My Pleasures Were Undignified

"No, but..."

"Okay, let's fix that now." With that, she took a few steps back, bent over (making sure her ass was aimed toward the camera), and put down the boom box.

"Wait, what..." Alarm had crept into his voice.

"I just figured you should have some idea what you're protesting." She turned on the music. It wasn't as loud as the speakers in the club, but it carried well enough. She whirled back to face the crowd and began a striptease.

Her dancing, and the whole persona she projected was... not exactly innocent, but not malicious. Playful is perhaps the best term. She was saying, with her smile, her body, "Isn't this fun? Don't you want to join in?" It was also, in the way of everything Sherry did, highly arousing.

None of the protestors could ignore it, but different people responded in different ways. Some were enraged, screaming epithets. Others prayed and averted their eyes, unable to bear the temptation before them. And many were mesmerized, staring raptly at the tantalizing display. (Nor were all of these ardent observers men.)

Sherry wrapped things up as the song drew to a close. She had revealed the immodest but legal bikini she'd been wearing underneath her clothes, but no more. This time when she bent to turn off the music, much more of her hindquarters were visible. Smiling, she waved to the camera. "If you want to see more than that, you'll have to come inside!"

The reporter and cameraman, protestors forgotten, followed her back toward the lounge, requesting an interview.

The resulting footage was television gold - plenty of sex as well as humor. Sherry had been careful to reveal nothing that the FCC could legitimately file a complaint over, so the protest was the lead story on the late news that very night. The protestors, with their comical mix of reactions, came off as complete buffoons. The item appeared on cable news over the weekend, and by Sunday it was one of the most-viewed clips on YouTube.

There was some talk of charges being pressed, but no one could name anything Sherry had done that was illegal. She hadn't collected any money, or stripped fully nude, or done anything but dance in public. The talk quietly withered away.

It was a PR disaster for Rock Baptist. They had not merely failed to harm the club, they had given it a massive publicity boost and damaged their own reputation in the process. They couldn't move forward in the political arena without opening themselves up to further derision. A change of strategy was called for.

"...leaping impulses and secret pleasures..."

Thus, the following Wednesday, Mrs. Patricia Palmer walked up to the front door of the club in the late afternoon. The wife of the head pastor, Michael Palmer, she was a formidable woman, as befitted one of the leaders of a church with several thousand members. In her late 30s, she kept herself in shape and well-groomed, though her dress maintained the modesty of her station. Her gentle manner was disarming, but rivals at the church had learned that steel lay beneath the surface, and her husband's position owed no small debt to her adept political guidance.

The jaundiced eye of the bouncer up front looked her over doubtfully, but she was unfazed. "Is Sherry Sweet in? I'd like to talk to her."

"Is that so? What for? You applyin' for a job?"

"No," she replied patiently. "I'd just like to talk."

A moment of thought. "What about?"

"That's really between me and her, isn't it?" she said brightly.

The bouncer wasn't too fleet of mind. Another moment or two passed. "Well, you pay cover to get in, I'll let her know you're here."

"I'd really prefer to talk to her out here..."

"Then you'll be waitin' out here all night." He smiled unpleasantly. "And she's usually got somebody with her when she leaves. Good luck talkin' then."

Reluctantly she brought up her purse. "If I must."

Shortly thereafter she sat at one of the back tables, surveying the room with thinly masked disapproval. The place was much busier this early than she would have thought - and in the middle of the week at that. Confirmation that things had gotten out of control, and that her mission here was vital.

Patty didn't anticipate a total, immediate triumph, of course. Few people were saved on their first exposure to the Gospel. But she had faith that closing this den of iniquity was God's will, and she was confident that He could use her to help accomplish His purpose. So she had come to talk with the woman who had so thoroughly embarrassed her church and parishioners. If she could discourage her from supporting the club, it would be of help. And who knew? If the girl were saved, she would be a powerful witness... in the religious and legal senses.

They would offer her financial assistance, scholarships, housing, drug counseling, whatever she needed to get away from this immoral lifestyle. Patty couldn't imagine a woman wanting to do such things unless there were pressing circumstances. In many - perhaps most - cases, she would doubtless have been correct.

But she hadn't watched the video of the protest, so Patty was unprepared when Sherry appeared from backstage. She was striking, not just for her beauty but her personality. Something about her spoke of - and directly to - the id. Patty drew a sharp breath, and began to suspect that this would be an even more challenging meeting than she'd anticipated.

Sherry strutted over to her table, acknowledging the hoots and whistles of the patrons with gay aplomb, and sat across from Patty with easy grace. She was topless, wearing only heels and lewdly meager panties. "What can I do for you, Mrs. Palmer?"

Forcing a smile she did not truly feel, she called out over the thumping music, "Call me Patty, please. I'm from Rock Baptist Church."

Sherry face betrayed a shift from mild curiosity to bored annoyance. "Oh, crap. Look, I don't think we have anything to..."

Patty interrupted. "Please, I'm not here to condemn you or anything like that. That's really not what we're about. I'd just like to talk."

A smidgeon of curiosity had returned to her expressive face. "So, talk."

"If you don't mind, I'd rather we discussed things somewhere else." A pause for breath; she wasn't quite shouting, but it was a very loud environment. "Perhaps we could meet for lunch tomorrow?"

Sherry considered that for a moment. Then she seemed to focus carefully on the pastor's wife, looking her up and down. There was no doubt what kind of study she was engaging in. Patricia had been ogled like that before, though never by a woman. Then Sherry looked her in the eye and said, "Why not now? You had dinner yet?"

Mrs. Palmer was now convinced that Sherry was under the influence of a sexual demon. But she reflected that all things worked to the Lord's purposes. If a perverted attraction was what He would use to lead this woman out of sin, so be it. "I don't want to get you into trouble with your job..."

Her answering grin was positively wicked. "They need me a lot more than I need them. Besides, it's only Wednesday. C'mon, let's go." Then she looked down at herself and giggled. "Well, okay, let me throw on some clothes first."

Not long thereafter Sherry drove them to a nearby restaurant. Patty was somewhat discouraged by the expensive sports car the girl was driving; financial assistance might not be the incentive she'd hoped. She didn't begin her pitch the moment they'd sat down at their booth. Being too pushy would turn people off. Instead, she gently pumped her for information; some intelligence would help her tailor the approach.

"As you know, our church doesn't exactly approve of the Corinthian." She essayed a rueful grin. Then, earnestly, "But please don't think that means we hate the people there. Far from it. All we want to do is help them avoid what we view as a mistake."

Sherry smiled back. "Fair enough. But you understand, I kind of disagree about the 'mistake' part. Like I said, I think you have it all wrong."

"Okay, then. How should we 'have it'?" Patty asked, trying to convey trustworthiness, an absence of judgement. She was quite skilled.

With that, Sherry began a monologue about life as a stripper. It was a tissue of lies, but truth was not her objective. The seduction proper had begun.

Mrs. Palmer would never have succumbed in ordinary circumstances. Her sexual tastes were quite in line with her moral beliefs. Sherry was certain that Patty found the idea of sex with another woman incomprehensible, distasteful, even disgusting. And her instincts in such matters were practically infallible.

But Sherry was astronomically far from ordinary. She was Eros personified, and her every thought and faculty and talent and ability was devoted entirely and unreservedly to sex and enticement and arousal. She could intuit, and exploit, the desires of anyone she set her sights on.

It started gradually, Sherry using the way she moved, the tone and pace of her voice, her choice of words, when she made eye contact and when she looked away. For Patty, there probably was no clear dividing line. As they talked, her subconscious attitude easily moved from "She's so pretty, it's a pity she's wasting her life so," to "No wonder the men fawn over her... what does she do with them?" to "What would it feel like to do those things with a man?" to "What would it feel like to do them with her?"

Sherry reached out and took the woman's hands in her own, gently stroking. Patty's heart leapt at the touch, and she was suddenly, finally aware of how excited, how wet she was; how she'd stopped talking herself, listening entranced to Sherry's almost hypnotic voice; how her thoughts had turned so completely to "I want to do things with her, dirty things, again and again..."

Sherry could see all this clearly, as it happened, with an exquisite animal sensitivity that was nearly telepathic. (Given her origin, perhaps on some level it was.) This was a critical moment. Patty was horrified at the extent of her own raw lust, and Sherry didn't want this 'Church Lady' to regain control of herself.

"I... I really... should..." Patty stammered.

Sherry put on a concerned expression, shading it just so, innocent and open, knowing it would entrance her victim even further. "Is something wrong, Mrs. Palmer? You look... I dunno... flushed or something."

"It's... I can't..." Words wouldn't come. Sherry continued to rub her hands, and it felt as though they were connected directly to her nipples, to her pussy, to her soul...

"Man, I think you need to lie down for a bit." A cute little frown. "My place isn't far."

Patty shivered, her heart galloping at the thought. But she despairingly (and greedily) understood that if she went home with Sherry, she would do... anything. Everything. And that was wrong... wasn't it? She gathered the scraps of her willpower, and pulled her trembling hands away.

"I really shouldn't," she stated with little conviction. "I mean, what would people think..."

"I understand," Sherry smiled sadly. "After all, Jesus never hung out with sinners."

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that... and He did..." She trailed off, confused, trying to get hold of herself. She had come to try to convert Sherry, and now... But she was a fine, upstanding citizen, she couldn't...

Patty realized no one would 'think' anything. No one would believe what she wanted to do, even if Sherry tried to tell anyone. The storm was inside her and she didn't believe it. Her sin would be hidden... "I'd love to go home with you." Sherry's deep eyes, her sudden sweet smile...

"...drinking pleasure with bestial avidity..."

Patty walked into the house in daze. She was more than half convinced she was asleep. She couldn't really be doing this, feeling this way, could she? And Sherry herself... something about her was so uncanny, so otherworldly, as if she belonged more to a dream than reality.

The stripper closed the door, and turned to face her directly. Patty started to mumble something. "You have a lovely home. I wouldn't have..." She trailed off. The girl's eyes were boring into her own. She couldn't think, looking into those eyes. Sherry came nearer, nearer. Not saying a word.

She almost said something then, but Sherry's hand brushed her face and left a warm trail behind, warmth that spread everywhere. Her breath was coming so fast, she leaned back against the wall. But the woman she'd come to save stepped forward and leaned in. Their breasts touched through their clothes, and for the first time in her life Patty found that inexpressibly erotic. Sherry's face was inches away, hovering. It was too far away. Compelled by forces she could scarcely acknowledge, she brought her lips to Sherry's.

The kiss might have appeared gentle, even tentative to an onlooker. But it was in that moment Patricia was lost. Sherry's lips, so tender, but still insistent... not like a man's, urgent but not needful...

The kiss deepened. So different from Michael's... her impudent, unashamed tongue... and now her hands, stroking... approving of what they found, but somehow not possessive... lustful but not territorial...

There was no resistance left in her, and reluctance had vanished long before she'd walked through the door. The two were embracing, exploring each other with impassioned caresses. She discovered with faint surprise that they had moved to the living room, and they had shed their purses and shoes. Sherry deliberately worked at Patty's dress, unzipping it, then easing it up and away. Patty stood, her only motion a shivering with desire, as the girl removed her bra with equal deliberation. It fell to the floor as Sherry's lips fell to the newly-revealed breasts. She gasped as an acrobatic tongue performed lazy somersaults across her nipples for several minutes.

Sherry stood up again and gazed once more into her eyes. This, too, was different - taking one's time, savoring the moments, not hurrying. She realized that all she was wearing were her panties. Sherry could see all of her, but she could not see Sherry's body. That was suddenly intolerable. She reached out and began undressing the girl with the compelling eyes.

The dress came off with a little work. Sherry's waist was so tiny, her clothes had to be custom tailored. But with a modicum of gentle tugging, she was released. Her breasts, firm and high despite their generous size, invited touch, and taste. Patty found herself suckling and licking another woman's nipples, and revelling in it. But then she looked further down.

Now she saw Sherry's underwear again. So small, but it covered what she needed to see. Patty knelt down, and reached forward, grasping the spaghetti straps across her hips, and pulled them down, and away.

She had never really seen an adult vagina, not even her own. The hair was fine, and seemed to naturally limit itself to a neat triangle; the labia were clearly visible. She felt herself drawn forward. She was conscious of the smell of Sherry's arousal, the same as her own, yet subtly different, too. In her keyed-up state it was darkly tantalizing. The thighs parted gently, invitingly. Before she was even fully aware of the impulse she was exploring that delightful pussy with her mouth.

It was exotic and enthralling. Patty was licking clumsily, hungrily, insatiably. Her nipples rubbed against Sherry's legs and she absently thought she could feel the juices from her own vagina dripping through her conservative panties. Sherry's hand stroked her hair, and she let out gentle sighs from time to time.

Then the dancer shuddered, crying out softly. After a time she stepped back and knelt down herself, and they traded impassioned kisses. Patty was frenzied, completely out of control. She fell slowly to the rug and laid on her back under Sherry's easy guidance. Then she felt the other woman pulling off the last of her clothing. Animal-like in her balanced poise, she dipped between Patty's legs and suddenly the world lurched as a woman's mouth touched her inflamed pussy.

It had been years since anyone had licked her down there. When she and Michael had been younger, early in their marriage, they had experimented more, but after a while... Sherry's lingual ministrations were stimulating her clitoris beyond endurance. Michael had nicknamed it her 'kitten' but now it was a tigress, roaring exuberantly, alive and hungry as never before.

Moments stretched, apart from time. As if she'd been carried along a raging stream but now had been thrown out over Niagara Falls, dropping down to the water so far below. She could feel the orgasm coming, like the ground rushing up to meet her, and she knew it would break her as completely as a literal impact.

And then she hit the wall. A hole was burned into her personal reality, the universe warped as she experienced literal convulsions of pleasure. Only afterward did she understand how violent it had been, by the aches in her joints, in her throat raw from screaming.

Her thoughts were streaking along in channels she'd never suspected lurked within her mind. She'd already come but Sherry wasn't stopping, she kept going, and it was going to happen again, she couldn't stand it, Michael always stopped but Sherry wouldn't stop, that tongue, and now oh God was that a finger in her asshole and oh God she was coming again oh God oh God oh God...

Sherry liked women for their stamina. They didn't have pricks, sure, but they didn't run out of steam as fast as men. And an uptight prig like Patty, who barely knew how to fuck and hadn't had a decent screw in her life... she had a lot bottled up. She'd last a while.

That was proven almost immediately. Following climaxes like those, any male would have been reduced to jelly for an extended period. But scarcely half a minute had passed before Patty was attacking her again, begging to be allowed to try fingering Sherry's rosebud.

It went on like that for hours, Patricia acting like a fawning, adoring puppy eager to do any trick her mistress commanded. She did things she'd never heard of, never conceived of, played with dozens of marvelously twisted, disgusting objects, and Sherry made her love every depraved second of it, doing things in front of, and with, and to this pagan goddess, this succubus.

"I must here speak by theory alone, saying not that which I know, but that which I suppose to be most probable."

Dawn found the two women still fucking furiously, at that point on the staircase leading up from the foyer by the front door. They had screwed in almost every other room in the cottage by now. Sherry was sitting with her legs spread, leaning back on the stairs. Patty knelt on a lower step, eating Sherry out while she busily frigged herself, working around the harness of the strap-on dildo she was wearing.

She was lurching in the throes of yet another volcanic orgasm when she heard the chiming of her phone. The ringtone was "Household of Faith", the song she had danced to with Michael at their wedding. An icy chill ran through her body, cutting short the pleasure. She stumbled down the stairs and picked up the purse she had dropped the night before. She pulled out her cell phone as the music died; there were fifteen unanswered messages.

The chill intensified as she looked down at the phallus jutting out of her own crotch. What had she been doing? What would Michael be thinking? He would be frantic, and she hadn't thought of him in hours, hadn't thought of anyone but herself and...

"Everything okay?" Sherry called down, casually. Even in the midst of her sudden, crushing guilt, when Patty looked up the stairs she was amazed at how sexy the girl was, at how much she still craved to just put the phone down and march back up to her... To sin again, and again...