The afternoon sun was a warm, golden blanket on Shelly’s secluded deck. Rob and Matt had decided to go golfing with some buddies while Ryan dragged Emma home to recover.

Hope stretched like a contented cat in her lounger, the pleasant ache in her muscles a constant, thrilling reminder of the night before. The ice in her glass of rosé clinked softly as she took a sip. Shelly passed her a cigarette she had lit for her, a wisp of smoke curling into the still air. 

“Still in one piece, my dear?” 

Hope exhaled a smooth cloud, a lazy smile touching her lips. 

“Barely. I think Rob might have actually broken Emma. I thought Ryan was going to have to carry her to the car.” 

Shelly’s laughter was a low, rich sound. 

“A worthy achievement. But I wasn’t asking about Emma.” Her gaze was knowing, gentle. “I was asking about you. That was a significant leap you took last night.” 

Hope’s smile softened. She knew exactly what Shelly meant. The boundary. The rules she shattered. She looked out over the manicured garden, gathering her thoughts.

“It didn’t feel like a leap,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “It felt inevitable. Like I was finally catching up to a version of myself that had been waiting in the wings." 

She paused to reflect. 

“Last night... I still can't believe it was me. That I did those things, wanted those things. How are you so comfortable with all of this? You move through it like it's a dance you've known your whole life." 

She turned her head to look at Shelly. 

“That’s the secret, my love. The rules are just suggestions until you decide they’re yours to break. And my God, did you ever.” Her eyes twinkled. “The look on Rob’s face when he saw you. I thought the man was going to spontaneously combust. He wasn’t angry. He was awestruck.” 

Hope felt a blush warm her cheeks, part pride, part residual shock at her own audacity. 

“I think part of me is still waiting for the guilt to hit. But it’s not coming. All I feel is power. And this delicious, thrumming connection to him that’s somehow deeper than it was before. How does that make any sense?” 

“Because you trusted him with your darkest, most hidden hunger,” Shelly said simply. “And he not only accepted it, he worshiped you for it. You gave him a gift, Hope. You showed him the real, unfiltered you. That’s the most intimate act there is.” 

She took a long draw on her cigarette, her expression turning thoughtful. 

“So,” she began, her tone shifting subtly, becoming more proactive. “The question now is, what does the real, unfiltered Hope want to do with all this power? The game has fundamentally changed. Where does your mind go when you let it wander now?”

After a thoughtful reflection, Hope finally spoke softly.

“I want to be like you, Shelly," her voice full of earnest admiration. "The way you commanded your own pleasure, owned it was like you gave me permission to finally take what I actually want, not what I thought I was supposed to want.” 

Shelly reached over and squeezed her hand, her smile soft and knowing. 

"I wasn't always that way, you know. Everyone has a teacher, Hope. Someone who opens the door and shows you the light on the other side." 

Hope, intrigued, leaned in slightly. 

"A teacher? You mean... Matt?" Shelly chuckled softly, a low, rich sound. "No, darling. Not Matt." 

She took a long, contemplative draw, her gaze turning inward. 

"It was my first teacher," she said, her voice softening into a confidential murmur. "The woman who taught me that pleasure could be a form of worship."

Hope shifted, drawing her knees up, fully captivated. “Who then?” 

A slow, reverent smile touched Shelly’s lips. 

“Eleanor,” Shelly whispered. 

"The pastor's wife you mentioned the other night?" 

"Mmmhmm. The most graceful, devout, seemingly perfect woman you'd ever meet. She taught the Sunday school class, organized the potlucks, sang in the choir with this voice that could make you believe angels were real." 

A sly, nostalgic grin.

"And she had hands and a tongue that could make you see God in a whole new way. She was the pastor’s wife in the little town Matt and I were stuck in right after we married.” 

She gave a soft, wry laugh. 

“I was so restless. So empty. I joined the choir just to feel something besides the walls closing in.” She closed her eyes, as if pulling the memory right out of the air. 

“And there she was. All grace and quiet poise, with a voice like honey and a touch that lingered just a second too long when she handed me a hymnal.” 

Shelly’s eyes opened, glittering with the memory. 

“She was Pastor Williams’ wife. Her bible study was every Wednesday. We’d sit in her sunroom, Corinthians open on the table. I would always find a reason to stay behind after the other ladies left. Our ‘Bible study’ sessions that followed were just the two of us in her dark, polished study. 

She’d read from the Song of Solomon. ‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine.’” 

Shelly’s voice dropped, taking on a smoky, intimate quality, mimicking Eleanor’s. “She wouldn’t just read it. She’d unpack it. ‘The church teaches us to fear our bodies, Shelly,’ she’d say. ‘But this… this is God’s own scripture celebrating a woman’s ache, her wetness, her wanting.’” 

Hope was utterly still, barely breathing. 

“She built an entire erotic theology,” Shelly continued, her gaze fixed on a point in the past. 

“Going down on a woman wasn’t vulgar; it was ‘communion.’ A woman’s orgasm wasn’t a sin; it was ‘speaking in tongues.’ She twisted faith into a framework for unparalleled freedom. She taught me that the most powerful bliss exists in the space between sin and salvation. That we could be devout and devoured.” 

She finally looked at Hope, her eyes clear and intense. 

“She didn’t just teach me how to fuck, Hope. She taught me how to pray with my whole body. And seeing you last night, the hunger in you, the way you claimed your pleasure without apology, it was the same light I saw in her. The same light she saw in me.” 

Shelly reached out and took Hope’s hand, her grip firm. 

“Don’t you ever smother that light. Let me help you fan it into a wildfire.”

Hope let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Tell me the whole story, Shelly. How did this really begin?”

Shelly took a long drink of her wine and readied herself.

“It began with a hand on the small of my back,” she started, her voice a low, hypnotic thread. “In the church fellowship hall, after service. A simple, guiding touch as she steered me toward the punch bowl. It lasted a second too long. It always did. Her touch was different. It didn’t just place me; it claimed me. And God help me, I wanted to be claimed.” 

She took a slow drag, exhaling the memory. 

“The invitations to her home for ‘tea’ started. Always when the pastor was at a conference. The house was so quiet. So still. A museum of piety. And we’d sit in her parlor and she’d ask me about my marriage, about Matt, about what I wanted. And I’d give her the empty, pretty answers.”

“She’d just listen, her eyes seeing right through the china doll I was pretending to be. One afternoon, she didn’t lead me to the parlor. She led me to the study. The sanctum sanctorum. Floor-to-ceiling books, a heavy oak desk, a smell of leather and ink. She closed the door. The click of the latch was the loudest sound I’d ever heard. She didn’t sit behind the desk. She sat beside me on the leather couch, so close her thigh pressed against mine.” 

Shelly’s hand mimed opening a heavy book on her lap. 

“She opened her Bible. Not to Corinthians or Romans. To the Song of Solomon. ‘I am my beloved’s, and his desire is for me.’ She read it aloud, and the words weren’t holy scripture anymore. They were a whisper in a dark room. She traced the line with a perfectly manicured finger. ‘His desire is for me,’ she repeated, her emphasis a caress. ‘Do you feel that, Shelly? That wanting? It’s not a sin. It’s a prayer.' I was trembling. I couldn’t look away from her mouth. She saw it. She always saw everything. ‘Let me show you,’ she whispered. And she took my hand, my stupid, shaking hand, and she placed it on the page. Then she placed hers over mine. ‘Feel the truth of it,’ she murmured. Her other hand came up, and she didn’t touch my face. She touched my throat, her thumb stroking my pulse point. ‘The body is the temple, Shelly. Shouldn’t we learn every sacred corner of it?’” 

A shiver ran through Shelly, a ghost of the first time. 

“That was the first crack. The first time, the ground gave way. She leaned in, and she didn’t kiss my mouth. She pressed her lips to my forehead, like a blessing. ‘You are so hungry,’ she whispered against my skin. ‘Let me teach you how to feast.’” 

“The next time, the Bible was on the desk. She stood behind me, her front to my back, her arms around me as she turned the pages. I could feel her breasts against my back, her breath on my neck. ‘Your lips drip nectar, my bride; honey and milk are under your tongue.’ Her hands slid down my arms, her voice dropping to a husk. ‘What do you think that tastes like, Shelly? Would you like to know?” 

“I was putty in her hands. A sinner in the making, convinced I was finding a new kind of grace. She undressed me like she was unwrapping a sacrament, each button on my blouse a bead on a rosary. She laid me back on that same leather couch, the coolness a shock against my bare skin. She knelt beside me. Not between my legs. Not yet. She knelt like she was at an altar.” 

“And she began her liturgy. With her mouth. With her hands. She worshiped. My breasts, my stomach, the inside of my thighs, they were her scriptures. She’d murmur against my skin, ‘Praise be,’ when I’d gasp. ‘Hallelujah,’ when I’d writhe. She blended faith and filth until I couldn’t tell them apart. I came for her whispering the Doxology into my skin, and it was the most transcendent moment of my life.” 

Shelly opened her eyes, the memory receding, but the heat of it remained in her gaze. 

“That’s how it began. In a pastor’s study, on a couch that smelled of piety and her perfume. With a woman who taught me that the most powerful prayers aren’t spoken. They’re moaned.” 

She looked at Hope, her expression fierce and tender. 

“She showed me that my hunger was holy. And that’s what I am trying to show you.”

The glass of rosé was forgotten in Hope’s hand, condensation wetting her fingers. Her skin felt too tight, humming with the echo of Shelly’s story. 

“My God, Shelly,” she whispered, her voice husky with awe and a newfound, aching want. “That’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard.” 

It wasn’t just the acts she described; it was the reverence, the blasphemy, the total rewriting of a soul. Hope felt the truth of it settle deep in her bones, a key turning in a lock she never knew existed. Shelly’s smile was a thing of profound satisfaction. She didn’t gloat; she simply absorbed the words, seeing the impact they had made. She reached out and gently took the forgotten glass from Hope’s lax fingers, setting it aside with a soft clink. 

“I know,” she said simply, her voice a low thrum of shared understanding. 

She leaned forward, her gaze intense, capturing Hope’s completely. 

“That’s the point, my dear. It’s supposed to be. Now you understand. It’s never just about the fucking. It’s about the theology.” 

She let the word hang in the smoky air between them, heavy with meaning. 

“So,” Shelly continued, her tone shifting from storyteller back to high priestess, the architect of the next moment. “Now that you’ve heard the gospel, what is your first prayer?” 

Hope sat tongue-tied for a minute.

“The elegant words Eleanor used to describe the carnal sounded so poetic. Did she ever let herself indulge in the language of us commoners?”

Shelly’s smile turned wicked, a flash of pure heat in her eyes. 

“Oh, Hope. The poetry was for the opening hymn. When the collection plate was passed?” 

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, gritty whisper. 

“She could talk filth that would curl the pews.” 

She closed her eyes, savoring the memory like a fine wine. 

“That first time, on the couch, when her mouth was on me, the ‘Praise be’s’ didn’t last. Once she tasted me, her voice got rough, raw. She came up for air, her chin glistening, and she didn’t whisper. She growled.” 

Shelly’s voice shifted, taking on a low, hungry rasp, perfectly mimicking Eleanor’s transformation. 

“‘You taste like sin and honey, my perfect little slut. This cunt is my feast, and you’re gonna come all over my mouth like a good girl.  Soak my fucking face.’And I did. Eleanor was the only person who could make me squirt  anytime she wanted to.”

Hope’s breath hitched, her own body responding to the raw language. Shelly continued, her own words becoming faster, more urgent as she relived it. 

“She’d fuck me with her fingers, her thumb working tight, desperate circles, and her prayers became demands. ‘Take it, you hungry whore. My whore. I’m going to fuck you like I paid for it.’ She had a bit of a cheating kink, too. More than once, she would say she loved having a married woman’s tongue in her married pussy.” 

A shiver ran through Shelly. 

“She’d talk about her husband, too. Right while her face was between my legs. ‘He thinks I’m preparing my lesson on Proverbs,’ she’d mutter against my thigh, her breath hot. ‘He has no idea his righteous wife is on her knees, lapping the cunt of her female lover. That I’m getting drunk on your fucking juice.’” 

She opened her eyes, looking at Hope with fierce intensity. 

“She taught me that true worship isn’t quiet. It’s loud. It’s messy. It’s telling someone exactly how badly you want to ruin them. The poetry unlocked the door, but the filth… the filth was what made us fly.” 

Shelly reached out, tracing a finger down Hope’s arm. 

“So, don’t ever think it’s one or the other, darling. The most powerful prayers have ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘fuck me harder’ all in the same breath.”

Hope’s eyes were wide. 

"I would have never expected that from a pastor's wife."

“That's the delicious secret, isn't it? The most forbidden fruit always grows closest to the altar.” 

Shelly’s laughter was a low, rich rumble. 

“That’s what made it so potent, my dear. The contrast.” 

She took a leisurely drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that hung between them like a veil. 

“Seeing her on Sunday morning, pristine in her lace collar, leading the choir with those saintly hands, and knowing what those hands had done to me on Wednesday afternoon. Knowing the hymns that fell from her lips were the same ones she’d moaned into my skin.” 

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a confidential whisper. 

“It was the ultimate transgression. She wasn’t just breaking rules; she was rewriting them from the inside out, using the very language of piety to sanctify our filth. The pastor’s wife wasn’t just a whore in the sheets, she was the high priestess of a new religion, and I was her most devoted convert.” 

Shelly’s gaze intensified, locking onto Hope’s. 

“That’s the power I’m offering you, Hope. Not just to be dirty, but to make your desire sacred. To take the most unexpected parts of yourself and worship them without apology.” 

She let the words hang in the air, heavy with promise.

“So tell me what part of you feels most unexpected? What hunger feels too forbidden to even name?”

Hope’s cheeks flushed, a mix of desire and something akin to shyness. 

“I’m not sure Eleanor's ‘gospel’ can reconcile what I want?” 

“Oh, my darling. Eleanor’s gospel thrives on the irreconcilable. That’s where the real magic happens. Tell me. What feels too primal, too hungry, too base for poetry? Let’s hear it.”

Shelly could see that Hope was working up the courage. Hope put out her cigarette and turned to Shelly, taking both of her hands.

“The love you gave me last weekend was something I never expected. And I want more of that, intimate time with you, Emma, any woman I feel a connection with.”

Hope paused, still struggling to find the words.

“Ok, I’ll just say it…Last night was the first time I had sex with a man other than my husband. I still crave him, but right now, all I can think about is the taste of strange cock. The weight of it. The way it feels to have a man lose his mind while he’s filling my throat. I want to be used for it, Shelly. It feels… greedy. Not holy. Did Eleanor ever let herself indulge in anything like I am craving?” 

Her grip tightens on Hope’s hands, her eyes blazing with fierce approval.

“Oh, my beautiful, hungry girl. You have just described the highest form of communion. Eleanor didn't just indulge in that craving; she consecrated it." Shelly’s voice dropped to a reverent, husky whisper. 

“Darling, listen to me. What is more holy than a vessel accepting an offering? What is more divine than being the catalyst for a man’s utter abandonment? You are the altar upon which they sacrifice their control. You are the sacrament they receive.” 

She leaned closer, her gaze intense. 

“Your hunger is not base. It is primal. And the primal is the foundation of all true worship. Eleanor didn’t just teach me with soft words and softer touches. She taught me that to truly know God, you must also know the devil in the details. Your craving for ‘strange cock,’” she said the words with a reverent clarity, making them sound like a prayer, “is just another form of communion. You are tasting the essence of creation itself. You are a goddess collecting her due.” 

A wicked, knowing smile touched her lips. 

“And yes. Eleanor indulged. There was a traveling evangelist, a man with fire in his sermons and hands that knew exactly how to make a woman weep with gratitude. She called him her ‘season of renewal.’ She’d come to our sessions afterward smelling of his sweat and cigar smoke, her skin flushed with his praise. She’d kneel before me, still trembling from him, and tell me every filthy, glorious detail while she worshipped me. It wasn’t a betrayal. It was a celebration.” Shelly squeezed Hope’s hands. “So you see? Your craving for ‘strange cock and cum’  isn’t greedy. It’s grace. And I will help you feast.”

Hope was still trying to process it all while thinking out loud. 

“I like that,” she said, her voice no longer a whisper but clear and laced with intent. “I really like that. ‘What is more holy than a vessel accepting an offering?’” 

Her dewy eyes locked with Shelly as she struggled to be understood.

“But my craving, Shelly, has grown beyond a travelling man every once in a while. Last night I drained two cocks multiple times, and I wanted more.” 

Shelly’s laugh was low, rich, and utterly delighted. She cupped Hope’s face, her thumbs stroking her cheeks. 

“Of course you did. Because two offerings are just the beginning of the rite.” 

Her voice was a husky, fervent whisper. 

“You didn’t just take them, my love. You consecrated them. You turned their pleasure into your prayer. And now the prayer demands more voices, more bodies, more… everything.” 

She leaned in, her breath warm against Hope’s ear. 

“Eleanor’s deepest secret wasn’t the traveling evangelist. It was the night of the harvest festival. When the deacons, all of them, stayed behind to ‘pray over the church grounds.’ She didn’t choose one. She accepted their collective devotion. She taught me that a true high priestess doesn’t just receive one offering at a time. She conducts the entire symphony.” 

Pulling back, her gaze was fierce, proud. 

“Your hunger isn’t a problem to be solved, Hope. It’s a divine mandate. You’re not being greedy. You’re coming into your full power. And I will be right here, ensuring you have a congregation worthy of your appetite.”

Hope, feeling finally heard, pulled Shelly in for a hug, followed by a smoldering kiss. She then reached for her phone and typed out a text. She didn’t look at Shelly for permission; she looked at her as a co-conspirator. 

“Rob and Matt are on the ninth hole,” she stated, her thumbs already flying across the screen. “They think they’re almost done.” 

She finished typing and held the phone up for Shelly to see. 

The text was to Rob, but it was clearly meant for both men. 

Hope: Boys, drop the clubs. The back nine can wait. Your caddy has a couple of holes right here that are begging for a dedicated foursome. Don’t keep your offerings waiting. And you heard me right. Bring your friends.

She hit send and tossed the phone onto the lounger with a finality that was both casual and utterly commanding. She looked back at Shelly, the new gospel shining in her eyes. 

“Let’s see if they’re devout enough to answer the call.” 

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the distant chirp of a bird and the low hum of the pool pump. Hope held Shelly’s gaze, the bravado of her text still shining in her eyes, but now underpinned by a flicker of nervous energy. 

What if they didn’t come? What if they laughed? What if she’d misread the entire divine doctrine? Shelly watched it all play out on Hope’s face, the boldness, the doubt, the thrilling vulnerability of having put herself out there. She didn’t reach for her own phone. She didn’t need to. Her smile was a slow, deep well of satisfaction. 

“Now,” Shelly purred, her voice like warm honey, “we see what kind of faith they truly have.” As if on cue, Hope’s phone buzzed. Once. A short, sharp vibration that seemed to crackle in the afternoon air. Hope’s eyes widened. She snatched it up, her fingers trembling slightly. 

Rob: On our way. ETA 12 minutes. Start without us. We’ll catch up. 

Hope’s breath left her in a rush, a laugh of pure shock and triumph catching in her throat. She looked up at Shelly, her expression one of stunned victory. Shelly’s answering smile was radiant, triumphant. She lifted her glass in a silent, smoky toast. 

“The congregation,” she said, her voice thick with promise, “is eager for communion.” 

She rose from her lounger in one fluid, graceful motion and offered Hope her hand.

“Come on, my gorgeous disciple. The altar awaits.” Her eyes glittered with mischief and intent. 

“We’ve got twelve minutes to make sure it’s properly prepared for their devotions. Just enough time.” 

She didn’t head for the bedroom. She led Hope to the vast, open living room, where afternoon sun streamed across polished hardwood floors and low, inviting couches. 

“Here,” she declared, releasing Hope’s hand to stride to the center of the room. 

“The altar should be where the light is best. Where everyone can see.” 

Turning back, her gaze was alight with a feverish creativity.

 “We prepare them, not just the room. We make them desperate before they even touch us.” 

Her eyes scanned Hope, head to toe, a sculptor assessing her marble. 

“The dress. Off. Leave it right there.”

She pointed to a sunlit patch of floor. 

“Let it be the first thing they see when they walk in. A promise.” 

She began pulling pillows from the couches, arranging them on the floor in a wide, soft circle. 

“No one on the furniture. Everyone is on the same level. Equals in this.” 

She glanced up, a wild, gorgeous thought striking her. 

“The music. Not something slow. Something with a pulse.” 

She rose and went to a hidden speaker panel, her fingers flying across the screen until a low, primal beat began to thrum through the room, a sound felt more than heard.

“That’s it. The heartbeat of the temple. Now, the final touch.” 

Shelly’s eyes scanned the room, landing on a crystal decanter of amber whiskey and several low glasses on a sideboard. A wicked idea sparked. She poured two generous fingers into a glass, but didn’t drink it. Instead, she carried it to the center of the pillow circle and poured it slowly onto the hardwood floor, a dark, spreading stain that gleamed in the sunlight. 

“A libation,” she said, her voice a husky ritual. “For the gods of abandon.” 

She turned back to Hope, her gaze burning with intensity. 

“Now you. Not just undressed. Anointed.” 

She retrieved the decanter, her movements fluid and deliberate. 

“Turn around.” 

Hope obeyed. Shelly poured a thin, shocking stream of the cool liquor down the length of her spine, making her gasp. 

“For courage,” Shelly murmured, her breath hot against Hope’s ear. 

Then she’d turn Hope to face her, tracing a wet, amber line over her collarbones, between her breasts. 

“For hunger.” 

Finally, she’d dip her fingers into the glass and paint a glistening trail down Hope’s stomach, lower. 

“For the offering.” 

The scent of whiskey and their combined arousal would already be thick in the air. Shelly stepped back, her own dress now pooling at her feet. She was glorious, unashamed, a high priestess in her element. 

“Now we wait,” she said, her voice low and thrilling. 

“On our knees. Facing the door. Let them see exactly what they’ve been summoned to worship.” 

She sank onto the pillows, her back straight, her head high, the picture of devout expectation. The thrumming music, the spilled whiskey, the two of them kneeling, bare and gleaming in the golden light, it was a scene of breathtaking, blasphemous beauty. 

“Let them come,” Shelly whispered, her eyes fixed on the door, a challenge and a welcome in one. “And let them be worthy.”

Hope’s body stills, every sense hyper-focused on the door, a predator sensing the approach of her prey. “

“Shhh… listen. The faithful are here,” Shelly declares.

The low thrum of the music was the only sound for a breathless moment. Then, the distant whine of turning tires. Car doors slamming. Then another. Heavy, eager footsteps on the flagstone path. Fast. Hurried. Hope’s breath hitched. Shelly didn’t look at her; she kept her eyes locked on the door, a slow, seductive smile playing on her lips. 

“Steady, my goddess,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the beat. 

“Remember, they are here for us.” 

The front door handle turned. It wasn’t a tentative twist. It was a firm, claiming turn, followed by the door swinging open. Rob was the first through, his eyes wild, scanning the room and instantly landing on them. His breath caught audibly. Behind him, Matt shouldered in, his gaze darkening with pure, raw hunger at the sight. And then, two other men, friends whose names Hope might not even know, filled the doorway, their expressions shifting from curiosity to stunned, greedy awe. 

They all stopped dead, just inside the threshold, a wall of masculine energy halted by the vision before them. Hope’s dress is on the floor. The spilled whiskey. The two of them, kneeling, bare, proud, and glistening in the late afternoon sun. Rob was the first to break the silence, his voice a gravelly rasp of pure worship. 

“Holy hell.” Shelly didn’t move from her knees. 

She simply lifted her chin, her eyes sweeping over all four of them, a queen acknowledging her subjects. 

“You kept us waiting,” she said, her voice cutting through the music, low and chiding yet dripping with promise. 

“The offerings have grown impatient.” 

She let her gaze travel over each of them: slow and appraising. 

“The question is, which of you is devout enough to approach the altar first?”

The four men stood frozen, a wall of desire and hesitation. The two newcomers looked to Rob, the unspoken leader, for a cue. Rob’s eyes were locked on Hope, on the whiskey gleaming on her skin. A muscle twitched in his jaw. This was his wife, yet she had never looked more like a stranger’s wildest dream. The sight broke something in him. With a guttural sound, he took the first step. Then another. He didn’t rush. He approached like a man entering a sacred space, his feet heavy on the floor. He stopped just before the circle of pillows, his gaze burning into Hope. 

“You called,” he said, his voice thick with awe and a possessiveness that had been utterly remade. “And I came.” 

His eyes flicked to the whiskey trail on her skin. 

“My offering.” 

Behind him, Matt let out a low, appreciative laugh, shaking his head in sheer disbelief at the tableau. The other two men exchanged a glance, a mix of shock and dawning, fierce hunger. They were all in now. There was no going back. Shelly watched with a satisfied, serene smile on her face. The scripture was unfolding perfectly. 

“Then prove it,” she murmured, her words meant for all of them. “The liturgy has begun. Don’t just stand there. Worship.”

Rob didn’t hesitate. His hands went to his belt buckle, the clink of it loud in the rhythm-filled room. He shoved his Dockers down, his eyes never leaving Hope, his cock already hard and eager. Matt was just as quick, yanking his shirt over his head, his movements hungry, primal. The two other men, emboldened, followed suit, a frenzy of zippers, discarded polo shirts, and kicked-off boat shoes. 

In moments, four powerful, naked forms stood before them, all hard muscle and taut skin, their arousal a palpable force in the sun-drenched room. Shelly didn’t wait for them to move. She rose to her feet, a vision of fearless grace, and closed the distance to Rob. She wrapped her hand around his cock, her touch firm and knowing. 

“This,” she purred, guiding him toward Hope, “is your offering. Present it properly.” 

Rob needed no further instruction. He dropped to his knees before Hope, his hands framing her face, his voice a ragged whisper. “Open.” As Hope bent down, her mouth welcomed him, and a groan was torn from his chest. Shelly turned her attention to the others, her gaze fiery and commanding. 

“Matt. The cunt is yours. Claim it.” 

Matt was on Hope in an instant, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her onto him with a single, deep thrust that made her cry out around Rob’s cock. Shelly’s eyes swept to the two newcomers, who stood watching, their hands stroking their own lengths, mesmerized. She crooked a finger. 

“You two. With me. Your mouths. Your hands. Your cocks. I want them all. Now.” 

They moved as one, descending upon her, a tangle of eager hands and hungry mouths. Shelly met them with a throaty laugh, arching into their touch, a queen being lavished by her devoted court. The room erupted into a symphony of grunts, slaps of skin, and choked, pleasured cries, a raw, messy, beautiful prayer meeting just getting started.

“Every fucking drop!” Shelly said. “Every fucking drop goes in her. This is her baptism!”

Shelly’s head tilted back as one of the newcomers (Leo) worshipped her with his mouth, his tongue writing psalms that sent shivers up her spine. But her eyes were slits of fire, fixed on the writhing center of their circle. Her voice, when it came, was a guttural decree, punctuated by the slap of skin on skin. 

“Don’t you dare hold back,” she snarled, her fingers digging into Leo’s scalp. 

The other newcomer (Luke) presented his cock for Shelly to consume. As the men moved and the ladies moaned, a climax was soon in the making.

“I want to see it. I want to see you lose your fucking minds and give it all to her. She’s your altar. Your scripture. Your goddamn communion wine.” 

Rob’s thrusts into Hope’s mouth became frantic, ragged. “You hear that, baby?” he grunted, his voice choked. “Gonna paint that pretty throat white. Gonna give you every last drop.” 

Rob was the first to release. Flooding his wife as he had done so many times before.

“That’s it,” Shelly chanted, her hips rocking against Leo’s devoted tongue as her own climax began to crest from his skillful ministrations. 

“Fill her up, Matt. Pump your worship right into her cunt. Let her feel it. Let her drown in it.” 

Matt’s reply was a strangled curse, his pace turning punishing, possessive. 

“Gonna flood you, Hope. Gonna mark you from the inside out.” 

Shelly’s eyes snapped to the other newcomer, Luke, who was nearing his own climax.

“Your offering too. In her. Your taste in her mouth. She takes it all. She is your vessel. Now praise her,” she demanded, her voice cracking like a whip as she shuddered through her own release against Leo's mouth. 

Luke didn’t hesitate. He stumbled forward, his hand a blur on his cock, his eyes locked on Hope’s blissed-out, used expression. With a sharp cry, he came, just as she reached Hope’s greedy mouth.

“Yes!” Shelly cried out, her body still humming from Leo’s tongue as she watched the sacred anointing. 

“That’s it! Baptize her! Make her new!” 

The room dissolved into a chorus of guttural releases, Rob and Luke down Hope’s throat, Matt deep inside her, a symphony of surrender, all of it, every last hot, claiming drop, offered up to Hope. As the last shudders subsided, Shelly gently pushed Leo’s head back, running her fingers through his sweat-damp hair. 

“You,” she purred, her voice raw with approval, “have a very devout tongue.” 

Just then, Hope moved. It wasn’t a graceful motion. It was a primal, needy crawl, her body glistening with sweat and the evidence of her baptism. She shoved herself from under Matt’s spent weight, her eyes locked on Leo, who was still kneeling, his cock hard and untouched. 

“And you, my faithful Leo,” Shelly started to say, her voice dripping with wicked intent, “still have an unclaimed offering for her mou—” 

But Hope was already there. She didn’t wait for permission or poetry. Her hands grabbed Leo’s hips, her mouth swallowing him down to the root with a desperate, greedy hunger that made him cry out and his back arch. Shelly watched, her own breath catching in sheer delight. 

“Well, well,” she purred, her eyes blazing with pride and dark amusement. 

“The student has surpassed the teacher. No more lessons needed, my love. You know exactly what you are.” 

She reached out and stroked Hope’s hair as she devoured Leo, her voice a low, reverent whisper meant for all of them to hear. 

“Look at her. A true disciple. A glory hole with a heartbeat. She doesn’t just accept your offerings anymore, boys… she demands them.”

Leo’s hands fisted in Hope’s hair, not guiding her, just holding on as his hips stuttered and he poured himself down her throat with a ragged, guttural cry. Hope drank him down, a low, satisfied hum vibrating against him until he was spent and shaking. Shelly watched, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her face as Hope finally released him, licking her lips with a newfound, unashamed greed. 

“Beautiful,” Shelly breathed. 

Then her eyes swept over the room, the spent but still-thrumming energy, the four worshippers, the glorious mess they’d made of her living room. 

Her gaze landed on the two newcomers, Luke and Leo, both still hard and watching Hope with raw, reverent hunger. 

“But the sacrament isn’t over,” Shelly declared, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. She rose to her feet, all sleek, confident grace.

“Luke. Leo. You’ve anointed the altar. You seem gifted with vigor, so you have more work to do.” 

She crooked a finger, beckoning them toward her. 

“Hope, my love, on your hands and knees. Let them see the masterpiece they helped create.” 

Shelly had Leo lie down, and she positioned Hope on her hands and knees over him.

“You, my dear Leo… you get that well-loved cunt. I want her to feel more full than she already is.“ 

Shelly guided Luke behind her. 

“You, my young stud, have the privilege of filling her asshole,” she murmured, her hand on his back. "I want every hole consecrated. I want this to be a service they never forget.“

Shelly produced a bottle of lube as an anointing oil and prepared Luke to enter her most sacred of openings. Her movements are ritualistic, her voice a husky chant as she coats Luke's length with the cool lube. 

“This is the holiest of gates and requires the most preparation as well as the most devotion. Shelly's hands worked with a practiced, sacred efficiency, slicking Luke until he shone in the afternoon light. 

"Go slow," she instructed, her voice a low thrum. "This isn't a fuck. It's an unlocking." 

She guided him to Hope's entrance, her other hand stroking Hope's lower back. 

"Breathe, my love. Open for him. Accept this last, most precious offering." 

As Luke began to press forward, Shelly turned her attention to Leo, guiding him beneath Hope. 

"And you," she whispered, positioning him at her slick, swollen center, "reclaim your temple. Fill the sanctuary." 

The room held its breath as both men began to move in a slow, deep rhythm, Luke's careful, stretching thrusts and Leo's familiar, claiming ones. Hope gasped, her body arching between them, utterly surrounded, utterly claimed. Shelly watched, her own hands drifting over her body, her eyes dark with vicarious pleasure. 

"That's it... feel them worship you... every part of you..."

Her voice was a hypnotic mantra driving them all deeper into the sacred, filthy bliss.

Shelly pushed Rob down onto the plush cushions directly in front of Hope, positioning him so his knees framed her bowed head. The view was intimate, obscene, glorious. Hope’s eyes, glazed with pleasure, flickered up and locked with his. She reached out, taking his flaccid cock in her mouth before speaking. 

“You,” she gasped out, her voice ragged between Leo’s thrusts and Luke’s careful, deep possession. 

“You told me to stop holding back. You looked me in the eye and said you wanted my true self. Not the quiet wife… the real one.” 

“I did say that, my queen.”

She took him deeper into her mouth for a moment, then released him with a wet pop, her lips glistening. 

“Well, this is her,” she breathed, her gaze burning into his as her body undulated between the two men filling her. “This is me not holding back. This greedy, glorious thing…You permitted me to become this. You created this.”

 Her words weren’t an accusation; they were a consecration. They gave him ownership of the entire filthy, beautiful scene. His permission was the foundation of it all. 

“See what you do to me?” she moaned, her hips pushing back against Luke, then forward onto Leo. 

“They feel so good,” she paused as a small orgasmic wave moved through her, “but I still taste you on my tongue, Rob. I still want you.” 

As she spoke, her eyes dropped to his lap, where his cock was still thickening, rising again with a swift, brutal urgency. A slow, wicked smile touched her swollen lips. 

“Look at that,” she purred, her voice dropping to a husky, intimate whisper meant only for him. 

“You’re not done with me yet, are you? You want to give me more. You want to reclaim the holy whore you created. You want to feed this hole…” she emphasized the word with a deliberate, filthy roll of her hips, “…you carved out inside me.” 

Rob's eyes were on fire.

“Yes, I want to reclaim the holy whore we created.”

Hope’s eyes widened with a sudden, filthy inspiration. She pulled off Rob with a gasp, her voice urgent and thick with need. 

“Then you, my husband, will fill my most sacred hole.”

Hope panted, her gaze darting between Luke and her husband. 

“Switch”

Looking at Luke as he approached. 

“I want to taste him again, and I want to taste myself on him.” 

She looked at Rob, her expression blazing with possessive fire. 

“And you… I want you in my ass when you come. I want to feel you claim what’s yours in the deepest way.” 

The command was absolute. Shelly moved with fluid efficiency, a pleased conductor. 

“You heard your goddess,” she said to Luke, guiding him toward Hope’s waiting mouth. 

“Let her taste the devotion you’ve given her.” 

Then she turned to Rob, her hands slick with more lube, preparing him with swift, sure strokes. 

“And you… Your offering belongs in the most sacred vault. Make her feel you there. Forever.” 

Luke knelt before Hope, his cock glistening with her own essence. Hope didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward and took him deep, a low, guttural moan vibrating against him as she tasted her ass on his skin, musky, primal, utterly intoxicating. At the same time, Rob positioned himself at her other entrance, pushing forward with a groan as he filled the tight, hot channel she’d offered him. Hope was suspended between them, moaning around Luke’s cock as Rob claimed her ass, a perfect, filthy circle of pleasure and possession. Shelly watched, her hand drifting between her own legs, her whisper a reverent chant. 

“Yes… taste your own consecration… take his claim in your deepest place… perfect.”

Turning her attention, Shelly continued her commands.

“Don't stop, Leo. The temple demands its final offering. Flood her. Leo,” who had been steadily thrusting into Hope's well-loved cunt, heard the command like a divine edict. 

His rhythm, already deep and possessive, became frantic, his grip on her hips turning bruising. Hope’s body jolted between the three points of contact: Luke’s cock in her mouth, Rob’s in her ass, and now Leo’s frantic, final pounding in her cunt. A muffled, overwhelmed scream vibrated around Luke’s length. 

“That’s it,” Shelly urged, her own breath coming fast as she watched. 

“She is reaching her final climax! Give it to her. Fill that greedy, glorious cunt. Let her feel it spill out of her.” 

Leo’s back arched, a raw, broken shout tearing from his throat as he slammed home one last time and poured himself into her, his release hot and seemingly endless, flooding the channel he’d been worshipping. Hope’s body convulsed around all three of them, a simultaneous, shattering climax seizing her as cunt was filled for the second time today. Shelly’s eyes rolled back slightly, a soft, satisfied sigh escaping her as she absorbed the scene.

Hope pulled back from Luke's cock, a trail of saliva connecting her lips to him for a second before she broke it. Her eyes locked with Rob's, fierce and unashamed. 

"You love this, don't you?" she breathed, her voice husky. "Watching me take them all. Your proper little wife." 

Rob's grip tightened on her hips, his thrusts into her ass never slowing. "Fuck yes, I do," he growled, his gaze dark with possessiveness. "Look at you. My perfect slut. Taking everything they give you." 

A wicked smile touched Hope's swollen lips. 

"I love watching you destroy them too," she confessed, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "The way you fucked Shelly all night..." 

Her eyes flickered toward where Shelly was watching, enthralled. "...turned her into this. And Emma... god, what you did to Emma..." 

Rob's hips stuttered, a low groan escaping him. 

"They were never the same after me," he said, pride and lust thickening his voice. "Just like you." 

"Just like me," Hope agreed, her body beginning to tremble as her climax built again. 

"You break us and remake us so beautifully. Now watch me break for you again." 

Shelly watched from the sidelines, her fingers moving between her own legs, whispering: 

"Yes... That's the real scripture. The truth behind the altar."

The energy in the room shifted, becoming focused, ritualistic. Shelly’s eyes darted between them, reading the building tension in their bodies. 

“Rob… Luke… now,” she commanded, her voice a low, compelling drumbeat. 

“Together. Give her your offerings as one.” 

Their control snapped simultaneously. With twin, ragged shouts, Rob emptied himself deep into Hope’s ass while Luke spent himself across her waiting tongue. Hope’s body arched, a muffled cry vibrating in her throat as she swallowed Luke’s release while feeling Rob’s warmth flood her deepest part. Before the shudders even subsided, Shelly was moving. 

She saw something that had gone unseen. Matt had recovered due to the scene before him. Each man had provided two loads in Hope except for her husband.

Shelly was guiding Matt forward, her voice sharp and clear. 

“Her throat, Matt. You haven’t claimed that yet. Fuck it. Make her feel you there.” 

Matt didn’t hesitate. He positioned himself, his grip firm on Hope’s hair, and pushed into her mouth with a deep, commanding thrust that made her eyes water. 

She had barely swallowed Luke’s load, and yet she craved more.

Matt set a relentless, possessive rhythm, fucking her throat with a groan of pure abandon as Matt drove toward his peak.

Shelly pronounced, “You will give the final blessing. The eighth.” 

As Matt’s thrusts became frantic, his release imminent, he came with a guttural roar, pouring down her throat, A flood that Hope swallowed greedily, her body shaking with the force of it. When they finally pulled back, Hope gasped for air, her lips swollen, her face glistening. She looked utterly ravished, gloriously complete. 

“Eight,” Shelly said, her voice thick with reverence. “Every hole filled, every offering given. The record isn’t just broken… It’s been rewritten in fire.”

As the last trembling waves of pleasure subsided, Matt, still buzzing with spent energy and a strange, deep gratitude, rose with a renewed sense of purpose. He helped move Luke and Leo, who were breathing heavily, their bodies glistening and slack with exhaustion. “Come on, brothers,” Matt said, his voice low and reverent as he clasped each man’s shoulder. “You’ve given your offerings. The altar is satisfied.” He guided them gently toward their clothes and then the door, his tone filled with genuine warmth. 

“Thank you. What you gave her, what we all gave her, was needed and holy.” 

Once the door clicked shut, the room seemed to sigh, settling into a new, intimate quiet. Rob remained kneeling behind Hope, his hands tenderly stroking her hips, his forehead resting against the small of her back. Shelly drifted over, her expression soft as she ran a damp cloth gently over Hope’s flushed thighs. 

“Five down that glorious throat,” Shelly murmured, her voice thick with admiration. “Two fillings that perfect cunt. One claiming that sacred ass.” 

She shook her head with a soft, astonished laugh. 

“You’ve rewritten devotion, my love.” Hope leaned back against Rob’s chest, a slow, dazed smile spreading across her well-used lips. 

“I feel complete,” she whispered, her voice raw but radiant. “So full of all of you.” 

She looked over at Matt as he returned, her eyes shining. 

“All of you.” 

Rob pressed a kiss to her shoulder, his own voice rough with emotion. 

“You were magnificent,” he breathed. “A fucking goddess.” 

Shelly sank down beside them, her hand resting on Hope’s ankle. “The record stands,” she said quietly. “But more than that, the memory is eternal.” They sat there, the four of them, tangled together in the warm, spent silence, a coven of creation, bound by a sacred, shameless act of love.

“You said earlier that this hunger isn’t a problem to be solved, it’s a divine mandate. Well, I’ve taken 15 loads of cum in the last 24 hours and it has been divine.”

A throaty, delighted laugh fills the sun-drenched room from Shelly and the group.“

“Fifteen holy communions, darling! At this rate, we'll have to start a new chapter of the Bible just for you. The Book of Hope, patron saint of well-drained men. Now go home and let your devout husband worship his living miracle.”

As Hope and Rob began to gather their things, the room still hummed with the echoes of their shared experience. Shelly watched them with a mix of satisfaction and a hint of melancholy, knowing that the intensity of the moment would soon give way to the mundane realities of everyday life.

“Remember, my dear,” Shelly said softly, her voice carrying a weight of wisdom, “this hunger, this divine mandate, it doesn’t end here. It’s a journey, a path of continual discovery and surrender. Embrace it, nurture it, and let it guide you to the depths of your own power and pleasure.”

Hope turned to her, her eyes shining with a newfound clarity and strength. “I will,” she promised, her voice steady and resolved. “I won’t forget. I won’t hold back.”

Rob, standing beside her, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, a silent vow of support and understanding. “We won’t,” he echoed, his gaze meeting Shelly’s with a depth of gratitude and respect. “Thank you, Shelly. For everything.”

Shelly smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. “Go now,” she said, her voice a soft command. “Go and live in the light of this new truth. And remember, when the world tries to dim your flame, come back here. To this place, to this truth. To the power of your own desire.”

With a final, lingering look, Hope and Rob left, stepping out into the soft twilight of the late evening, their hearts full and their spirits alight with the fire of a new beginning.

***

The engine of Rob’s car purred softly, a quiet hum against the sunset as he drove them home. Hope sat curled in the passenger seat, draped in his jacket, her body still humming with the aftershocks of worship. She turned her head, a slow, sly smile playing on her well-used lips. “You know,” she began, her voice a low, raspy thing that vibrated with promise, “if you keep bringing me cock like that… if you keep letting me drink down men like holy wine…” 

She let the sentence hang, her eyes dark and gleaming in the dash lights. Rob’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, a fresh heat stirring in his gut. 

“Yeah?” he prompted, his voice rough. 

Hope leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. 

“Then I’m going to find you more cunt to ruin,” she whispered, the words filthy and tender all at once. 

“Young, tight, aching cunt. The kind that gasps when you look at it. I’ll find girls who’ve never been broken open properly and I’ll hand them to you.” 

She nipped his earlobe. 

“You can wreck them while I swallow their men. We can make a whole congregation of unraveled things.” 

Rob let out a shaky breath, his knuckles white on the wheel. The promise was even better than the act. A perfect, endless cycle of giving and taking. 

“Deal,” he growled. 

Hope settled back into her seat, satisfied but also curious.

“Does this mean we are swingers?”

Rob let out a chuckle.

Swingers? Oh, my darling, that’s such a quaint little word for what you’ve become. 

“Swingers trade partners. You don’t trade. You collect. You’re not swapping; you’re building a congregation. You’re the high priestess, and I’m the reigning deity of ruin. You don’t have an orgy, you hold a revival. Now, let's go home and start writing our new gospel.”