Forgive me father for I have sinned.

Hate! I'm your hate when you want love. I'm your pain when you can't feel, I'm your truth telling lies, I'm inside open your eyes, I'm you. 
If it's not a sin to feel the euphoria that we all feel when we fall in love, why is it a sin to enjoy the euphoria we feel when we are turned on? Nobody can help the feelings they have. We only live once why not enjoy the emotions our bodies naturally produce? I am not one to filter myself especially when it comes to emotions. I am animated and dramatic and the world will feel how I feel. Sometimes your emotions are expected to be hidden because the other sinners hide theirs to be pure in the eyes of the Lord. No matter who I'm hiding it from, I have a hard time at it. I am passionate and I'm not ashamed.

Elizabeth was a timid, follower with kind eyes that taught Sunday school. She enjoyed it, had many friends and was content with her boring husband who is the Deacon of the Church. Not that he had authority but being the Deacons wife brought attention to Elizabeth. She enjoyed it. Everyone was sure to smile and wave when they seen Elizabeth and they admired her ankle length dress and flat shoes. Her blouse tucked in and buttoned to her collar bone. She had the prettiest smile with those dimples and piercing blue eyes. 

But Liz was the opposite.  Behind closed doors, thoughts that would make Satan blush radiated from her seductive baby blues. She was filled with an emptiness that she had no one to fill. Her husband enjoyed their routine sexual relation; missionary with his shirt on, no foreplay, lasting about four minutes, five on a good day. Liz, on the other hand, wanted to be picked up and thrown. Tied up and held down. Twisted around into position. Liz wanted to be dominated. 

Elizabeth would be embarrassed to even think these things around the Deacon. Such thoughts would most definitely get her a disappointed lecture from him; Elizabeth, I urge you to go to confesional. His words making her feel ashamed yet aroused at the same time. Her words would open the floodgates; spilling the urges and desires she kept buried deep. Buried for good reason. This is her story.

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Own My Gussets

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