Bible Belt Bride Chapter 1

Bible Belt Bride Chapter 1

By Greg

As far back as I can remember, my family has always spent Thursday evenings at bible study. Then, we spent the better part of every Sunday morning at worship services. It wasn’t ever an option to skip a week. Momma made sure of that.

My name is Chastity-Lynn, but never call me that; I go by Lynn with all of my friends. The Chastity part was Momma’s idea. She probably thought that if I was constantly reminded of the virtue, I wouldn’t stray too far from the “path of righteousness.” Momma had a Bible verse for any occasion. If you didn’t clear your dinner plate you sinned against God by wasting. If you ate too much, your sin was gluttony. Really, pretty much anything you did, you were in peril of going right straight to hell for it.

I had two brothers, Matthew and Mark. Yeah, I know, but at least those names didn’t draw the wisecracks I got. I thought my name was cute until about the sixth or seventh grade. Then, I discovered what it actually meant. I spent most of high school answering only to Lynn. By graduation, my body had gone through the “changes,” as Momma called them. I was now in immediate danger of going to hell if I showed the slightest bit of my sexuality. Make-up was the “devil’s paintbrush,” you know. And any figure-revealing clothing was outright scandalous, as I would only invite a rape, and that would be my fault. Both my rapist and I would spend all eternity in a fiery hell for my vile act.

Momma’s most intense treatment was focused on my papa. He was a lineman for the local electrical co-op. He reluctantly followed us all to services just to spare us the lecture and ass-chewing that would surely follow if he didn’t comply. I got along great with Papa. Momma always said I took after his side of the family anyway. Papa spent most of his off-work hours holed up in the tool shed he had built. It was just a garage, maybe a hundred feet from the house. He mostly used it as a workshop for car or tractor repairs. Many of his friends would stop by and shoot the breeze with him as he fixed their engine problems. He was the local go-to guy for fixing things. He always had to be hollered at for dinner.

After high school graduation, most of my friends went off to college. No one in my family had ever gone that way yet. My grades and talents would not have gotten me far with any more schooling. I was destined to follow the ones that would stay behind and just get on with life.

I took a job at the local grocery and started making pretty good money as a cashier. As a cashier, it was expected that I had to look nice for the customers. This got me into some heated arguments with Momma over my choice of clothing. A form-fitting shirt and dark slacks were the store’s rules. So, I often left the house with the slacks undone just to give the appearance of looseness. I pulled my shirt out and down over my hips just to deflect attention. Before reaching work, I’d tuck in my shirt and zip the pants up tight. The grocery store I worked at was only about a ten-minute walk from home. Walking saved me the expense of a car.

Only If Momma was off on some church function, was it safe to leave the house dressed properly. Papa didn’t see the harm. In fact more than once he commented on just how filled out I was becoming. I took this as a compliment. I never heard anything positive like that from Momma.

One evening I had to stay late at work. It was inventory time, and everyone had to stick around until the job was finished. Momma was furious and called the store manager about keeping a young girl out past dark. I was so totally embarrassed, and the manager seemed not to want to get involved. I promised her to be with co-workers when I left. I felt so ashamed, but finally the task was finished. It wasn’t a far walk, and I had grown up in the area and saw no problem with a walk after dark.

As I approached our house, I saw the lights in the work shed still on. I knew Papa was probably still working on some project. For no particular reason, I just got the urge to walk around back to the rear window. I thought I would get a glimpse of Papa elbow-deep in an engine or something. Maybe I would spook him by tapping on the window or something.

As I approached the rear window, the ratty curtains were drawn partially closed. The curtains were old kitchen ones my mom had changed out. Papa recovered them and used them to block some of the sunlight in the shed during the day. They didn’t really fit the entire window. As I approached the window, I could see Papa sitting over in a corner of the garage in an old recliner. We kids had worn it out years ago, but Papa always recycled everything. Papa was sitting leaned-back in the chair with a magazine held up in-front of his face. His pants were pulled down to about his knees, and his one fist was stroking away at his cock.

I was so shocked. I don’t know what possessed me to stand there in the dark and continue to watch him, but I did. I knew he had never figured someone might spy on him, but I just couldn’t pull myself away. I stood there in the darkness and watched as he thrust his hips upward. His fist would change speed, and every so often he would pause, pull at the shaft, and let it stand upward. He would grab it at the very end and twist at it, then stroke hard at it some more.

The girls in school had always talked and laughed about guys doing this. I figured both my brothers did it too, but I never figured that my papa would still be doing it at his age. I had just never considered Papa as a person with sexual needs. I guess most daughters don’t.

My mouth became dry instantly. I couldn’t look away. This was something I knew I would always remember, and I guess I just wanted to gather in every detail. Papa moved the magazine and flipped to a new page. He resumed a steady beat. Stroke after stroke, he continued to work at rubbing his cock. I had never considered what a man’s cock actually looked like, especially one that was being used for sex. I knew enough from friends, but that was all just girl talk. This was an actual cock being worked.

I had been at the window for maybe less than five minutes when suddenly Papa started jerking his hips rapidly. His fist seemed to crush the end part, and instantly a rope of white cream seemed to leap out of the end of it. Several more spurts followed and landed back in his lap. The hand holding the magazine shook so badly that he finally had to put it down. His hips were still convulsing. Several puddles of the goo had landed back on his fist, and he was using it to lubricate his hand. He kept on going. His grip seemed to look as if he were trying to choke off the flow of cream. His face seemed all wretched in agony.

Okay, this is the sickest thing ever, but I gotta say it. I enjoyed watching this. I couldn’t help myself. The feelings stirring in my body were incredible. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. My breathing had dried my mouth to the point where I couldn’t wet it again. My heartbeat was racing. I could feel my own heartbeat pounding inside of my head. I couldn’t even feel my legs. Something was happening in my body that I had never felt before. My hands were quivering. I knew it wasn’t fear. I felt sweat forming on my forehead. My face flushed with an intense heat from within. Worst of all, I realized I had been unconsciously pressing one hand between my legs in time with his thrusts.

Papa stayed there, slowly rubbing the goo all over his dick. It seemed smaller and bent more easily. His face looked drained and weak, and yet very satisfied. He stayed that way for several minutes. Finally, he grabbed a rag to try to clean up the mess he had made.