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                           The First Casualty


The rules are not the same because we are not the same. This is something Leila likes to repeat to herself; she got it off a piece of paper, Jazz (her mentor) left lying on her nightstand, and it stayed with her. Even before her rebirth as the fierce, unapologetic virgin domme men would fall to their knees for, she couldn’t shake that quote. Leila resented her mentor’s life choices, yet this quote always did something to her. She couldn’t understand how something so antithetical to her way of thinking could ignite and comfort her. The boldness of that quote is all she needs in her pursuit of the forbidden, the sacred, the unholy. Leila is going to destroy a holy man. Leila’s decision to corrupt a godly man is based on her desire to have her first consensual sexual experience. Her first experience has to be with someone who will be kind, gentle, sexy, and familiar. It just so happens that the man who fits her description of the perfect first conquest is “Reverend C.” Now, don’t get the impression that Leila thinks highly of the “honorable” reverend because she doesn’t. He’s been inappropriate with her, just like the faceless men who blindly grope and ogle her every day. The difference is that he’s sexy and far more refined in his approach. Ever since she turned 21, the lustful reverend has been very calculated in his groping and fondling of Leila.

He was a predator and picked Leila as his prey. Little did he know Goddess Leila was about to make “Reverend C” the first casualty in her personal war on men.


                  Gentle Caresses, Wet Dreams, and Vows 


I notice how you look in my eyes before we cross the line. I notice how you bite your bottom lip, trying to distract me from noticing your hard dick pressing against the front of your pants. I see you, I know you: I know that you seek out my body in our daily interactions hoping that I’ll indulge your weak ass attempt at just being my friend, all the while your hands always manage to sweep my breasts. You pretend to be a man of God, but you sin more than you pray. Flirting with women in your Godly attire and offering the kind ear of a priest to counsel married women tells me that this sexual roulette gets you high, and we don’t even really know why? You selfishly tease women for whom you know infidelity isn’t an option; you try to be everything they miss at home; you tease these women with your loving looks and gentle caresses. You do just enough to become the subject of their wet dreams while claiming to anybody who’ll listen that you’re a servant of God, but I see you, and I vow to do what you do. I vow to make myself the subject of your wet dreams.


                                  I Let My Pussy Guide the Way


Today is the day that I throw all caution to the wind and seduce him. The man who wears his priestly robe for his parishioners is beautifully nude, brown, and subservient. Well, at least he is in my fantasies.
The priest and I have been doing this very delicate dance for two years. I don’t go to church, and I have zero investment in organized religion. If anyone cares to know my feelings about God, I would tell them I’m an agnostic. Furthermore, I don’t think God (if there is a God) is worried about where I put my pussy. But back to the message at hand, Sex as sin is ridiculous to me. Pleasure is a beautiful thing, and my desire for “Reverend C” pushed me to be the bad bitch I claim to be. So I let my pussy guide the way, and I pursued “Reverend C.”

                                                        Reverend C


I made sure to greet “Reverend C” at the door in my t-shirt, no bra, and a pair of cut-off jean shorts. You know, the way a proper cocktease should, and I made him feel comfortable. I turned our discussion into a confessional: regaling him with tales of a man I can’t seem to get out of my head, all the while I made sure to hold his hand. Next, I talked about not stopping touching myself whenever this mystery man crosses my mind. I placed my fingers in the palm of his hand and began to simulate my fingers’ movements on my clit. I dared him to admit he enjoyed touching me, staring at my breasts, looking into my eyes, and embracing me. The righteous “Reverend C” smiled and used his backhand to brush against the soft cotton of my t-shirt. He told me he was doing the work of God and that I shouldn’t look too deeply into the situation. I smiled, took off my t-shirt, and dared him not to worship me.


                                                       I Masturbated in Front of a Priest

“Reverend C” knew how I felt about religion after talking to me for 15 minutes, and he still convinced himself that he needed to spend more time with me. He wanted me as much as I wanted him, and when I reached in between his legs to make my point, he didn’t stop me. On the contrary, the good priest gave in and told me to do what I wanted. He was mine.

In conclusion, I was an unapologetic cocktease; I masturbated in front of a priest, and I loved it! Encouraging this man of God to suck on my titties was deliciously wrong but incredibly liberating. The power I felt while this sexy ass man of the cloth was on his knees in front of me, rubbing his nose against the crotch of my panties as he palmed my breasts, fuck! It was next-level, big-clit, Goddess energy.