by Poppet
Putting on the act, I look up at the ceiling and use the broken tone, “I can't believe how my first thought was to wake you up with such love and you reacted like a selfish brat. I have feelings too you know. My pride is wounded. I wanted you on my chest so I could suck your sweet bits, and you get all fucking defensive with me. I wanted to make you cum, and now instead of feeling like doing that I think you should finger yourself off because you lack basic human decency.”
No, I was gonna fist you, I wanted to see my swimmers inside you and relish that achievement, but I'll play you because you're stupid enough to be played.
She gives me a look of shame, “Oh jeez. I'm so sorry. I was–”
I cut her off, pulling my hand out of her and zooming to the pillows, sitting with my legs on either side of her and my cock in her face. “Kiss it better. Please?”
She looks at it, then me, and like a good girl who was just redeemed by holy jizz she opens her mouth and sucks me.
Relaxing back I close my eyes.
Now this is how god intended men spend their mornings.
And he saw that it was goooood!
•
Candace:
Over breakfast, which we cooked together in his lavish and spacious kitchen, he told me about Jan, about her drug problem, about her dealing it right out of our home. I feel so betrayed and hurt. No wonder the woman is more paranoid than a schizophrenic hearing voices.
He showed me proof on a thumb drive that he got one of his buddies to bribe from a cop working the case. Talk about going above and beyond for me. He did all that while I slept on in ignorance and oblivion, was all romantic, and I just thought he was being a selfish prick.
Man I am out of practice. I forgot how sensitive men are, I forgot how much they like praise. Sex is their idea of romance, and on that basis I would have to deduce that Kenan has a rather decent crush on me. He even called me blossom when I was in the bath. He's decided it's going to be my pet name in honor of the hue of my nipples. Just the thought of it makes me smile.
Folding my knife and fork together and sitting back to sip my Bloody Mary (the best cure for a hangover apparently), I ask him a burning question. “Ken, that girl last night, the one in the circle of men. What was that all about?”
He smirks, rifling fingers through short sandy hair, muttering, “It would be better for you to understand our perspective before I explain that to you. I know, why don't you come with me to church tomorrow and see the reality for yourself?”
He looks so keen and plaintive that I don't have the heart to refuse him. “Yeah, okay.” One day in church isn't going to kill me. And from what I hear the police have sealed off my apartment and I can't get back in without putting myself in the firing line. I'm stuck in a horribly precarious position. What about work on Monday, what about my bills and my life? I'm innocent, but will the fuzz see it that way?
Instead I make small talk, saying, “I have to admit I found last night kinda embarrassing. Getting naked in the hallway in a strange house was…. um, not what I usually do on first dates.”
He arches a sardonic eyebrow, “You were ashamed?”
“Yes, I was. Fuck Kenan, I wasn't raised to be a stripper for public consumption.”
“Candy,” he says, sounding serious.
Pulling my head out of ruminations I engage his gaze, loving the warmth and kindness in his eyes. Wow, I still can't wrap my head around this. “Hmm?”
“I only just met you, and for the record, stating it plainly, I'm not ready to lose you. Hell no. So… let me provide an alibi for you. I have a friend who's a hacker, he can make it look like you are out of the country on a family emergency, and that you left before last night.”
“But what about Jan?” I blurt, none of this really sinking in as reality.
“Jan has made her choices, Candy. I'm not going to let her take you down with her. I'll get my lawyer to contact your work and explain the family emergency and how you can't make it to work. And for the duration of Jan's trial you can stay here, with me, where it's safe.”
“But–”
“No buts, baby. Please? Come on… for me?”
I simply cannot refuse that face. Wow, he's one helluva find.
Nodding, I get up, collecting our plates, “I'll do the dishes.”
“Okay,” he grins, pulling out his phone, “I'll get on your little problem and make it all go away. But it means you can't phone anyone for a while. Your phone doesn't have roaming switched on, and if the cops are looking for you we don't need them knowing your location.” That blows. Frowning, worry finally penetrates, and I wonder just how badly Jan has fucked up my life.
He stands, distracting me with a long sedate kiss, his hand cupping my face, filling me with warmth and safety. It's so potent that I become tearful, ducking my head and scarpering to the kitchen to clean up the breakfast mess. He's awesome. Just awesome.
I'm just finishing up when he calls to me, “Candace!”
“Yes?” I call back, pulling the plug to let the dishwater out.
“Come here, darling!”
Darling! I met him last night and he's already calling me darling. Wow. I finally find him in what looks to be a study.
Patting his knee, he beckons me to where he sits at the computer, “Blossom, come sit on daddy's knee.”
“Why?” I ask, wiping my hands on the dish towel.
He gives me that endearing skew smirk, “I feel like blowing a crater in the bank balance.”
Arching both eyebrows, the stretch feels taut in my skin, “Oh yeah?” This is weird. He's so unpredictable that I'm wondering what his motivation is. Perching on his knee, I look at the website his browser is on, “Underwear? I should have known.”
Strong arms circle my waist and he pulls me tight against him, saying, “Babes, this is serious. You need to lie low, for a month at least. Jan's in the middle of a serious investigation and I don't need you being dragged into her shit storm. I have the money and you need supplies. We aren't leaving this room until you've bought a new wardrobe and got all the supplies you'll need to live comfortably without having to go back to your apartment. Please babes?…” He murmurs the babes, shivering my bones with his intensity. “…I want to keep you safe. I don't want them smearing your reputation and ruining your chances at a career because of her drama. Jude's made up a trail for them to follow, letting them believe you've left the country to tend a sick aunt in remotest Africa. It's a place even Google Earth can't find, but that doesn't mean you have to live here without the luxuries and necessities. If you want it, buy it. I'm here for the long haul, Blossom. You need to be happy, content, cared for, safe. It's my responsibility as the head of this house to provide that for you. I want to.”
Nicking my chin up with his finger, he stares at my mouth for a long time before looking into my eyes, “Don't refuse. It makes me happy to make you happy.”
If I was a perfume designer there'd so be an Eau de Kenan available, one every man who lacks integrity would be wearing, melting jaded hearts across the known world with just one spritz.
“Why are you so good to me?” I mumble, tears prickling my eyes with his thoughtful gesture. Not that he does gestures, he's all or nothing, an adrenaline rush I'm already hopelessly addicted to. I like the all approach, the nothing approach scares me shitless.
Leaning closer, twisting me so he can get a good kiss in, smooth lips which hold a hint of unyielding firmness cover mine, his grip on my waist tightening to harsh. Closing my eyes, the spell is woven, the distraction complete, when he breaks the kiss to mutter, “We have a good thing, I'm not letting life fuck it up. A decent man makes his woman happy when she returns the sentiment. And you do make me happy. You listen, you respect, you understand where I'm coming from. You let me lead without challenging my wisdom, you aren't argumentative and petty. In short you aren't a floppy cunt who thinks she's a virgin and too good to get dirty with me.”
Widening my eyes, my breath hitching while my hormones wage for p
recedence over conversation, I say, “Wow, ex issues huh?”
“Women issues. You aren't like those cock pockets, you're just right. God made you just for me, and when he did he knew what the fuck he was doing.”
Yeah, god gets all the credit. Fuck god. I don't care about god, but I do care about us. I care about how you have hooked my primitive urges out of my heart and into my reality. I didn't know I love being a sexual being until you made it divine, ordained, something to worship instead of something to condemn and restrain. I also love the way he seems so distinguished and then drops words like cunt into a perfectly normal sentence. It's shock therapy, it's rebellious, it appeals to me in a way it shouldn't, in a way I was raised was wrong, but yet when he does it I want to smile. I love that he does that.
I just fucking love it.
Petting my thigh, he nudges his head at the computer screen, “Let's have at it. Do your worst. You aren't leaving this chair until you have everything you could possibly need to live here without resenting me.”
“Live here?” I blurt, sliding to sit sideways so we can look eye to eye.
“Buckle up darling, you're stuck here all by your lonesome. You're living here now, where it's safe.”
Buckle up, eh. Haha! Grinning, I glance back at the computer screen displaying perfectly average underwear with the most insane price tags attached. What's it spun from? Spiderman silk and virgin fluff?
“What's wrong with normal stores?” I object, not wanting him to spend so much on so little.
“You are not worthy of normal, Blossom. You are my queen, let me treat you.”
The queen? As I recall she always bows to the king. Apt. I can see many a bended knee in my future. Why does that concept excite me so damn much? Fuck it. I'm a salacious and wanton woman, I may as well embrace my virtues the way he has.
Nodding, knowing the agenda, I pull at the leather of his belt, unclasping the buckle, “Ready to buckle up.” I say it in my sultry tone and have quivers of desire clench my womb when his eyes cloud with momentary darkness. He knows how to press my buttons, and I do believe I know how to press his.
Staying my hand with a hard grip, he drawls in a tone etched with sensual abrasion, “First you shop, then you play. Do as you're told.”
Wow, there is a god in heaven after all. I do believe my bounty of blessings is upon me. And in a few short hours my cup will be so full it will be running over with the distinct scent of his cum.
Hallelujah.
Taken to inspect his precious church which is literally three roads down, I look about. “What is this place?”
“It's a secure gated community. No one gets in without permission and cleared security. I don't have to worry about your safety when I'm not with you. It's perfect, right?”
“It is,” I agree, impressed with the manicured lawns, wide paved roads, and vintage lampposts dotted along the pristine sidewalks.
The building we're walking towards looks both ancient and modern, a small stone chapel in the front backed by a huge stone building. He leads me right up to the wide and imposing front door, and I pause at the grand opening, amazed by the craftsmanship. Looking up at the impressive arch, I ask, “Why is it pointed?”
Stepping back, he stares up at the intricate stonework with a secretive smile, his eyes taking on a naughty glint, “Because women are sexy.”
Arching both eyebrows, I give him the look, “Women have nothing to do with it.”
Leaning next to the bronze plaque, he strokes the marble order which frames the doorway, ebbing three perfect pipes around the entrance, looking at me as if he could lay me down right here and do very bad things to me.
“Candace, it's a common fact of architecture that these imposing openings into the church are fashioned after the labia.” Pointing up, drawing my attention to the stone at the apex, he smirks, “Inside the voussoir the keystone holds this arch up, it gives it strength and stability, and it represents the female glans, the exposed tip of the clitoris. Without the keystone the church has no strength. It's called a key-stone for a reason. It's the key to holiness, to God, it unlocks rapture, it delivers paradise to us here on Earth. This is Ecclesiastical architecture. That's biblical.” To punctuate his point, he gives me a devious wink.
Smiling, feeling altogether too naïve and gullible, I shake my head, “Nonsense.”
“Is it? Look it up, baby. I'll never lie to you. Another architectural name for that sexy point in the door arch is pinnacle, which is just a nice phrase for climax.”
“Holy heck, you're serious?”
“Serious as a judge sweetheart; as a judge.” Taking my hand, he pauses, drawing me to his side to show me the plaque, reading it aloud to me, “Wives submit to your husbands, as to the lord.” This time he flicks his tongue out and teases me, cunnilingus style.
Bursting out laughing, I'm almost embarrassed to enter a church while my mind is solidly between my thighs.
Guiding me across the sexual threshold, he halts, pointing up, “This temple is fashioned after the instructions God gave Solomon. Look at all those pomegranates. The pomegranate has always been an ancient symbol of fertility and is a visual metaphor for the many eggs packed inside your ovaries. Do you not find it strange that long ago only men were allowed in the temple? We celebrate life when we come to worship. When we get down on our knees to pray, we are whispering our contrition, hopes and dreams, deep into the inner womb of the Holies.”
The suggestiveness, the purr of his baritone, it's making me blush and my hormones rampage.
Pulling me onto a plump cushioned pew he sits next to me, holding my hand, staring into my eyes, melting my mind with his seductive stare, saying, “The temple is indeed a phallic example of how men and women fit together. In the biblical book Kings, the description is given, The capitals on top of the pillars in the portico were in the shape of lilies, four cubits high. On the capitals of both pillars, above the bowl-shaped part next to the network, were the two hundred pomegranates in rows all around. He erected the pillars at the portico of the temple. The capitals on top were in the shape of lilies. And so the work on the pillars was completed.”
Licking his lips, stroking my cheek with his thumb, he murmurs, “Baby, pillars topped with lilies couldn't be more phallic if it tried. Surrounded with the pomegranates, it is the penis deep inside the womb, it's the perfect marriage, it's the way to worship. The symbolism surrounds us. It feels good, it's the way we were created, and it's all I want to do with you. I want to fill your inner sanctuary and own your lily petals the way the stamen does. I need to feel you, Candace. I need it.”
“Oh my god. Kenan, you're making it all sound so dirty. We're in church.”
“This is my church, this is my temple, I only speak the truth. Submit to me. With all that entails, submit to me Candace.”
I don't have time to think, he's sucking my lip into his mouth, fondling my nipple through my cardigan, cradling my head with his other hand, pressing his erection against my leg, breaking the kiss just long enough to whisper a sultry order, “Open your legs, give me your clitoris, let me enter you and worship God.”
Holy fuck! He wants to go down on me in church? I'm going to hell for this!
Pulling back, sliding his hand up my leg, resting it high on my thigh with silent insistence, he leans against the chair-back, looking at the ceiling, saying, “See the knob that joins the vaults in the ceiling together?”
Looking up, I'm in awe of the intricate carvings, it's incredible. Wherever the vaults crisscross there is indeed a bobble. “Yes?”
“That is called the boss. The boss keeps order, prevents chaos, and in church the boss protects everyone walking beneath. In this temple the boss protects you.” Sliding his hand higher up as he twists to curl his shoulder over me, pressing his forehead against mine, he murmurs, “Will you let me be your boss?”
The pressure of his hand, the already crazed drench of my lust, I'm kinda getting into his kinky church shit.
Nodding, I gas
p when he edges aside my lace knickers and sinks his finger inside me. “Yes.” I squeak, clenching around the subversive penetration.
“The inner chamber is called the cella. It's in the centre,” he says, still in the tone of someone stripping me naked to fondle every inch of flesh on me.
Resting my head back, hornier than a temple girl, I whisper, “You make architecture sound like phone sex.”
Ramming his finger deep so his knuckle sends pressure up my clit and through my uterus, he kisses words across my face before sliding his tongue into my mouth, “The ancient Greeks believed it's only during orgasm that a man is in the presence of God. Help me know God. Take me to his rapturous presence.”
Kneading into and against me with his hand, the plunging of his tongue destroys my ability to think about church or god. Now I need a good fuck the way I need air to breathe. I'll perish without it.
Widening my legs, I cup his head, holding his mouth to mine, answering his question with a kiss, sucking on his tongue, stroking it with velvet heat, flicking the tip suggestively.
Pulling away, he smiles at me, “Is that a yes?”
“Yes!” God, just do me now! Now!
“Will you submit to me? Do you promise in this holy church, before the eyes of God, do you promise to ssssubmit to me, giving me your keystone and cella, opening to me when I need to worship, giving me authority to guide you to heaven?”
“Yes!” Jesus would you stop talking!
The friction rubbing circles across my clit is making me froth up and writhe. Fuck!
“Good girl,” purrs against my temple where he presses a kiss into it, withdrawing his hand from delivering erotic bliss, slowly sucking on the finger he delved inside me.
Watching him suck it suggestively, I wonder if it'll speed things along if I get on my knees and 'pray'.
Sliding off the pew, shimmying between his legs, I rub the hard ridge straining against his zip, grinning, looking up at him through my eyelashes, “Would you like me to submit now? I'm in the mood to suck your erected pillar inside the temple.”