[A somewhat irreverent erotic short story]

This is an example of the the erotic short stories found in

I had brought you to this quaint rural town to visit the small, church related college from which I had received my undergraduate degree. It's a beautiful hilly campus, with a variety of trees and well groomed lawns, best appreciated on a day other than this cold wintery one. There is a small lake, now completely frozen, with a foot bridge leading from the women's dorms to the five campus buildings. I tell you of my memories of sneaking a feel on the steps of the dorm, meetings in the student union, events in the gymnasium, and classes (boring and otherwise) in each of the three academic buildings.

Wait, how could I have forgotten about the chapel, the sixth campus building? Once a week we were required to attend a religious service there, and proctors actually took roll. This college had appointed guardians of our morality and protectors of our virtue. In addition to scheduled services, the chapel remained open each night until ten, giving sanctuary for those wishing solitude for contemplation or communion with their god. The religious orientation of the college permeated every corner of campus life.

I tell you of how we would seek shelter in the chapel and take advantage of its warm and dimly lit sanctuary on a cold night like tonight, and I talk of how we would go there to sit in the pews and neck. In response, you say, "I want to see inside." As we stand just inside the door, you ask, "In the late 50's, did students come in here to fuck?"

"Oh, no," I reply. "On this campus no one was fucking here or anywhere. Necking, that's all. Nothing below the neck."

"You must have been pretty horny back then."

"All the time," I confirm. "All the time."

"Did you have a favorite pew?"

"Would always try to sit in the last one, if no one was in it."

"No one is sitting there now," you observe. "Let's go sit for a while . . . need to warm up a bit after walking across campus. We can just talk."

We slide into the pew and you remove your coat. This is the first that I notice you are wearing a tight sweater, and I must fight the impulse to touch the ample breasts that have proudly made their presence known. I think I perceive an erect nipple, but quickly write it off as a shadow cast by the small statue of St. Peter that sits on the windowsill as though there to protect the virginity of young, innocent coeds brought to the last pew by a horny male.

I remove my coat, then sit beside you on the hard wooden bench at the rear of the college chapel. We sit in silence, awkwardly looking around until I build enough courage to place my arm behind your back. I lean close to whisper, "Look at the couple off to the left . . . three rows up. Would never see that when I was here. They're sure going at it."

"That girl up there whose alone . . . looks like she's praying."

"And that guy in the corner looks like he's asleep."

"Probably came in here to jack off . . . worn himself out."

"Now doubt was coming for Christ," I say, hoping to sound clever. I slowly move my hand from the back of the pew and rest it on your shoulder. I feel a shiver with such an innocent touch, but perhaps it is because I felt the strap across your shoulder and have formed the visual image of the firm breasts packed within your bra.

You turn and look directly into my eyes. "Are you a good kisser?" The question seems to come out of the blue.

"I think so . . . I think I am. Never had any complaints." I do not tell you of Karen's complaint of what she thought was an overabundance of saliva.

"Do you like French kissing?" you ask, and I feel you slide a little toward me. I move a leg to touch yours, half expecting that you will pull away. You do not. I shiver. I feel like a college boy . . . so horny, so needy.

"Love it," I respond, meaning everything oral and genital. “I love it all.” You lean slightly toward me, eyes still looking into mine, unlike in the movies when the girl wanting to be kissed closes her eyes and puckers her lips. You seem half afraid I will pull away. I do not.

Our lips meet . . . softly at our first touch, tentative as though needing to be certain, warm and soft. Your lips part slightly and my tongue slides lightly over the narrow space. The tip of your tongue peeks out and touches mine, teasing it. We both shiver.

It is you who opens your mouth and I do not hesitate to plunge in, now hungry for the taste of your mouth, eager to feel the power of your tongue. You welcome me and our tongues dance. I retrieve my hand from your shoulder and turn toward you. I find the warm softness of a breast, and thrill at it's fullness. It is heavy in my hand. I caress it and a nipple hardens under my touch. I shiver, you purr, and our mouths consume each others.

I feel your hand on my thigh and I immediately harden in response. I want to be touched, but cannot imagine that you would do that in the chapel. You are so full of surprises, though and you move to trace the sensitive underside of my firm cock with your fingertips. I purr. Through my trousers you find my special spot, and I purr. You grin. You know your power to excite.

I unzip your slacks, but since you are sitting, cannot get my hand in and under you. "I want to touch you," I say, stating the obvious. "God, I want to feel your pussy."

"I am so wet," you say as you stand, pulling your slacks and panties down to your knees. "Cold," you exclaim as you sit again on the wooden pew.

There is enough room for me to get on my knees in front of you, and I pull your slacks and panties down and off your feet and am now am able spread your beautiful legs. Reaching behind you I slide your hips forward and you rotate your pelvis upward. In the soft light if the chapel, your pussy glistens with the sweet wetness of your womanhood.

"So wet, so pretty," I say as I visually consume you, wanting to imprint this view on the neurons in that special place in my brain reserved for storing explicit images. "Beautiful," I say as I pull you to the edge of the seat. "The doorway to heaven." My tongue quickly finds your firm clitoris. "Delicious," I whisper looking up into our eyes. Your fingers are caressing one of your own nipples and that excites me. I shiver and return to licking the sweet tenderness of your swollen cunny. Two fingers slide into you as I continue sucking and licking your pleasure bud, my face now covered with your luscious juice. Your fragrance delights me.

You come quietly, and I feel the contractions around my fingers. I soften my lick so as not to intrude, but I want you to be aware I'm still with you. As you settle, I ask, "Are you done?"

"Are you?" you smile, answering my question with another question..

I unzip my fly, a nonverbal response to your question. After lowering my pants, I make a futile attempt to penetrate. Despite my burning desire to enter you, the seat is too high, the angle is wrong, there is no room to maneuver.

"Get your ass up here on the seat," you playfully command. "I'll sit on you."

Pants down around my ankles, I return to the pew seat. “Cold,” I exclaim. You quickly straddle me. Reaching between your legs, you lift my erection and lower yourself to where I just barely enter your warm, wet enclosure.

"Don't tease," I beg. Your delicate fragrance still lingers on my face, and I draw it in with each

You hesitate to demonstrate that you are in control, and then mercifully lower yourself upon me, taking my full cock deep within. The warmth is incredible.

"Our Father who are in heaven . . . ," I mutter as I feel you engulf me. You sit quietly, for there is something special shared in that moment of first penetration . . . something to be savored, for there will never again be the first time in the last pew of the college chapel.

I squirm under your weigh, trying now to trust, but you hesitated. When you are ready, you slide slowly up and down a couple times . . . I think for me, but then you lower yourself and begin hard short thrusts. I imagine I can feel your yearning clit rubbing against the base of my penis. I bury my face in your tits and your pounding heart fills my ears. You grind, you push, you seek satisfaction from my cock. You use me and I love it. "Fuck me," I say, a bit too loud for the chapel. "Fuck me hard."
We both begin to moan, unable to control the animals within us that do not care about the sanctity of the surroundings. The pew begins to creak with each power thrust of your demanding pelvis. "Fuck me," I say again, hearing the response, "Oh, yes." However, this came from the coed a couple pews up.

From across the room we hear the moans of the couple who had been making out, and the guy who had been sleeping has now moved to a spot where he can watch. "Fuck 'er," he says to me as he rubs his cock, unaware that it is you who is running this fuck.

Our moans and the moans of the other couple are growing louder, and we seem to have synchronized our strokes. The man at the end of the pew now has his cock out and is matching our rhythm. The coed has slid in beside you and is fondling your breasts. At the same time, she is rubbing herself, joining in with the unholy choir that now gives sound to the deepest of human

I am beginning to come . . . loud in my cries as I fill your hot cunt with my spurting ejaculate. You begin coming just after I have started, and the woman beside you cries out in here own orgasmic explosion. Cum, oozing from the man standing in the aisle, sails through the air and plops heavily on the pew seat. The sounds of the other couple coming in unison contribute to the combined vocal celebration of our communal, carnal ecstasy. The aroma of sex, male and female, fills the air. Then all has grown quiet, save for the soft purring of contented human beings basking in the warm afterglow that inevitably follows the fevered orgasmic climax.

I am the first to speak, thinking it is only between you and I. "Thank you, Patricia."

"Thank you, Patricia," the coed whispers.

"Thank you, Patricia," the guy in the aisle adds.

"Thank you, thank you, Patricia," comes the call in unison from the other couple.

"You are quite a woman, Ms. Jones," I announce in a loud voice.

Applause fills the chapel. St. Peter smiles. The college dean feels a moment of unexplained unrest, and returns to his reading.

© 2003 Robert Birch  The college and characters in the story are factitious.

This is an example of the the erotic short stories found in

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