Skinship at Church and a New Way to Pray

We stood and sang hymns. Well, I wasn’t singing, Mother and Mary sang along in unison with the rest the choir and church attendees while I stood stiff. One of my laws was currently going into effect, and I was feeling the weight of it. Usually, we would sit a reasonable distance in the pews, but now we were skin to skin. Meaning, I was pressed right up to my mother and sister. I could feel their softness against my body, both their breast and against my sides as we were standing side-by-side right up to each other, skin to skin as the Holy Book (or rather I) had intended.

After the hymn was finished, we sat and listened to the sermon. Or rather… they sat and listened while I was hot and bothered in my seat. My thighs were touching their bare thighs, which poured out of their short miniskirts. To my left Mary’s slender legs brushed against my dress pants and to my right, my mother’s thicker thighs were pressing their leg meat against my thighs. I was in heaven. They were so close to me. I could feel their heartbeats and breathing. I could smell their intermingling aroma. If only I was wearing shorts and could feel their thigh skin against mine. The Ancient Holy book was over my crotch, covering the erect silhouette of the hardness underneath my pants.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed relief, or my balls would explode. All this kissing and skinship. I took out a pen in my jacket. While Mary and Mother stared forward listening intently to the sermon, I brought the Ancient Holy book up and wrote in it. I pressed it up to my face so Mary and Mother could both not see and it appeared I was reading it.

I wrote in the blank pages underneath my new rules the following. I had to think. Okay. No children around. All the adult men here were patriarchs of their households who were married, even the ones that were roughly my age had at least one wife.

“Unbound men shall pray with their hands in their trousers, moving it up and down at Temple while bearing the hand of a loved one.”

I would have to sacrifice a pair of underwear, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I was nervous doing it so openly, but I would take the plunge. My hands moved down my pants, feeling the throbbing cock underneath. I gripped it and jerked it with my right hand. My mother sat on my right side and noticed this. To her, it would appear as if I was probably praying at the temple. She smiled, seeing me embracing faith and worship. She brushed her hands over my lap and the hardness underneath, and I trembled as she brought her hands over and held my left hand while my right hand stroked my cock underneath. I was beating myself frantically and taking it all in. My mother’s soft hands in my own hands. The feel of the skin contact of both my sister and my mother sitting next to me. How nice Marsha’s tongue felt and how nice my cousins’ lips felt. All that surged and fueled a relatively short release for me. The cum shot in my pants, and I could feel the wetness on my hands. I kept it there not wanting to pull it out and revealed the mess I made in front of everyone. There was this post-orgasm shame I had felt sitting there, uncomfortable and panting.

After what seemed like an interminable time, which may have been in fact a few minutes, I excused myself in the middle of the sermon with my hands still in my pants. This sermon felt like it would go on forever. My mother and sister both looked at me angrily as I rudely got up and made my way to the washroom, one hand in my pants and the other gripping my book.

After cleaning up in the washroom, I reopened the book and started to write more rules.