I think you miss them,” you’d said.

“I saw them two weeks ago.”

“You miss having someone to boss around.”

“I have you.”

You just snorted. “You’ve never successfully bossed me around in your life.”

He’d looked down at the baby. “At least one person in this house respects me.”

She’d chosen that exact moment to spit milk down the front of his shirt. You had laughed so hard you’d needed to sit down.

Now your living room looks as though a toy shop has collided with a Formula One hospitality unit.

There are bags scattered beside the door, takeaway containers covering most of the kitchen counter and seven pairs of shoes abandoned in the hallway despite Max specifically telling everyone not to leave them there.

Your daughter is lying on a padded mat in the middle of the floor, wearing a pale yellow romper covered in tiny ducks, completely unaware that six professional racing drivers are gathered around her.

“She smiled at me,” Franco says.

“I think she just has wind,” Liam replies.

“No that was a smile.”

“She looks like that before she burps.”

“You’re jealous because she hasn’t smiled at you.”

“She smiled at me last time.”

“That was definitely wind,” Isack says.

“I know her expressions.” Franco continues

“You’ve met her two times.” Liam says.

“And we have a bond.”

From his position on the sofa Max watches the argument unfold with your daughter tucked safely between his feet. His legs form a protective barrier on either side of her mat, preventing anyone from getting too close without his approval.

He’s trying to look unimpressed.

He isn’t succeeding.

His hair is slightly messy from where the baby had grabbed a fistful of it earlier, his T-shirt is marked with a faint patch of milk near the shoulder and there’s a muslin cloth draped over his thigh.

Your heart still does something strange whenever you see him like this.

Before she arrived you'd known Max would love her. You'd known he would protect her and worry about her and probably research every available car seat with the same obsessive attention he gave to racing data.

You hadn’t anticipated just how soft he would be.

You hadn’t expected to wake in the middle of the night and find him already leaning over her bassinet, one hand resting lightly against her stomach just to reassure himself she was breathing. You hadn’t expected him to learn every one of her cries within two weeks, somehow able to differentiate between hunger, tiredness and the outrage she expressed whenever a sock came loose.

You hadn’t expected him to whisper to her when he thought you were asleep. Sometimes it was Dutch, sometimes English. Occasionally you were fairly certain he was explaining sim racing regulations to her.

Mostly though he told her things he thought mattered the most, that she was safe, that he loved her.

That he would always come home.

It was the last one that broke your heart a little every time.

“Can I hold her?” Kimi asks.

The room falls strangely quiet. Kimi is sitting cross-legged on the floor, his hands resting carefully in his lap. He’s been waiting patiently for almost an hour, watching while Arvid pulled faces at her and Ollie and Gabi performed an enthusiastic peekaboo.

Max studies him.

“Have you washed your hands?”

“Yes.”

“Recently?”

“When I came in.”

“That was forty minutes ago.”

You lean over the back of the sofa, resting your chin against Max’s shoulder. “She isn’t made of glass.”

“I know.”

“You made Gabi remove his watch in case it scratched her.”

“It has sharp edges.”

Across the room, Gabriel glances down at his bare wrist but wisely chooses not to involve himself.

“You’re terrifying them,” you whisper. You press a kiss to his cheek before moving around the sofa and lowering yourself beside him. The baby notices you immediately, her legs kicking against the mat as her entire face brightens.

There it is.

The smile.

It’s still new enough that every single one feels like a miracle, her gummy mouth opening wide and her eyes crinkling at the corners as though seeing you is the greatest thing that has ever happened to her.

The room erupts.

“She smiled!”

“Did you see that?”

“Take a photo!”

“I told you she smiled!”

“That wasn’t for you Franco.”

“It could've been.”

“It was clearly for her mum.”

Max doesn’t join the shouting. He just looks down at his daughter with the most helpless expression you’ve ever seen on his face.

“She’s so beautiful,” he murmurs.

These little moments when the others seem to remember that Max isn’t only a mentor or the driver they grew up watching. He isn’t the former world champion standing in the garage with his helmet beneath his arm or the man they go to when they need advice they don’t trust anyone else to give.

He’s just a dad. A completely besotted, slightly overwhelmed, deeply emotional dad who still looks as though he can’t believe someone allowed him to take this tiny person home.

“She looks like you,” Gabi says to him.

“She looks like her mum,” Max replies immediately.

“She has your eyes.”

“She has her mum’s face.”

“She definitely has your frown,” Ollie adds.

Max looks at him. “She doesn’t frown.”

Every person in the room looks down at the baby, who is currently glaring at the ceiling fan with unmistakable Verstappen intensity.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Liam clears his throat. “No. Of course not.”

“She’s observant,” Max insists.

“She looks like she’s analysing its weaknesses,” Isack says.

“She’s three months old.” Ollie laughs.

“She’s advanced.”

“That’s my girl,” Max says, entirely serious.

Kimi returns with his hands held in front of him like a surgeon who has just scrubbed in.

“Can I hold her now?”

Max looks at you with the same look he gives you every time someone asks, even though he knows perfectly well that all of them have held her before. It isn’t permission exactly, more like reassurance.

You nod.

“Sit properly,” Max instructs.

Kimi immediately moves onto the sofa.

“Support her head.”

“I know.”

“Don’t lift her too quickly.”

“I know.”

“And if she cries—”

“It’s okay Max.” you jump in.

You scoop your daughter into your arms, feeling her warm weight settle naturally against your body. Her tiny fingers curl into the neckline of your top as you kiss the soft patch of hair at her temple.

For the first few weeks, handing her to anyone had felt strangely difficult, even people you trusted. Your entire body had resisted it, every instinct insisting she belonged against your chest, that nobody else would hold her carefully enough or notice the smallest change in her breathing.

Max had been worse. The first time Ollie held her, Max had stood directly beside him with both hands hovering beneath the baby as though expecting him to drop her at any moment.

He’s improved since then.

Slightly.

You settle her carefully into Kimi’s arms helping position his hand behind her head. Every muscle in his body seems to go rigid as the baby stares up at him.

“Relax,” you tell him gently.

“I’m relaxed.”

“You look like you’re being held at gunpoint,” Liam says.

“Shut up.”

“Language,” Max says.

Kimi looks horrified. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, she doesn’t understand you yet,” you reassure him.

“That isn’t the point,” Max mutters.

Your daughter studies Kimi with grave concentration, her eyes moving over his face. Then her hand rises and her fingers brush uncertainly against his chin before closing around the collar of his shirt.

“Oh,” he whispers. It’s such a small sound, quiet and startled, that your chest aches.

“She likes me.” Kimi looks down at her again, his thumb carefully stroking the back of her tiny hand.

“You’re going to come to races when you’re bigger, aren’t you?” he murmurs. “I’ll show you the car. Not your dad’s car obviously. Mine is better.”

Max leans forward. “Give her back.”

“I was joking.”

Your daughter chooses that moment to make a small, delighted noise, something between a squeak and a coo.

Every head snaps toward her.

Ollie suddenly beams.

“She said Ferrari.”

“She absolutely did not,” Max says.

“She made an F sound.”

“She made a noise.”

“Her first word is going to be Ferrari.”

“Her first word is going to be Dada.”

You glance at Max. He says it with complete confidence, but you catch the hope underneath it.

He’s been trying for weeks. Every morning he lifts her from the crib and carries her toward the window, murmuring, “Dada. Say Dada,” as though repetition alone will accelerate her language development.

You’ve pointed out several times that babies don’t usually speak at three months old. Max in turn has pointed out that she isn’t an average baby. You worry he is going to be devastated when her first word is something completely random like lamp.

The afternoon drifts on in a warm, comfortable blur.

Your daughter is passed carefully from Kimi to Gabi, Isack, Ollie, Franco, Arvid and then to Liam, who turns out to be very good with her. She settles against his chest almost immediately, one cheek pressed to his shoulder as he gently pats her back.

Max narrows his eyes.

“Why is she so comfortable?”

Liam looks uncertain. “Because I’m holding her?”

“She doesn’t settle that quickly for everyone.”

“Maybe I’m calming.”

“She’s falling asleep,” Gabi whispers.

Everyone collectively lowers their voice.

Your daughter’s eyelids flutter, her fist loosening against Liam’s shirt as her breathing deepens. Liam looks down at her with open wonder, barely moving except for the slow rhythm of his hand against her back.

“She’s tiny,” he murmurs.

“You’ve only just noticed?” Ollie whispers.

“No, but…” Liam glances toward you. “It’s strange, isn’t it? That she’s a whole person already. She doesn’t know anything about any of us, but one day she will.”

One day, she will know them. Not as rookies or racing drivers or names printed across the back of team shirts. She will know Ollie as the uncle who lets her eat sweets before dinner and Kimi as the one who teaches her Italian phrases Max pretends not to understand.

She will know Gabi always remembers her birthday and Arvid saves every drawing she gives him like they’re priceless, Isack buys her wildly impractical presents. She will know Franco makes her laugh until she hiccups and Liam is the person she goes to whenever she wants to do something Max has explicitly forbidden.

She will grow up surrounded by noise and engines and people who have already decided they love her. Your eyes sting unexpectedly and Max notices. His attention never strays far from you, even while watching the baby. His hand finds your knee, thumb stroking slowly across your skin.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod, swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t expose you in front of everyone. Instead he shifts closer and slides his arm around your waist, drawing you gently into his side.

“You need to rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“You were up twice last night.”

“So were you.”

“I slept this morning.”

“For forty minutes.”

“That counts.”

“You lie down and immediately start checking your phone.”

You’re still arguing about Max’s approach to sleep when your daughter stirs in Liam’s arms.

The change is immediate.

Her face scrunches and her mouth opens, a small warning sound escapes her.

Every person in the room freezes.

“Oh no,” Ollie whispers.

“What does she need?” Franco asks, already looking around as though the answer might be written somewhere on the walls.

“She might be hungry,” Gabi says.

“Or tired,” Kimi adds quickly.

“She was asleep,” Liam points out.

“Maybe she’s too hot?” Arvid suggests, glancing down at her little romper with genuine concern.

“It isn’t hot,” Franco replies.

“It might be hot for a baby,” Isack says, like this is suddenly a very serious medical possibility.

Kimi frowns. “Do babies feel temperature differently?”

Ollie looks between all of them, confusion written across his face. “Why would we know?”

Her warning whimper becomes a cry, it isn’t a particularly loud cry but the effect on the room is catastrophic.

Liam looks terrified. “Should I stand up?”

“No,” Max says immediately.

“Do I rock her?”

“Not that quickly.”

“I’m barely moving.” The baby cries harder.

Max is already reaching for her. “I’ve got her.”

Liam transfers her with almost visible relief, and Max gathers her against his chest in one smooth motion. His hand cups the back of her head as he rises, bouncing gently on the balls of his feet.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “Dada’s here. You’re okay little one.”

Her cries continue.

Max’s brow furrows. He adjusts her position, checking her nappy through the romper with a practised hand before glancing at you. Your daughter’s tears strip through every layer of his composure, leaving him raw and helpless. He knows babies cry and he knows it doesn’t always mean anything's wrong.

That knowledge has never stopped him from taking it personally.

“Hey,” you whisper, touching his arm. “She’s okay.”

“I know.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know.”

His arms loosen a fraction. “I just don’t know what she needs.”

The frustration in his voice is painfully familiar. Max has always needed to solve things, problems have causes and causes have solutions.

Babies don’t always work like that. Sometimes they cry because the world is enormous and confusing and being three months old is somehow exhausting.

You slide your hand around the back of his neck and move closer and begin humming softly, the same melody you use during late-night feeds. Max recognises it immediately, his shoulders lower as he matches the rhythm, swaying slowly while you rub the baby’s back.

Her cries begin to soften and Max presses his lips against the top of her head.

The room watches in silence. After another minute her cries fade into small, hiccuping breaths. Her body relaxes against Max, one tiny fist uncurling over his heart

The relief that crosses his face is so intense it’s almost painful to witness. “There she is,” he murmurs. “That’s my girl.”

You stroke her cheek, wiping away the single tear caught beneath her eye. “Maybe she was just a little overwhelmed.”

Max opens his eyes and looks accusingly toward the others.

“We didn’t do anything,” Ollie protests from the kitchen.

“You were all staring at her.”

“Well yeah of course.” Gabi says.

Max’s expression softens, he tries to hide it by looking down at your daughter, but it doesn’t work.

“Maybe we should go,” Arvid suggests reluctantly. “Let you three rest.”

The others immediately look disappointed, but nobody argues.

They understand. There’s an ease to their presence in your home now, but they’re still careful with the boundaries of your new little family. They hover while gathering their things, each one finding an excuse to pass close enough to say goodbye to the baby.

Franco lightly touches her foot

“Goodbye, favourite niece.”

Gabriel kisses two fingers and gently presses them against the top of her head. Isack crouches beside Max just long enough to make a silly little face at her, looking far too pleased when her mouth twitches in sleepy amusement.

Liam leans in next, carefully adjusting the blanket around her tiny feet. Arvid promises to bring her a custom racing bulls hat next time. Kimi lingers the longest, staring down at the baby tucked safely against Max’s chest.

“Send a photo when she wakes up?”

“We send photos every day,” Max says.

“I know.”

“I’ll send one,” you promise.

Kimi smiles.

Ollie is the last to leave.

He stands in the doorway with his trainers finally on, glancing between you, Max and the baby.

“You know,” he says, “we were joking about the grid parents thing at first.”

“I’m aware,” Max replies.

“But it wasn’t completely a joke.”

Ollie shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, suddenly looking younger than he usually does. “You both looked after us before you had to,” he continues. “You made sure we were all right, even when we were racing against you or being annoying or asking stupid questions.”

“Mostly stupid questions,” Max says.

Ollie smiles faintly. “Yeah. Mostly those.”

His eyes move to your daughter. “So we’ll look after her too. When she’s older I mean. Not now, I don’t think any of us should be trusted with babysitting.”

“Correct,” Max says.

Your throat tightens.

Ollie notices and immediately looks alarmed. “Oh, God. Don’t cry. Max will ban me.”

“I’m not crying.”

“You look like you might.”

“I recently had a baby. I’m allowed.”

“I’ll go before it happens.”

The door closes behind him and silence settles over the apartment, but after hours of laughter and bickering the quiet feels enormous.

Max looks around at the abandoned cups, plates and the crushed cushions.

“They’re messy,” he mutters.

“You invited them.”

“They could still clean up after themselves.”

“You’d find it strange if they did.”

“No I wouldn’t.”

“You’d assume something was wrong.”

He considers that. “Maybe.”

You begin gathering the empty containers from the coffee table, but Max catches your wrist before you can reach the second one.

“Leave it.”

“It’ll take two minutes.”

“You’re tired.”

“So are you.”

“I’m holding her.”

“I can hold her.”

His arm instinctively tightens around the baby.

You raise an eyebrow.

Max looks down at her, then back at you.

“She’s comfortable.” You say.

“She was comfortable with Liam too.”

You laugh quietly. “Were you jealous of Liam for successfully holding your daughter.”

“I wasn’t jealous.”

“Sure.” You just laugh once more, leaning into him. He kisses your forehead, lingering there for a moment as your daughter sleeps between you.

This life is still new.

The bottles drying beside the sink, the muslin cloths hanging over every available surface. The small crib beside your bed and the impossibly tiny clothes folded in Max’s section of the wardrobe because he had decided she needed more space.

The constant exhaustion and moments of panic. The way your entire heart now exists outside your body, sleeping in her father’s arms.

“Did you hear what Ollie said?” you whisper.

Max’s thumb moves slowly over your waist. “Unfortunately, I hear most things Ollie says.”

“You know what I mean.”

He glances toward the closed front door.

“Yeah.”

“They love you.”

His jaw shifts slightly. “They love her.”

“Both can be true.”

You know better than to push too hard when he gets like this. Affection still makes him uncomfortable when it arrives from anywhere he hasn’t prepared for. He knows how to receive trophies and applause and respect.

Love is harder.

“You were wrong,” you say.

“About what?”

“When we were on the yacht, last year, you said you were worried you wouldn’t know how to protect her or that you’d be too hard. That you might get it wrong.”

His eyes drop to your daughter.

“I still worry about that.”

“I know.”

“Maybe even more now.”

Her face is turned toward his chest, lips slightly parted in sleep. Max uses one finger to trace the curve of her ear, the touch so delicate it barely disturbs the fine hair beside it.

“There are so many things,” he says quietly. “Things I can’t control. I think about them all the time.”

“Like what?”

“Everything.”

“That’s very specific.”

He gives you a look but continues.

“What happens when I’m away. What happens when she starts walking and falls. When she goes to school. When someone is mean to her.” His mouth tightens at the thought. “When she’s old enough to understand what people say about me.”

“Max.”

“What if she reads things online?”

“She currently thinks her own hand is the most fascinating thing in the universe.”

“I know she doesn’t understand now.”

“Then we don’t need to solve it tonight.”

“But one day—”

“One day she’ll know exactly who you are.” He looks at you.

“She’ll know the man who gets up at three in the morning even when he has training at six. She’ll know the dad who checks the straps on her car seat four times and keeps buying her toys even though she can barely hold them.”

“They’re developmental.”

“She’ll know that you pretended not to cry the first time she smiled at you.”

“I had something in my eye.”

“She’ll know you love her,” you finish softly.

His eyes are shining now, though you know better than to mention it.

“I do love her,” he says.

“I know.”

“So much it feels…”

He trails off.

“Frightening?” you offer.

He nods and you rest your palm against his cheek.

You smile. “One day she’ll run toward the paddock without holding your hand. She’ll have secrets and friends and opinions you don’t agree with.”

“She might even support another driver.”

“Absolutely not.”

You laugh at his expression. “Or maybe she won’t like racing at all.”

“She can be anything.” His lips press against your hair.

“Anything she wants.” Your daughter shifts between you, her face scrunching as she begins to wake. Her eyes open slowly, unfocused at first, before settling on Max. You rest your head against his shoulder as he gently rocks her, repeating Dada in three different tones while she stares at him with complete adoration.

The group chat begins vibrating on the coffee table.

Once.

Twice.

Then continuously.

Max glances at the screen.

GRID PRINCESS HEADQUARTERS

Ollie: Has she woken up yet?

Franco: Send photo.

Kimi: Please.

Isack: She probably misses us.

Liam: She does not miss you.

Arvid: She’s been asleep for twelve minutes.

Gabi: I think we should give them some space.

Gabi: But also please send photo when you can.

Max sighs as though the messages are an enormous inconvenience, then he carefully passes the baby to you, reaches for his phone and opens the camera.

“You’re sending them a photo?” you ask.

“They’ll keep messaging otherwise.”

“Of course.”

“It’s for peace.”

“Absolutely.”

He crouches in front of you, adjusting the blanket around your daughter and smoothing one hand gently over her hair. You reposition her while Max takes approximately forty photos.

He finally lowers the phone and sits beside you. You shift the baby carefully between you, and Max wraps his arm around both of you, holding you close.

For a while none of you move. Then the phone vibrates again.

And again.

Max finally sends the photograph.

The responses arrive instantly.

Ollie: MY BEST FRIEND

Kimi: She’s so cute.

Franco: She’s smiling because she misses me.

Arvid: Maybe she’s happy you’re gone.

Liam: Zoom in. She is nearly smiling.

Gabriel: Beautiful photo ❤️

Ollie: Tell her Uncle Ollie loves her.

Isack: Me too!!

Max reads the messages silently.

Then he looks down at your daughter and touches one fingertip to her cheek.

“You have a lot of people looking out for you,” he murmurs.

She blinks up at him.

“And none of them are allowed to teach you to drive.”

You laugh. “You’re impossible.”

He looks at you, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“You love me.”

He kisses you slowly, carefully, mindful of the baby nestled between you. When he pulls away his forehead rests against yours.

Your daughter makes a small, indignant noise, apparently unimpressed by being excluded, and Max immediately kisses the top of her head too, and as you watch him tuck the blanket more securely around her tiny body, his expression soft and his arm firm around your shoulders, you know what you knew then.

He doesn’t need to become the best dad in the world.

To her he already is.