Taboo Runs Wild
Some nights I used two toys at once—one stretching my pussy, the other buzzing against my ass—trying to mimic the impossible fantasy of being filled everywhere at once.
I’d cry into my pillow from the intensity, from the shame, from the fact that no matter how hard I came, the hunger only grew teeth.
My body had become a traitor, slick and swollen before Lauds, nipples hard enough to ache against my habit, my clit throbbing with every step down the corridor.
I was twenty-two, supposed to be pure, and instead I was a walking ache, a secret slut hiding under layers of black wool and whispered Latin.
Then Father Dean arrived.