Tabitha didn’t speak much as he was talking about mortification, she was too busy trying to sort her own thoughts out. Why did everybody want to find ways to justify what she did? To make it something it wasn’t. He was talking about God and making it sound like something pious and righteous and though she wished it was true, it just made her feel like a fraud. Her reasons weren’t noble. They weren’t good. They were sinful, and if he knew what they were then he’d probably chase her out of the church. Or make her get on her knees and pray until they were sore.
She wondered whether John the Baptist or Thomas Moore got home and wanked themselves raw after a day of agony. God, she was so fucking messed up in the head. The more he talked the more …show more content…
Coffee was good. Coffee was not talking and it was something else to focus on.
Tabitha stood and followed him through the church, she had left her jumper in the puddle she’d left on the pew. Her shorts were cold and wet, and as she stood water droplet tracked their way down her legs where the skin had dried. It was uncomfortable. She pulled her shirt from her skin of her stomach where it clung, so it hung a little looser and didn’t hug her like a second skin. At least for a few moments before it settled again.
She’d never been to the back of the church, and as he led her through she glanced around with a strange nervousness, as if she was trespassing. It smelt the same as the rest of the church, old. But that smell was quickly chased away by the smell of brewing coffee. Though it was colder back here, and she wrapped her arms around herself modestly. Not least to hide the fact that her nipples were straining against the fabric, so hard they made the skin of her breasts ache. Definitely the cold. Absolutely not the arousal from her damp skin chafing against the cut. Arousal wasn't allowed here. Tabitha had never been more thankful for the fact that she was wearing a padded bra, at least it made it less obvious to anybody but
She wondered whether John the Baptist or Thomas Moore got home and wanked themselves raw after a day of agony. God, she was so fucking messed up in the head. The more he talked the more …show more content…
Coffee was good. Coffee was not talking and it was something else to focus on.
Tabitha stood and followed him through the church, she had left her jumper in the puddle she’d left on the pew. Her shorts were cold and wet, and as she stood water droplet tracked their way down her legs where the skin had dried. It was uncomfortable. She pulled her shirt from her skin of her stomach where it clung, so it hung a little looser and didn’t hug her like a second skin. At least for a few moments before it settled again.
She’d never been to the back of the church, and as he led her through she glanced around with a strange nervousness, as if she was trespassing. It smelt the same as the rest of the church, old. But that smell was quickly chased away by the smell of brewing coffee. Though it was colder back here, and she wrapped her arms around herself modestly. Not least to hide the fact that her nipples were straining against the fabric, so hard they made the skin of her breasts ache. Definitely the cold. Absolutely not the arousal from her damp skin chafing against the cut. Arousal wasn't allowed here. Tabitha had never been more thankful for the fact that she was wearing a padded bra, at least it made it less obvious to anybody but