Chapter Seven- Under The Table Sins Part two
Chapter eight- Under The Table Sins Part Three
every movement of mine pleads for him to help me sin and my actions do not reflect the voice of conscience, shouting for me to do the right thing and not spread my legs for my mother's husband!
Pleasure is a sin.
The body receives stimulation and pleasure is conceived no matter the circumstances, it does not matter who is producing the stimuli, the body will always react accordingly. That is why pleasure is a sin, most times those gratifyingly thrilling moments of sinful indulgence resulting in enrapturing, wholly consuming, addictive pleasure- override conscience and logic and makes us forget that every form of action breeds a corresponding consequence …. Or the word in plural.
I felt awful, terrible, feeble and like the worst sinner to ever exist and I wanted to crawl out of my skin, but I could not deny that the Devil was tantalizing me.
His actions were tantalizing and tormenting; the way his fingers stroked along my panty clad l*ps, getting close enough to my heat but almost not even grazing my c**t- I was being tormented and taunted by a promise of more, only for him to deliver less, because secretly, as much as I will never admit to it and will carry the true nature of my dirty mind straight to the grave- I secretly wished for more of the pleasure he was denying me, I was silently begging him to allow his fingers to slide a bit higher. My core was inflamed, my walls were pulsing, contracting and relaxing and preparing my body for one thing only- penetration.
By- the- Devil!
This is so wrong! This is so wrong but my shallow, ragged breathing, the way my bottom lip is tucked between my teeth, the way I am slowly spreading my thighs and allowing him easier access to my throbbing warmth- every movement of mine pleads for him to help me sin and my actions do not reflect the voice of conscience, shouting for me to do the right thing and not spread my thighs for my mother's husband!
I have read so many books, piles of steamy, lace dampening erotica detailing an entanglement so similar to this one I have found myself in. I am a diligent, devout reader and I have been filling up my mind with mostly narrations of illicit, torrid, stormy affairs and I have been pleasuring myself to the fantasy of an older man, an older man out of bounds, an older man who offers nothing but forbidden thrill and sinful, mind- numbing or**sms, being intrested in a plain Jane like me, wanting me and thristing for my body enough to do unimaginable things to me and brand my skin with his body- but now that life is granting me what I have always desired and desperately wished for in the form of a domineering, self- asserted, older man of ethereal beauty and otherworldly features, I am anything but relishing the moment and milking it for all that it is worth.
I cannot deny that he is getting me hot, my utterly surprised body finds his touch too unbearable and I was very afraid that if he persisted, my sheer lace panties would soon be sodden enough with my juices; for the evidence of my arousal to be transferred to his fingers. I was only wearing a light nightdress which will have no mercy and will leave nothing to the imagination if my n***les harden more than they already have.
My mind is programmed to react this way to this forms of subjugating actions; there was something about the way he had so easily coerced me to submission and had me fully at his mercy that ignited a fierce flame that has never burned within me before.
No…
No….
This is so wrong…
With the voice of conscience resurfacing with more vehemence; I tightly clamped my thighs together and tried to hinder his hand from moving further south, then I opened my mouth to say something, to reason with him and remind him that he is my step-father ( although I have no doubt that he has not forgotten that important detail at all) that he is married to my mother, that I am a daughter to him and he should not be touching me this way- but nothing came out. I only gaped, mouth slightly ajar, my throat dry. One word was whispered to my mind and I was afraid that if I did speak: I was only going to beg.
That word was please.
Please- daddy.
If those words tumbled past my lips, he was not going to let me go, I am certain he was going to bend me over the counter and take me right in this kitchen with my mother only feet away…. No doubt he would claim my untouched p***y, he was already hard for… me.
Oh god!
The Devil is my father.
This is so wrong.
The need was ravaging me from within, inflaming me and I was slowly losing grasp of will to the desire, to the want for more. I have never ever been touched like this, I have never experienced even anything close and this was after all all I have ever wanted: to be Tarlia. I was a teenager who has been horny and deprived of male attention and physical intimacy all her life, who was finally getting a taste of the richness of everything her body has been missing out on- so it was hard for me to withdraw from those urges to not question and allow myself to be careless and absolutely selfish.
My body was chanting "it's your time" but my mind was screaming for me to get myself out of this situation before someone gets hurt, before I commit the ultimate sin and give myself to my mother's husband.
Thoughts of my mother assailing me with acrimonious words, thoughts of her pained eyes harrowing into me as she swears to never forgive me for sleeping with her husband swept away all of my cowardice and reluctance and for once in my life, I consciously chose to misbehave and risk my father's wrath.