The Brat Diaries

Take Me to Church Pt. 1

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. @SirChefDaddy 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 can’t blame a masochist for getting squirmy in this situation. And you can’t blame a brat for taking advantage.

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 going to fucking Hell.

I pressed my legs together and shifted in the pew, trying to discreetly create 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 thought.

[fantasy begins]

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 going to find a place to fuck me right now? Is he going to 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.