You Claim To Crave Salvation, But I See The Way Your Eyes Wander. I See The Way You Gaze So Longingly

You claim to crave salvation, but I see the way your eyes wander. I see the way you gaze so longingly at my hands. I see how you can never seem to meet my gaze, how your eyes never seem to raise past my lips.

Would it help if I made you?

Would it help if I made you kneel before me? If I tied my cincture around your neck? Wrapping that holy cord around my hand until I can force you to tip your head up?

Then you could see the amusement in my gaze as I nudge your legs apart with the toe of my dress shoe, the patent leather pressing right where you need it most.

Would you want a private sermon then? Trying to hold back from grinding against my shoe? Of course, I wont make it easy on you. If I think you're getting a little too distracted I'll have to give the cincture a tug, forcing you up onto your knees before allowing you to settle back down.

You'd better be good sweetheart, or I might forget where I was. If that happens, well, I'll just have to start from the beginning.

You'd like that, wouldn't you?