1
Renee
Ilean back in my office, sighing. It’s almost 5 p.m. and there’s no one left in the offices of Sanctuary Church, so I’ve got the place to myself. The chair beneath me squeaks as I raise my hands over my head, stretching, and I pull a wry face as my spine cracks. Everything in this office is pretty basic, except for the chair. I decided to buy myself a nice one because everyone knows that without proper ergonomic support, you’ll be in a wheelchair by fifty. Seeing that I’m only twenty at the moment with decades of desk work before me, I didn’t want to take the chance. As a result, I splurged five hundred bucks on this thing, but it's worth it. The back support is a dream, and it’s almost like sitting on a firm (yet supportive) cloud.
But everything else in my office could be described as second-hand, at best. Hell, some of this stuff looks like it’s leftover from the 50’s because it’s got that ancient “Dick Tracy” feel. My desk is an old, metal thing with rust on its legs. Beside it is an equally ancient filing cabinet, and don’t even get me started on my computer. At least this piece of equipment should be modern, but instead I’m working on an old Apple that whirs audibly whenever I turn it on. I’ve tried to make a case for a new computer before everything crashes and fails, but Pastor Robert insists that my Macintosh is just fine.
Then again, I suppose as an administrative assistant for Sanctuary, I don’t exactly need a lot of computing power. Instead, my job consists of mostly straightforward stuff like maintaining our membership records, sending out the occasional newsletter to our parishioners, and creating the occasional post for the church’s Facebook page. By no means are we “social media savvy,” but at least we try!
But as you can imagine, that’s hardly enough to fill up eight hours and so most of the time, I’m just trying to keep boredom at bay. I read books and do crossword puzzles, all under my desk with the door closed. I wish I didn’t have to physically be here until five, but Sanctuary is old-fashioned that way. Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder why the church even pays me when I have so little work to do. I appreciate the money, of course, but I wonder if it’s more of an ego trip for Church administration versus having someone on-board as a valued team member.
The clock on the wall ticks loudly. It seriously sounds like a time-bomb sometimes, and I frown.
Tick tick tick.
I scroll through a few of my most-frequented apps lackadaisically, hoping for something to pop up. It’s already 4:45 p.m. and the final fifteen minutes of the day are seriously dragging.As always.
“This sucks,” I mutter to the plain white walls. The overhead fan is a faint whir, the droning blades a contrast to the relentless ticking of the clock. I’m seriously dying here. I shuffle a couple manila folders on my desk, trying to make them look artfully messy so that I look like I’m getting work done. I’ve realized that a clean, Spartan office makes people suspicious, and that it’s actually better to be slightly disorganized so that people think you have work to do.
Sighing, I turn back to my computer. This is just so pointless! Why, oh why, can’t I go home? Aimlessly, I click on a few things on my home screen. There’s some filing software I was looking at, but it doesn’t interest me at this moment. Instead, I click open another tab to search for a new house plant that I’m interested in, the fiddle leaf fig. I’m a big plant person, and fiddle leaves are all the rage right now. I’d love to get one for my apartment and it’s so terrible to admit, but I actually have my credit card number memorized so that I can on-line shop whenever I please without anyone suspecting anything.
Ah, a particularly attractive fiddle leaf pops up, and I click on the “Read More” button, waiting for my ancient computer to load. But instead, a popup appears on the screen, and suddenly, throaty moans begin to fill my small office. What the hell is going on?
My heart pounds in my chest as I stare. There’s a woman on screen who’s totally nude with her head thrown back as she cries out in ecstasy. But even crazier, her legs are spread and she’s currently forcing something huge into her tight cunt.
“Unnnnh,” she pants. “Ohhh!”
Of course, my fingers immediately fly into a frenzy, trying to close out this video. Where the hell did this pop-up come from? I was looking at houseplants, for crying out loud! But even as I furiously click the “x” in the corner, nothing works. The woman keeps moaning as the item in her hands disappears inch by inch into her pulsing twat. OMG, why is this happening? Did I get a virus on my computer?
“Help!” I literally screech, although of course, there’s no one around to hear me. But that’s the point. There’s no one to hear, and when I finally get that through my panicked head, my heart-rate decelerates.
Right. There’s no one here, so I’m free to watch as much or as little of this video that I want. The moaning continues and this time, instead of trying to exit out, I lean forward, squinting at the screen.
“Is that…a cactus?” I mutter, squinting to get a better look. “Holy shit. No way.”
But it kind of looks like it is, and surreptitiously, I click on the small image so that it expands to full-size. Then I gasp because sure enough, my eyes weren’t deceiving me. The woman isn’t pushing a dildo or any other kind of plastic toy into her snatch. Instead, she’s got a massive cactus in both hands, even as she inches it up further into her swollen pink twat. Even crazier, I can see a pile of needles by her side, and what looks like a paring knife. She must have plucked out the needles from the cactus first, and then trimmed it into a smooth cone-shape in order to make this dirty video.
I watch with my mouth open as the woman lies back for a rest, the massive cacti still stuck only halfway in her pulsing folds. She takes the opportunity to look right at the camera, and to pull her vaginal lips apart even further to show off a huge, gleaming clit.
“Do you like what you see?” she giggles, massaging the hard nub. “Oooh, that feels good!”
OMG, am I watching some kind of live stream? Who is this woman? But then she goes back to working on the insertion, grabbing that massive shaft with both hands as she tries to push it in deeper. By now, the brunette’s head is lolled back and her mouth is open with excitement as the huge green member disappears further and further inside. She’s succeeding, and obviously, loving it too.
I sit back in my seat, astonished and titillated as the video continues. Is this what cam girls are doing these days? I wouldn’t know because I’m not exactly their target audience. But I’ve heard about the depravity out there, and instead of being disgusted, I’m intrigued. Holy shit.
I lean forward again to watch, my eyes practically popping out of my head with curiosity. To my surprise, the woman’s worked the entire cacti in, and now, she’s pushing it in and out of herself in a slow, sensual rhythm. The camera zooms in on her lower belly, and I realize that I can literally see the edges of the plant moving beneath her abdomen. Holy cow, is this a thing? Evidently so, because the woman begins speaking then.
“Yes, you know you want it,” she murmurs in a throaty voice while making eye contact with the camera. “You like seeing my belly bulge, don’t you, Daddy? It only works when I’m with you because you’re so big.”
I shake my head, heart racing from astonishment. Holy cow. I have no words because this is so different from anything I’ve ever seen or experienced in my life. Yet, I’m not offended. Instead, I’m titillated and with another glance at the closed door, slowly, my hand travels down to play between my legs. This is wrong! I shouldn’t be watching this video, let alone be touching myself within the sacred confines of the church. But I can’t help myself because something about this woman and what she’s doing has me really turned on, and I want to explore. I want to see how depraved she can get, and maybe even pick up some tips and tricks along the way too.
Of course, that kind of thinking is ridiculous because I’m actually a virgin. Like most of the young female parishioners at Sanctuary, I’ve taken a promise vow, which means that I’m going to remain a virgin until I meet my husband. Only with him, will I experience the pleasures of the matrimonial bed; before him, I will be Jesus’s bride.
But no one says that I can’t touch myself while I’m waiting for said-husband to arrive. As a result, I lean back in my chair, spreading my legs as wide as possible by hooking each knee over an arm rest. Then, I pull my cotton panties to the side and gently spread my pussy lips with my fingers and circle my hole with a delicate touch. Mmm, it’s soaking already and with a breathless sigh, I begin to push one finger inside.
By now, the woman on screen is really working the cactus in and out. Her belly is practically rippling as that huge monster repeatedly invades her abdomen, her fingers barely able to control the massive plant as it disappears again and again into her wet folds.
“Unnh,” she grunts, throwing her head back. “God, that feels amazing. Mmm-mmm-mmmh!”