“Oh god,” Sandra gasped at the dubious offer. After a brief consideration, she realized that it was still a better option than the possibility of the toy slipping out of her wet pussy. Cupping a breast could be done and still appear accidental.
“Oh god yes, or oh god no?” Mariah queried, curious to know her pet’s choice.
“Yes, I’ll do it,” Sandra agreed weakly.
“Do what?” Mariah asked, both to make her pet say it and to clarify the agreement.
“Yes, I’ll cup someone’s breast at church,” Sandra announced out loud, mortified by the task lying before her.
“Excellent,” Mariah smiled, before adding another twist to the task, “be sure to consider carefully whose titty you decide to squeeze, as you may very well be assigned another task later with those same titties. Oh, and be sure to wear at least four-inch heels.”
Before Sandra could respond, Mariah turned and walked upstairs.
Defeated, yet increasingly horny, Sandra rushed downstairs to her room to grab a thong and her black four-inch heels and headed out before her morning got even more complicated. In her car, she put her string-like underwear on before driving to face yet another humiliation. She fretted the whole journey and pondered how it had been just a week ago today when Mariah had reappeared into her life. Who knew that last week, while she listened to a sermon on self-control, that all of hers would disappear in a heartbeat? During the sermon she had actually beamed a little at how well she had reclaimed her life, protected her daughter, and maintained strict discipline over her baser desires for all these years.
Once at church, she took a deep breath and headed inside. She felt so dirty and sinful going to church with a toy teasing her pussy. She also felt ashamed at the extra task she was expected to accomplish.
“Hi, Sandra,” Mrs. Washington greeted warmly.
Sandra took Mrs. Washington’s hand in hers and greeted the sixty-year-old dowager in return. She was one of the mainstays of the church, always dignified and gracious. “Good morning, Ingrid.”
“You look lovely this morning,” Mrs. Washington replied, eyeing Sandra’s impractical high heels.
Sandra chuckled, “I know, they’re silly high, but I need to practice in them if I’m going to fit in at a gala I’ll be attending in Toronto.” She suddenly realized that the heels were the perfect excuse to cover her ‘slip’ when she accomplished the ludicrous breast-grabbing task assigned her.
“Of course, dear,” the older woman smiled warmly back.
Sandra tried to avoid needless chatter, but that was impossible when your duty was to greet all the people coming to worship.
The next twenty-five minutes were a hurricane of greeting, light chitchat and a growing dread inside Sandra at the task not yet accomplished. It would be pretty unbelievable to try and stumble against someone while you’re sitting in a pew.
With only a few minutes until the service was scheduled to begin, Sandra saw Carissa Teller, a redhead in her early twenties. When Sandra first met her a couple of months ago she’d reminded her of Mariah. Carissa had the same blue eyes, a similar sly smile and a similar saunter when she walked, that oozed self-confidence. She was in college studying to become a lawyer. Carissa walked over to her and Sandra greeted her, “Good morning, Ms. Teller.”
Her smile, a mixture of sweetness and something devious, crossed her face, as she looked down at the inappropriate shoes Sandra was wearing. “Good morning, Sandy.”
Carissa was the only person who called Sandra by a diminutive name, as if trying to hint at an unacknowledged power over her. Carissa had never done anything else remotely inappropriate to give Sandra any hints she might be a Domme, yet after spending a few intimate years with Mariah, Sandra could sense these things. As Sandra leaned forward a bit to shake Carissa’s hand she stumbled forward, not on purpose actually, and crashed hand first into the right breast of the well-endowed redhead. Sandra’s vibrating pussy gushed a tad as her hand briefly cupped Carissa’s perfect, firm breast.
Carissa made no attempt to move away as she allowed the older sub to cop a feel. Carissa knew very well when a women were submissive and utterly revelled in the opportunity to turn them into eager little lez playthings. She’d already accomplished turns with her economics prof and two country-girl co-eds this year. She’d already planned to start Sandra’s seduction today, but fortuitously it had been started already by a simple slip-up… the goddess of pussy seemed to be smiling down on her today.
Sandra, her face blood red, quickly stood back up and stammered an apology. “I-I-I am so s-s-sorry.”
Carissa quickly retorted, “It’s ok Sandy, we’re all family here.”
Sandra looked around and breathed a sigh of relief at the task accomplished and no one appearing to be aware of the embarrassing moment. “Thanks, these new heels are a definite challenge.”
Carissa, her smile a carbon copy of the young Mariah’s all those years ago, replied, “Well, maybe after church we can go for a bite to eat and I can train you how to wear high heels.”
Train me? Sandra thought to herself. Is Carissa implying something more? Sandra didn’t want to agree as she now felt like prey, but she wasn’t able to invent a quick lie. “S-s-sure,” she stammered.
“Lovely,” Carissa cooed, “I’ll see you after the service, then.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Sandra smiled back, trying to act casual, even as the buzzing inside her was beginning to distract her in a serious way.
Catching her breath and trying to control her lustful desires, she was startled by the familiar voice of the minister’s snooty wife Lucille, her disapproval not remotely hidden as she asked, “Sandra, don’t you think the heels are a bit much for Sunday morning? We are in the house of God, after all.”
Sandra’s shame burnt through her at being criticized by the minister’s wife, someone she’d worked hard at being civil to. “I suppose,” she answered weakly.
“You suppose?” reverend’s-wife-and-don’t-you-forget-it Lucille criticized, looking older than the forty-two she was, dressed like a minister’s wife, her hair in its usual bun and her outfit lacking any shape or color that might showcase her well-hidden assets. “You look like you never made it home last night,” she accused harshly.
“Excuse me?” Sandra responded, as if she had been slapped in the face.
“Look, if you want to be a weekend harlot and party until all hours on Saturday night, that’s between you and our Savior, but do not showcase your sin at my church so blatantly,” Lucille rebuked her, her words razor sharp.
Sandra, always one to avoid confrontation replied, like a servant, “Yes, Mrs. Light.”
“Good. May I rest assured such irreverence will not happen again?” Lucille finished, her tone indicating the question was rhetorical.
Before Sandra could respond, she heard Mariah’s sing-song voice, and with it came yet another feeling of horrifying dread. “Well, good morning, Sandra.”
Sandra could feel her face burning as she turned and saw a totally unprecedented conservatively dressed Mariah in a lengthy black skirt, a blue blouse, a black blazer and, she guessed, black thigh highs. “Good morning, Ms. Heart,” Sandra greeted her as she would any parishioner entering the church.
Mariah, with the grace of a woman from Paris, leaned in and gave her obviously nervous submissive two quick pecks on the cheeks. “Thank you so much for inviting me,” Mariah gushed warmly, before turning to the skeptical prudish-looking Minister’s wife, and saying, “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I’m Mariah Heart.”
In the blink of an eye, Lucille shifted from cold and threatening to warm and inviting. “I’m Mrs. Light, the Minister’s wife.” She extended her hand and Mariah shook it graciously.
“Oh my,” Mariah said, “So you’re the one who really runs the show here.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, we all know that women really run this world, we just let the men think they do,” Mariah exclaimed, her disarming warm smile on the attack.
Lucille laughed heartily, something Sandra had never witnessed her doing before except for the fake laugh she emitted in public when she had to. “If that isn’t the truest thing I’ve ever heard! What brings you here, my dear?”
And with one witty remark, Mariah is in closer with Lucille than I’ve managed in years of kowtowing to her, Sandra thought to herself.
Mariah answered, “I needed a new start, and I thought seeing an old friend, moving to a new city and finding religion would be a great way to start fresh.”
Lucille’s eyes went big as she saw another soul she might save. “Well, it’s great to have you with us this morning, Mariah. Why don’t you come with me and meet my husband?”
“That would be lovely,” Mariah said, acting like an idyllic southern belle of innocence.
Sandra watched the two leaving arm in arm before returning to greeting the stragglers. A trillion thoughts began to ping-pong in her head. Is Mariah going to make me try to seduce Carissa? The earlier threat about being careful whom she chose; the idea had Sandra’s buzzing cunt dripping with anticipation. Does Mariah plan to humiliate me in church? The thought petrified her, as it was the one place other than work and her PTA meetings where she felt welcome. Is Mariah going to try and seduce Lucille? As ridiculous as it sounded, Sandra had long ago learned no one was off limits for Mariah.
Sandra flashed back to a shocking revelation: