Chapter 1: Sinning in the Dark

I wonder if there is a moment in every child’s life when they realize their father is a hypocrite. While the Reverend Gary Powell preached about the sanctity of marriage and the sins of the flesh, he had no qualms about indulging in them, violating his own marriage vows to my mother by desecrating another holy bond.

Last week, I spied on him and Donna Paxtor, a deacon’s wife, engaging in a sin of carnal delight. My sixteen-year-old body was not prepared for the sight of Donna bent naked over my father’s desk in his office at Thousand Oaks Methodist, her red hair hiding her face as she gasped and moaned while my equally naked father stood behind her, fucking her.

It was such a dirty word. One my mother would wash my mouth out if she even thought I knew it. But there was no other word than fucking to describe what he did to Donna Paxtor. Her bottom rippled every time Father slammed into her. It made an obscene, slapping sound, joining her voice.

Yes, yes, yes, fuck me, the cheating wife had hissed, her breasts pillowed across my father’s mahogany desk, a gift from the church only last year.

Watching my father sin with Donna awakened lusts inside my body. I had sexual desires before that day, but they were tiny. My heart would flutter for a cute boy at school, a sinful itch forming between my thighs which I had always resisted at the urging of my mother. I had denied myself like I was taught, like my father had preached.

But watching him, his chest surprisingly muscular for a man in his forties, awakened me to true sexual desires. He was a handsome man, I always knew that, with dark hair touched by wings of gray streaking back from the temples. Strong, authoritative, stern. He made me squirm. I forgot all about working with the flower bed, which is why I came to the church after school.

That heat. That warm itch, blossomed in me. Right then, tight there, behind the church, I shoved my hand down my jeans and into my panties. I brushed through my silken pubic hair and found the lips of my vagina.

No, my pussy, like the boys called it. A filthy, wonderful name for the hot, hungry hole between my thighs. I massaged my lips, shuddering and quivering, my long, blonde hair flowing about my head. I shivered, frigging myself faster and faster, rubbing across my wet lips. Sinful juices coated them as I stared at my father fucking a married woman.

A preacher.

I shuddered, biting my lip to keep from moaning like a wanton whore, screaming like Donna. They violated the church with their affair. It was so wrong. So perverted. I stroked through my flesh faster, wishing I was bent over the table, wondering why I denied Ricky my virginity when we were going steady a few months back.

He broke off our relationship in favor of that slut Carolyn. She didn’t mind spreading her legs in the back of his brand-new ‘61 Plymouth while at the drive-thru. I foolishly believed my father’s sermons. He clearly didn’t.

I shuddered and then it happened as I rubbed myself watching my father. My first orgasm. I gasped, my fingers clenching, my eyes locked on my father’s cock sliding in and out of the whore’s pussy. It dripped from her juices. He grunted once, twice, and then buried into her as I shuddered. The pleasure burned through me. It let me swaying, lightheaded.

And then they were done. He pulled out of the whore. Donna Paxtor moaned in delight, clearly satiated like I was. I stepped back from the window, pulling up my jeans and buttoning them. I stared at the juices on my fingers then bolted.

I had to think. Reflect.

And my reflection led me to my current position, kneeling on the floor of the deacon’s office before Sunday Service, the door locked, and Deacon Bill Paxtor’s slacks around his ankles, his boxers around his knees. His cock thrust at me, hard and angry.

Seducing the cuckold turned out to be quite easy...

He and his wife, Donna, always showed up early to help setup the church along with my family. While my father slipped into his office to ready for his sermon, and my mother and the whore were busy making sure all the printed off sermon guides were on the pews, I headed to seduce Deacon Bill, a coquettish smile on my face.

He was a handsome man, old, in his thirties, tall, handsome, with the roguish good-looks of a James Dean—well, not that roguish, but who is? I slipped into his office where he was going over church documents, a coquettish smile on my face, my hands behind my back as I swayed forward.

He looked up at me, a polite smile on my face as I locked the door behind me. I stood in my Sunday best, a white, sleeveless dress, belted at the waist, with a bell skirt falling down to my knees. I had my black Mary Janes on and white stockings vanished beneath my skirt. My smile turned seductive, hungry as I stopped before his small desk.

“Well, Miss Alexandra,” he said, using the polite tone adults used with us young teenagers. “What a surprise? Do you need something?”

“I need guidance, Deacon Bill,” I purred, my finger stroking his desk surface—smooth, polished wood. I leaned on it, my fingernails painted with clear lacquer, reflecting the light. Blonde hair fell off my shoulders before me. “It’s... very personal.”

“And not something you want to talk to your father about?”

I shook my head from side-to-side. “I saw something the other day. Something so very naughty and sinful and it has me feeling all ... flustered.”

He swallowed. “I’m not sure I’m the person to talk to you about this. Maybe your mother?”

“Or your wife?” I asked, licking my lips.

His eyebrows furrowed. “And just what did you see?”

“A man and woman violating their marriage vows with each other. It was obscene. The woman was bent over the desk, almost like I am right now. She was naked, her butt wiggling while the man”—I lowered my voice into a conspiratorial whispered—”fucked her from behind.”

“Alexandra Powell, such language for a young woman.”

“I don’t know how else to describe it,” I moaned, leaning farther over, wiggling my hips. “But it made me think ... about things.”

“Uh-huh. And who did you see?”

“My father.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “The Reverend was committing adultery.”

“Doesn’t that make him just a hypocrite?” I asked, licking my lips. They were full, red, lush lips. Ricky, on the last night I went out with them, called them cock-sucking lips. He had the presumption to want me to blow him—a preacher’s daughter.

Oh, if only I knew the truth, awakened to my body, I would have gladly done it. Adults pretended to talk about how sinful sex was, but they were all doing it. Cheating, fucking, enjoying themselves with carnal passion. It was so wrong for them to deny me. Ever since I watched Father and Donna, I had masturbated at every chance I could get. It was hot, exciting even.

“It ... does,” Deacon Bill swallowed after a moment. “And you’re sure?”

I nodded.

“And with a married woman?” His eyes raised. “A member of the congregation.”

I nodded again.

“Who?”

“That really doesn’t matter,” I moaned, sensing if I revealed it was his wife it would only distract him from my purpose here. “But it is so sinful of him. So hypocritical. He’s always preaching about sexual immorality. Always condemning those who fornicate.” I licked my lips. “And I so want to fornicate.”

His eyes widened. He glanced at the door again. “What are you saying, Alexandra?”

“That I’m flustered. And ... I was hoping you could help me out. It’s so wrong that he gets to have his fun. I want to have fun. Seeing him ... educated me.” I reached over his desk, touching his dark-blue tie. “Won’t you help me out?”

“I’m married,” he groaned.

“So?” I asked, my fingers sliding lower down his tie. It was silk and felt wonderful.

“You’re the preacher’s daughter.”

“And?”

“I’m married.”

“Didn’t stop my father.” My hand reached the bottom of his tie. I caressed his stomach through his white dress shirt before I moved lower to his dark-blue slacks. I craned my neck, glimpsing his bulge. “Why should it stop you?”

His chair creaked as he shifted.

“You’re a child.”

“I’m sixteen,” I purred, my fingers moving down. My pussy gave a sinful shiver as I stroked his bulge. “Mmm, that feels just nice. I would love to learn how to give a blowjob.”

“Lord have mercy,” he groaned, his face growing red. “What a sinful harlot you are.”

The tone of his voice changed. His eyes hardened. He seized my hand and pulled it from his crotch. I gasped at how tight his grip was. He stood, his chair sliding back on its wheels, and marched around his small desk, pulling my arm with him. I knocked over his pen cup, spilling them across the floor.

“You really want to be a whore, Alexandra?” he demanded.

The word sent a shudder through me. I almost blurted out, “I want to be a whore just like your wife.” But I didn’t. I had a feeling that wouldn’t end well. No man liked to hear his woman cheated on him, even when he was about to have a sixteen-year-old suck on his cock.

“Yes,” I said instead.

He smiled, his eyes flicking down to my bodice. The dress was tight, my breasts swelling the front. I was already bigger than my mother. Nice, round double D’s, the envy of all the girls at school. And it was clear he appreciated them.

“You’ve really turned into a strumpet,” he said. “I’ve noticed the way you’ve grown, matured. I’ve wondered if you had a hot, little cunt beneath your dress, soaking your panties.”

I had never hard the word cunt. It sounded so vile. I instantly knew what he meant and moaned, “It’s such a wet cunt.” A naughty shudder ran through me. I loved the word and the sensations it triggered. My body had such delights to offer.

“Then kneel, whore,” he growled. “We don’t have much time.”

“No, Deacon.”

So I knelt in my Sunday best and reached out with one hand. I unzipped his slacks. The tails of his shirt peeked out like two cat ears. I pushed them aside and slipped my hand through the slit in the front of his underwear—I had laundered my family’s clothes enough to know about it. I shuddered, feeling his cock hard and throbbing in my hand.

It was wonderful. An obscene rush went through me. I drew it out, staring at my first penis. Dick, cock, prick. It was long and fat. My pussy clenched. Could one really fit in me? I would find out. But not with this one.

I had a different cock in mind. And it would be so sinful.

I stroked his cock, loving the way the skin moved over the hard shaft. He throbbed. The tip was pink, flared out like a mushroom, and smooth. A slit leaked a clear liquid, not urine. Curious, I leaned forward and licked the tip. It had a faint, salty aroma.

“That’s it, whore,” he groaned. “Lick the tip. Get it nice and wet for that slut-mouth.”

A hot shudder went through me. My free hand, not occupied with his prick, shot between my thighs. I slid up my stockings until I reached my panties. I shuddered, rubbing my hot flesh through the cotton. My juices soaked through in a moment, staining my fingers as I licked again at his cock.

My virgin cunt clenched. Waves of dizzying heat rippled through me as I took a second lick at his dick. I savored the texture beneath my tongue and the way it throbbed. More of the clear liquid came out, staining my tongue. It tasted saltier. I knew something erupt from them. Girls whispered about sucking cocks and swallowing cum.

Cum. Another dirty word I was eager to experience.

“Guys like it when you swallow,” Carolyn once boasted in the bathroom. I bet Ricky did. If I had done this, I would still have him as my steady beau.

My tongue flailed over Deacon Bill’s dick. His face twisted while his hands ran through my blonde hair. He stroked through the fine cornsilk as my tongue swirled and explored, loving it like it was the tastiest ice cream cone.

“Oh, yes, you are such a whore. The preacher raised a slut. Lord Almighty, such an innocent face. No one has any idea you’re a cock-sucking whore.”

I shook my head.

“Now open your lips. Suck the tip in like it’s a lollipop.” He chuckled. “Suck hard.”

My fingers rubbed harder at my panties, pressing the cloth into my wet groove as I opened my mouth and sucked on the tip of his cock. My lips wrapped above it, my teeth grazing the head as I slid it into my mouth.

“Mind the teeth, slut,” he grunted.

I guess his dick was sensitive. I kept them raised while sucking hard. My tongue brushed the tip of his cock as I made the most obscene sounds—wet plops. Saliva ran down my chin as sucked over and over, my hand stroking him, my fingers stroking me.

He groaned, his eyes wide, his suit jacket rustling. His hips moved, sliding his dick in and out of my mouth. It pressed deeper, brushing the back of my throat before sliding back until only the crown remained. I sucked hard the entire time, pleasing him, reveling in the delicious, sexual delight of sucking a married man’s cock.

Of being a whore like Donna.

“Jesus,” he groaned. “What a hot mouth. Damn, you know how to suck cock. Oh, I had no idea. Does your mother suck cock like this?” He chuckled. “I doubt that tight ass does anything but lies like a dead fish beneath your father. No wonder he found another cunt.”

I giggled as I frigged my pussy through my panties. If my father had to find other women for satisfaction because my mom was a prude, what did that say about Deacon Bill’s prowess?

My fingers brushed my clitoris, massaging the hard bud. I had quickly learned this was my favorite spot to touch. I pressed the cotton into it, savoring the fabric’s feel on my sensitive pussy as he fucked my mouth with his cock. It was so wicked.

I loved it.

I squirmed as I frigged my clit. I stroked it in slow circles, sucking so hard, more drool leaking down my chin. I was a slut. A whore. I had a married man’s cock in my mouth. My virgin cunt clenched, the pressure swelling in its depths.

And then my orgasm burst through me.

I shuddered, squeezing my eyes shut and moaning about his huge cock as the wonderful waves flooded through my sinful body. I rubbed so hard on my clit and stroked his dick so fast as the pleasure bubbled through my mind.

It was wonderful.

It was so cruel of my father to try and scare me with damnation to keep me from this bliss. It was mean of my mother to hiss in my ear that touching myself would make the baby Jesus cry and would make me go blind. This was wonderful. Amazing.

“Shit,” Deacon Bill cursed. “You hot-mouthed slut. You just came. Damn, you got a hot cunt. I wish I had time to bend you over my desk and fuck that hot hole. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The last fuck exploded from his mouth as his cock erupted into mine. My eyes widened in the shock of his salty jism splashing through my mouth. It was creamy and hot, and the flavor was so wicked. Another flutter, a mini-orgasm, rippled through me as I swallowed the first blast.

Followed by a second and a third.

It slid down my gullet. I groaned, savoring how wicked I felt. I was so naughty. A slut. It was wonderful. I shuddered, gulping down as much of it as I could. My mouth popped off his dick, my tongue swirling about my lips.

“Shit,” he groaned, then quickly shoved his cock back in. “Shit, you need to clean up. Get down to the bathroom. You got cum and spit dripping down your mouth.” He shook his head, regret on his face. “And don’t you speak a word of this to anyone, whore.”

“I won’t,” I promised. I pulled my fingers out from beneath my skirt. They were covered in my juices. Feeling naughty, I licked at them, wondering what they tasted like.

Wonderful. Tart with a hint of salt. I shuddered as he groaned again, muttering something about me being such a whore. I stood up and sauntered out, putting a nice sway to my hips I hoped he appreciated.

I walked down the hallway of the office area and went into the small bathroom. I locked the door and stared at myself in the mirror. My innocent face was flushed, sweat glistening on my brow, saliva and white cum dripping down my chin.

I looked at both virginal and whorish. I smiled, loving the lips, batting my baby-blues at the mirror as I took a pose.

I washed off and touched up my lipstick from the tube in my purse. Then I sauntered out of the bathroom, passing Deacon Bill in the hall. He didn’t look at me, but hurried to the worship auditorium. I sauntered after him.

“There you are,” my mother said when I stepped into the worship hall. Other members of the flock were filing in, taking their spots on the pews, some looking at the fliers printed on blue paper my mom and Donna put out. “What were you doing?”

“Talking to Deacon Bill about the upcoming outreach to the homeless,” I smiled.

“That’s wonderful of you,” she smiled. My mother was a beautiful woman in her high-necked, sleeveless dress. It was in a similar cut to mine, those hers was salmon pink. Her blonde hair was cut short and styled just like the First Lady’s. My mom thought Jackie Kennedy was a refined, elegant woman, the proper model for how one should dress and act.

I leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. I almost giggled. I had just sucked a cock with these lips and now I was kissing my mother’s cheek with them. She would never suck a cock. She would never discover the joys I had learned.

I had a secret that made me feel far more of a woman than my mother even though she was twice my age.

We chattered and gossiped, me with my friends, none of the aware of my sexual awakening. They thought I was still so pure, so innocent. I put on my smile, pretending to be the good preacher’s daughter while my panties were still wet from my naughty activities. I savored the feel as I sat down in the front row beside my mother.

The choir sang, prayers were given, and communion passed around. A wicked flutter went through me as I ate the cracker and sipped the grape juice—we didn’t use wine like a Catholic. And then my father took to the pulpit and delivered his sermon.

“Marriage is honorable in all, and the bed undefiled: but whoremongers and adulterers God will judge,” my father boomed, his face hard and so handsome. His strong hands gripped the edge as he wore his black vestments, the collar starched white about his throat. “Hebrews 13:4.” He gazed out at the crowd. “Even in this room, sins of the flesh creep in. We must be vigilant against it, stay pure to the vows we swore before God, our commitment to him. For marriage...”

I smiled as I listened. He was such a hypocrite, railing against the very act he performed in this very church. I glanced to my left where the redheaded Donna sat beside her husband, nodding her head, agreeing with everything he said.

Was she imagining what it was like to commit adultery with my father? Was her pussy wet and juicy and itching for his cock?

Whore.

I licked my lips, savoring the flavor of her husband’s cum as I turned back and nodded to my father’s sermon. He was such a sexy man. Such passion in his voice, in his face. The same passion with which he fucked the whore.