Take Me to Church Pt. 01 – BDSM


This story is partially true, and then it takes a turn into a fantasy I played out in my imagination during an hour long Catholic mass. My husband and I fleshed out the fantasy together from both our POV. Enjoy.

LETTI

There’s something about churches that makes me insatiable.  It didn’t help that Wrex was dressed in my favourite pinstripe suit. It was expertly fitted to him; as it should be for the ungodly amount he paid for it. And he was wearing that damn cologne. The one I got him for our wedding. He usually wore it whenever we attended someone else’s wedding now. Each time I inhaled his scent, a surge of memories flooded my brain.

Our wedding night. The way he kissed me in front of all our family and friends. The honeymoon. The fucking honeymoon.

And now, I was trapped between pews to endure the sensory torture that was my husband and the exquisite boredom that was Catholic mass. You cannot blame a masochist for getting squirmy in this situation. And you cannot blame a brat for taking benefit.

It didn’t help that we were sat so far back that we couldn’t see anything. There were no speakers, so the only thing we could hear was the occasional organ music and the sound of a baby crying a dozen pews ahead of us. Wrex didn’t allow me to have my phone out after he caught me taking pictures of my hand inching up his thigh, so I was left to my own imagination.

I imagined kneeling on the bar attached to the pew, Wrex filling me with the holy spirit. I imagined walking down the church aisle naked and atoning. Being whipped at the altar. Strapped to a cross. I glanced over at Jesus’ statue.

I’m gonna fucking Hell.

I pressed my legs together and shifted in the pew, trying to discreetly build friction against my clitoris. I felt Wrex’s piercing gaze on me before I felt his hand squeezing my knee in warning.

“Behave.” He barely whispered the words, but I felt them worm all the way down to my core.

There is nothing that could make me want to misbehave more than being told directly to behave. Especially by him.

I assume the Priest instructed us to rise as the congregation began to stand. We followed suit. And I slipped my hand discreetly between his legs, my fingers grazing his bulge. My smile widened as he snatched my hand and squeezed hard. I knew I’d be in trouble later. But I was safe now. Protected by God.

Or so I wondered.

His grip on my hand tightened and he tugged me out of the pew into the side aisle.

My mind raced with what was coming. Is he so sexually frustrated that he’s gonna discover a place to fuck me right now? Is he gonna punish me? Lecture me?

He led me through the French stained glass doors and down a long red-carpeted hall. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. This was his childhood church after all; where we still frequented on holidays and weddings. But I’ve never been anywhere other than the congregation area. I never behaved quite like this in church before. I blamed the shots we took with his friends before the ceremony.

Towards the end of the hall, he took a sharp left and ducked us into a small room that looked like it could be an office. But the only furniture in it was a single wooden chair and a side table too small to be a desk.  He locked the door.

“I half expected there to be a cross in here.” I shot him a smile and a wink.

He smirked in return, keeping his firm grip on my hand as he walked us over to the chair. Before I could process his next moves, I was over his knee. My hands on the worn red carpet. The legs of the wooden chair and his leather shoes my new scenery. 

“What are you doing!?” But I knew exactly what he was doing. And if I’m being honest, I wanted exactly this. I just didn’t expect it until we got home.

WREX

“This room is used to give unruly children time outs.” I lifted her dress, exposing the red silk panties that barely covered her plump cheeks. I’d make sure her ass matched by the time I was done.

I’d heard that this room was also used for spankings. I’d seen red-faced wives escorted here by their no-nonsense husbands. I all the time suspected, but it wasn’t until I opened the drawer to the side table that I was sure.

Inside, there were several small paddles, a wooden hairbrush, two unused bars of ivory soap, and a note. The note read:

If your wife requires further correction, there are canes, heavy oak paddles, and a jar of rice in my office.

– Sister Anne

Good to know. I considered standing Letti up and heading straight to Sister Anne’s office, but I decided to save that for the next offense.

“Looks like I was right,” I said as I picked up the wooden hairbrush. “This is a spanking room.”

Letti squirmed on my lap, turning to see what I had found inside the drawer. Her eyes widened as she caught site of the large, thick wooden hairbrush. Nothing she hasn’t felt before. But applied on a bottom without warmup wasn’t gonna be fun for her and she knew it.

“You can’t spank me here, someone could hear us!”

The spanking hadn’t even started yet and I had to  pin her legs between mine to tame her squirming. I guessed it would take around five minutes with the brush for her fight to be replaced with submission.

I glanced at the clock on the side table: 1:15 PM. Mass wasn’t over until 2:00 PM and I had every intention of returning her sore bottom to the hard wooden pew with plenty of time left for her to sit and think about her behaviour. If the hairbrush didn’t do the trick in five minutes, 10 of the best with my belt would.

I brought the brush down hard on her right cheek. She yelped immediately, twisting on my lap in an attempt to escape the grip I had on her with my legs.

“Stay still,” I growled, alternating cheeks with the brush and watching red circles bloom on her skin.

She wriggled harder. She all the time did when I told her to stay still, which is why I said it. I wanted her to struggle. She wasn’t hard to contain, but it was satisfying to watch her try her very hardest to escape my punishment. Only to realize she couldn’t.

1:17 PM. It’s been two minutes and she was still fighting me. Not even an apology yet. I paused and set down the brush on the side table.

“Are you sorry?” I asked.

“Sure.” Sarcasm dripping. I expected no less.

“Not sorry enough.” I pulled down her underwear, admiring my work and how closely her bottom now matched her panties.

“Wait!” She reached back her hand and I swiftly pinned it to her back and picked out the thickest paddle from the drawer.

I tapped the paddle on her ass and I felt her body stiffen under the new sensation. “You’re going to behave for the rest of church, is that understood?”

“I wasn’t even doing anything,” she lied.

“Not doing anything?”

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

“OWWW STOP!”

“So your hand brushing my dick wasn’t doing anything?”

I could see the begin of bruising forming on her sit spots and continued to focus my swats there hard.

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

“What did I tell you was going to happen the next time you lied to me?”

She stopped fighting and froze as I continued to spank her. Suddenly mute.

“What.” SMACK. “Did.” SMACK. “I.” SMACK.“Tell.” SMACK. “You?”

“Please. I’m sorry… I’ll be good I promise.”

I landed a dozen more swats on her crimson bottom; by the end of it she laid limp over my lap sniffling. A perfect picture of punished submission.

“I told you I’d wash your mouth out with soap the next time I caught you lying to me. Didn’t I?”

She whimpered over my lap, resigned to her fate. “Yes, Sir.”

“Stand up.”

I returned the paddle to the drawer and opened one of the ivory soap boxes. Her face sank but she didn’t argue. She damn well knew better by now.

LETTI

I opened my mouth slowly, and not wide enough for the bar of soap to fit. It was one thing to be forced over his knee and spanked. But to open my mouth for a bar of soap was humiliating beyond belief.

“Wider.”

I opened just wide enough for him to stick the bar against my tongue, and I immediately opened wider and sucked my tongue down to escape the terrible taste of soap.

“Bite.”

I obeyed, trying to keep my tongue off the surface of the bar.

“Bend over and put both of your hands on the chair.”

Once in position, I heard the familiar sound of his belt being unbuckled and pulled through the loops.

Fuck.

His belt wasn’t bad usually, unless he used it in a punishment capacity. And I’d never been belted with a bar of soap in my mouth before.

“You will not move. That bar of soap stays in your mouth – if it falls out, you’ll be back over my knee for more of the hairbrush.”

“Ess err,” I attempted with my mouth now full.

He lifted my dress, tucking the hem into my bra strap. My panties were still around my ankles. My ass on fire from the hairbrush and paddle. I prepared myself for the belt.

I heard his pants unzip and drop to the floor, and within seconds his fingers were parting my labia.

“So fucking wet.” He laughed softly as he stroked my clitoris.

If I were insatiable before, I was positively rapacious now.

The tip of his cock was against me, sliding between my lips, curving into me like we were made for each other. The head of his shaft met my swollen clit, pleasure pulsing through my nerves.

I was about to get fucked inside a church. With a beaten ass and a bar of soap in my mouth.

TO BE CONTINUED.

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