Preacher Man

As I go into a long-winded section about John the Baptist, my hands begin to shake with anticipation. Mila’s olive skin looks so soft though her window. What will it feel like against my fingertips? I have to stop several times to clear my throat during the sermon, drinking from the glass of water on my podium to cure my dry mouth, and before I know it, the time has come to baptize Mila and the others, a middle-aged man and wife. Needing more time to compose myself, I call the man and woman on stage one by one, completing the ritual—in which I have no formal training—in minutes, dunking them into the small, in-ground pool that I installed beneath the stage’s floorboards. My loins tighten, everything seeming to move in slow motion, when I turn to Mila and beckon her to the stage.

She moves with such grace that my heart starts a riot. Good lord, she’s the most beautiful creature in this fucking world. I was so wrapped up in my own lust earlier, I didn’t notice her new, light blue shawl. She clutches it tight to her body, but I can still see the mounds of her tits, the swell of her hips. The way she sways that body side to side has me sweating under my collar and I’m so focused on controlling myself, I think I’m dreaming when she reaches me and drops the shawl.

The congregation gives a collective gasp.

Mila is not wearing the purple dress.

No, the only thing covering her is a tiny white slip and it’s so thin, I can see her nipples through the material, hard, dark pink and straining toward me. Between her legs is a slight shadow. An X marks the spot right over her pussy.

She licks her bee-stung lips. “I’m ready, preacher.”

My cock jerks and I nearly ejaculate down the leg of my trousers. It’s everything I can do not to lift Mila, wrap her thighs around my waist and fuck her standing on stage in front of God and everyone. What is she doing? Does she realize what a temptation she is? I cast a quick glance over her shoulder and see the men in the room are riveted by Mila, squirming in their seats. Some of them even leave the room, bent forward at the waist, attempting to hide their erections with the flaps of their dress jackets. They’re running off to find somewhere to jack off thinking about my little girl and I’d like to hunt them all down and slit their throats.

MINE.

I realize I’m bearing my teeth and snap my mouth shut. Prepared to brazen out the ritual, I take Mila by the elbow to guide her toward the pool—but her mother runs on stage in a flurry of hand motions. “I’m so sorry, preacher,” she says in furious whisper, red faced. “I-I had no idea she’d left the house in this get-up. I won’t force you to sully your hands with her.”

Sully my hands? She’s a fucking angel. And I’m already damned to hell for my past sins, but I’ll be damned twice before Mila gets humiliated in front of the entire town. Not even over my dead body will I allow that to happen. She’s only a sweet, young girl who hasn’t yet learned the appeal of her own body. She can’t possibly understand the effect it has on men yet.

“Come with me, you trollop,” Mila’s mother grits out, reaching for Mila.

“Go sit down,” I growl, before catching myself and pasting on a smile. “Everyone is welcome in the house of the Lord.”

“But, preacher…”

Mila and I are already walking toward the miniature pool and every part of me is aching, having this contact with her satiny smooth skin. Being this close to her. I’m doing my best to keep my breathing measured as she kneels down in the water, even though the white slip turns see-through upon touching the water. And now I’m the only one who can see her thighs, her belly button, the sparse collection of curls between her thighs.

Christ.

I go down on my knees beside the pool and brace her shoulders with my right hand. “Take a deep breath, Mila,” I rasp, devouring the sight of her peaked nipples, the burnished gold of her eyes which are locked on me, the hollow of her throat where her pulse beats at a quick tempo. When she complies with an inhale, I lower her backwards until her head is submerged. I don’t like her being deprived of oxygen for even a moment, though, and lift her back up right away, murmuring the correct scripture, even as my mouth waters over the moisture dripping down her neck, soaking the see-through slip and leaving her essentially naked before me.

I can see everything. Every inch of her perfection.