The Celibacy Contract; Ninety Days Of Hunger.

They said prayer could fix me, but prayer doesn’t stop the fire burning between my thighs. When prayer didn’t work, they suggested therapy, well, that was a joke because I ended up fantasizing about humping my therapist every damn session. My mother once poured anointing oil on my bed sheets and told me to “anoint where the devil touches.” Well the comic relief was that, the next morning, the mattress was still wet from me, not the oil though. You see, I wasn’t always like this way. I used to be the girl who blushed at the word kiss. The church girl who saved herself, who sang in the youth choir, who prayed before bed and read the Psalms when she couldn’t sleep. Then two months at that church camp, two months I can’t even remember rewired me completely. Now I have Hypersexual Syndrome, some people call me a Nymphomaniac too, I guess that’s another word for it. But in lay man’s terms? Well I am just a s*x addict. Oh well, let me just dive straight into my story. It’s a Sunday morning, and of course the Bradley’s are in church. I’m sandwiched between my parents, Dad on one side, stiff as ever, and Mom pretending to be lost in the hymns. My younger siblings, Joy and Timothy, are sitting right next to her. It’s their little tactic to keep me from “corrupting the innocent ones.” The congregation’s stares are daggers, sharp, accusing, slicing through the back of my neck. Boom! I spot Neo, Dad’s godson walking down the aisle toward his seat and my breath catches. He looks taller, older somehow, and the way his shirt clings to his chest doesn’t help. My gaze dips lower, there’s a bulge straining against his trousers, and my mind goes blank. Heat floods me, rising fast. I bite my lower lip, hard, but it doesn’t stop the shiver running through me. My palms are slick with sweat. My throat feels dry. Damn it, I’m wet already. I glance sideways, well Dad’s watching me. His eyes are narrow, sharp, suspicious. “What now, Dawn?” he mutters under his breath. “Bathroom, Dad,” I whisper, my voice barely steady. “Please… can I use the bathroom?” He doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze drills into me, a silent sermon in one glance. Then, finally, he exhales through his nose. “Make it quick.” The restroom is small and dim, with flickering fluorescent lights and the faint smell of lavender soap. I lean against the wall, chest heaving, eyes stinging with frustration. It’s happening again. That restless, crawling hunger that no prayer, no pill, no therapist has ever silenced. I deep my middle finger inside my p***y and begin to thrust, I add another finger to fill the void, but it still doesn't feel like a man's hard c**k. I turn the faucet on and splash cold water on my face. It doesn’t help, my reflection stares back, flushed, sweating, eyes wide with guilt and something darker. My whole body is trembling, and then I hear footsteps, someone was pacing outside the restroom door. I freeze, the handle shifts slightly, then stills. A familiar voice hums low, hesitant. “Dawn? You okay in there? Your father asked me to check on you.” Neo! Damn it! The temptation I didn’t need right now. I open the door slightly, just enough to see him, white shirt, sleeves rolled up, a beautiful bulge between his trousers, eyes too kind for the cruel thoughts I have of him in my head. “My zipper,” I lie softly. “It’s stuck.” He hesitates, then steps inside. “You sure you’re okay? You look…” “Hot?” I cut him off, forcing a smile. My throat is dry. “Yeah. Just… a little dizzy.” He moves closer, the scent of soap and aftershave fills the air. For a second, the room feels too small for both of us, the tension is thick, almost visible. Neo clears his throat. “You should… uh… take a deep breath. You look flushed.” I slammed the door behind him, hands trembling, I push him into one of the toilets and luck the door. I shouldn’t be doing this, I shouldn’t even be near him, but my mind is fogged with something I can’t control. He reaches for the door trying to open it, but I cover the lid of the toilet seat and push him to sit down on it. His fingers brush my skin accidentally, trying to tell me to stop, it’s just a touch, but it’s enough. “Dawn…” he whispers. I kneel and unzip his trousers, and there it is, his huge hard c**k. He's about to say something to stop me, but I cut him short as soon as I swallow his d**k slowly with my moist mouth, and I swear he spoke in tongues. As I move my mouth in an up and down motion, my father’s anger waiting outside, the whispers of the church beyond the wall, and the pulse of temptation between us, everything combined even makes it more intriguing. He places his right hand on my head as I move back and fourth gulping his manhood. The river following in between my thighs is getting too much, so I get up, pull up my dress, shift my panties and dip his c**k in my in between, as I thrust, he screams and moans in ecstasy, so I place my right palm on his mouth to silence him. Just as I was about to climax, we heard footsteps by the corridor, and Neo fidgeted. Just then, my father’s voice echoes from the corridor, furious. “Dawn!” The single word from my father’s voice outside the door snaps through me like a whip on my ass. Neo freezes. So do I. The fire inside between my legs doesn’t die, it just hides under my skin, trembling. Neo gently helps me up, but the frustration in me is raw and electric and I beg him with the hunger in my eyes to at least let me c*m, but because of fear he lifts me anyway. In frustration I whisper. “Let me leave first. Don’t make a sound.” He nods. Dad’s banging on the door now, hard enough to shake the walls, each knock matches the pounding in my chest. I rush to fix myself, my hands shaking, trying to erase every trace of what just happened. The door bursts open. Dad’s eyes sweep across the restroom, sharp and searching. “Where’s Neo?” I swallow. “I don’t know, Dad. Probably back in the chapel.” “No. I sent him to check on you.” My throat is dry. “Maybe he went to the other restroom,” I murmur. He stares at me for a long, terrifying second before saying, “Let’s go.” I step out, my heart racing and my skin still feels like it’s on fire. I can barely breathe from the weight of everything unsaid, everything unfinished. I didn’t c*m and at this point I just wanted any c**k inside of me…