The Temptation of the Missionary Bus
I'm Cléo Dias, a 36-year old missionary known in the church for my modest manner always with Bible under arm and dress that covers knees but no one can imagine what goes on inside of me when night silence leaves me alone with my desires last week during a mission trip to an assembly in another city devil decided to test me <unk> and i did not resist.
The caravan bus was packed, but I managed to get a seat in the back near the window. It was late; lights were out and engine noise mixed with siblings' whispers created an atmosphere of dangerous intimacy. I wore a gray dress that was discreet, yet embraced my curves in a way I knew would not go unnoticed. Next to me sat one of the praise team musicians, a young man who had brown skin, curly hair and a manner known for its effect on others. He didn't say much at first, but his gaze as it descended through my skirt said everything.
The bus swayed on the road, and every curve made our shoulders lean. "Are you comfortable, missionary?" he asked in a low, almost whispering voice. "It's hot here", I replied, shaking my face but letting my dress slip slightly to show off his thigh. He smiled - that smile of someone who understands the game. "If you want me to help you... relax" he said, rubbing his hand lightly against mine. My body responded with warmth rising from the bottle up into my chest, and I knew I was stepping onto dangerous ground.
"Try it", I teased, and that was enough. In the darkness of the bus with everyone else asleep or distracted, he slid his hand under my dress up through my thigh to find my panties. "Damn missionary you're wet" he whispered, fingers already rubbing my bucket over the fabric.
"I want to suck you", he whispered, and before I could answer, he stooped down, covering his legs with his coat in disguise. His hot mouth found my muzzle, the tongue circulating on the clitoris with a precision that made me hold out a scream. He would suck willingly, licking every drop of my honey, and I'd grab at his hair, pushing against me.
He went back to his seat, stiff stick marking trousers. "Your turn, missionary", he said, unzipping the zipper. In the dark I held that warm thick pocket pulsing in my hand. I leaned down with a racing heart and put it into my mouth, sucking slowly, feeling its salty taste as he gripped my neck.
"Missionary, you are a danger in disguise". I winked at him with his taste still in my mouth. "Danger is what keeps me alive". The rest of the trip was silent but our secret burned more than any preaching.
The caravan bus was packed, but I managed to get a seat in the back near the window. It was late; lights were out and engine noise mixed with siblings' whispers created an atmosphere of dangerous intimacy. I wore a gray dress that was discreet, yet embraced my curves in a way I knew would not go unnoticed. Next to me sat one of the praise team musicians, a young man who had brown skin, curly hair and a manner known for its effect on others. He didn't say much at first, but his gaze as it descended through my skirt said everything.
The bus swayed on the road, and every curve made our shoulders lean. "Are you comfortable, missionary?" he asked in a low, almost whispering voice. "It's hot here", I replied, shaking my face but letting my dress slip slightly to show off his thigh. He smiled - that smile of someone who understands the game. "If you want me to help you... relax" he said, rubbing his hand lightly against mine. My body responded with warmth rising from the bottle up into my chest, and I knew I was stepping onto dangerous ground.
"Try it", I teased, and that was enough. In the darkness of the bus with everyone else asleep or distracted, he slid his hand under my dress up through my thigh to find my panties. "Damn missionary you're wet" he whispered, fingers already rubbing my bucket over the fabric.
"I want to suck you", he whispered, and before I could answer, he stooped down, covering his legs with his coat in disguise. His hot mouth found my muzzle, the tongue circulating on the clitoris with a precision that made me hold out a scream. He would suck willingly, licking every drop of my honey, and I'd grab at his hair, pushing against me.
He went back to his seat, stiff stick marking trousers. "Your turn, missionary", he said, unzipping the zipper. In the dark I held that warm thick pocket pulsing in my hand. I leaned down with a racing heart and put it into my mouth, sucking slowly, feeling its salty taste as he gripped my neck.
"Missionary, you are a danger in disguise". I winked at him with his taste still in my mouth. "Danger is what keeps me alive". The rest of the trip was silent but our secret burned more than any preaching.
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