Prayer in performance

Ben and Masie gave a show to be proud of, one that deserved an audience far larger than this small collective of encircling masturbation. Both proved themselves a pervert-in-equal to the other, in terms of lives clearly dedicated wholly to the pursuit of physical pleasure. You were more than well aware of your chosen master’s Casanovic ability to balance moments of gentle, tender penetration with pounding, unrestrained passion. Yet could not help but be impressed by how well the vicar’s wife kept pace, turning the tables to ride him down so enthusiastically you were almost afraid the ancient stone might break. She unabashedly let loose her voice to fill the acoustically-tuned rafters with lurid moans and echoes. Clearly delighting in the fulfilment of her own lusts amidst the admiring eyes of her onlookers. Braided hair and perky breasts bounced in a dance of pure, human pleasure. Unashamed to link such primal urges with the solemn, contemplative questions of heaven and soul that this building was built to inspire.

Meanwhile you were finding your own breath catching. Squeaking, girlish moans escaping from your own lips in answer to those reverberating above. On either side, those who had possession of your genitalia could clearly tell what was needed from them, squeezing and tugging and pulling upon your twitching erection. Of course your own hands had been returning the favour all along, unable to resist the urge to draw pleasure from anyone they came near. All around the circle, the consensus was clear: This was the most natural prayer towards what was unfolding before you. A united effort to reach climax together, in honour of this one fleeting meeting of flesh and warm juices, and all other exchanges since the dawn of humanity.

You watched the muscles of the man you adored tense and heave beneath his skin. Driving himself home between the thighs of this gasping, moaning harlot. Watched the intense, hungry stare of her husband as he devoured the scene as well. All around you, you could see and sense this otherwise motley collection of innocuous suburbanites sharing in this shared experience of thumping hearts and pulsing nerves. Strangers you could have passed on the street any day of the week and never known this was part of their weekly schedule. It was a form of worship, you recognised that; as much as ever you had bowed before the altar of Ben’s flesh and blood and felt your spirit overflow with both awe and desire. There was a purity in allowing yourself to bask in the raw, cathartic wonder of two souls colliding. To forget all the guilt and shame that seemed so important to ‘civilised society’ and simply share in the messy, squelching simplicity of physical joy.

With a final, gasping exaltation… you felt your love and master paste his seed deep within Maisie’s passages. Could almost imagine how greedily her womb might be gulping at that barrage of slimy gifts, just as you sometimes secretly wished you had the equal equipment to do so. The release of that tension across the entire room was complete and unilateral, overwhelming in its shared focus and appreciation. Your own tender balls had **** but to join in, dragged along by both the climax unfurling before you and the trembling hands of the others who were watching it along with you. A fountain of your own making sprayed out onto cold stone, where presumably so many before had knelt and prayed forgiveness. It was not the only such expulsion however… all around the room the circle shook and moaned as a wave of near-simultaneous orgasms took hold.

Neither the pregnant giantess nor the grey-bearded stranger flinched as you came, instead simply proceeding to squeeze every last drop they could from your deflating penis. You watched in awe as the swollen-bellied beauty licked your off-white cream from her dark-brown fingers. She walked away as she did so, possibly to congratulate the Vicar’s wife on her performance, but you met the eyes of young Jenny on the other side. The older gentleman you had both been masturbating had not reached his climax; and this seemed an impropriety that could not be let stand. Wordlessly, the two of you got down on your knees and set tongues and lips to the task… until both received a warm, dripping faceful of vindication and validation. You smiled together in the sticky trappings of success, sharing the pride of sluts suitably baptised in such holy surrounds. A sense of fellowship and community you had never thought you’d find again within any such ‘house of God’ again.