Bow Down To Your King

“Oh my god, yes.” Jessica yanked my head forward, forcing my tongue further inside her, making her writhe underneath the stage lights.

She said I couldn’t do it.

She told me to give up.

And sure, she was stubborn, challenging even, but at the end of the day, I was the one making her scream by the baptismal pool.

Her cute, silky pink dress slipped up her thighs as they parted for me. As if I was meant to be there, worshipping, on a Sunday no less.

So she made me work for it.

What are six weeks compared to the rest of my life anyway?

I sucked on her clit, triggering an orgasm; she screamed—loud. I worried that the congregation might hear us. But with any luck, they were halfway to the fellowship hall to celebrate my father’s promotion.

Instead of Assistant Pastor King, he was officially Senior Pastor King.

I thought the latter was more fitting; because it has the word “ass” in it.

And where was I during my father’s coronation potluck?

Feasting on the Deacon’s once-innocent, virginal daughter.

Her cum almost tasted better than my mother’s apple crumble, and that was saying something.

There I was, on my knees, pulling her over the edge of the altar, knuckle-deep, coaxing out another orgasm and making her throb around me when the chapel’s giant, dramatic doors slammed shut.

I glanced up from Jessica’s wet, needy-

“Zeke,” my father’s voice carried over the pews, echoing through the room.

Jessica whimpered and tried to move away, but it was too late. He had seen it all, if her reputation was worth saving, her dad would donate a couple of thousand dollars to the renovation project.

Then we’d become just another secret, buried under the congregation’s wealth.

I draped that tempting pink skirt back over her legs, exactly as I had found it, stood, and met my father’s furious eyes.

“Dad,” I said, smiling with her cum on my lips, “aren’t you supposed to be making a speech or something?”

St. Anne’s University is known for its brick walls, spanning the whole perimeter, keeping students in and away from prying eyes.

The students were the children of dignitaries, pastors, and politicians, or they were just plain delinquents, and St. Anne’s was their final step before disownment.

Nobody wanted to be at St. Anne’s but everybody agreed that it was better than being at home where your parents told you how you weren’t good enough, smart enough, and certainly not in charge.

No, you’re never in charge at your parent’s house. But maybe, if you play by all the rules, fair or not, you’ll get the chance to make your own.

But it doesn’t work that way at St. Anne’s. Here, as long as you pretend to follow the Dean’s code of conduct, you can do what you want, when you want; and maybe, you’ll be King.

I was no exception. During my first semester on campus, I broke records and became the favorite to win the All-Saints game. A once-a-year, points-earned competition where at the end, the winner is crowned King.

And hey, that’s my name, so why not?

I won by a landslide. The new kid took the reigning King’s prize just before graduation.

But don’t feel bad for him, I hear he’s in business or something now. Probably working for his father, reminiscing about the good ol’ days. I’m sure he’ll think about his fall from grace, at the hands of a freshman no less.

Unlike him, I intend to keep my royal title until the day I leave St. Anne’s for good. Then some other sad schmuck can have the crown and convince himself he was worthy enough to sit on my throne.

Yeah, that’s the plan, and no one, not even my father, is going to stop me.