Agatha’s. He was also in charge of religious instruction. Every lesson with him gave birth to new images in my mind, each thought more depraved and ...xciting than the last. I still remember how damp my knickers would get during his lectures, how my thighs would involuntarily squeeze together every time he looked at me while he preached of floods and famine and hellfire. I lived for that discomfort.I used to watch him; observe the way he interacted with the other girls, looking for signs. I was. I looked over at him with innocent eyes and continued until my hand was gripping his growing cock through his trousers. He gasped initially but continued to concentrate on the road. I could tell in his eyes that he would struggle to say no to me – he always had and I could guess he wanted to know what I would do next and how far I would let this voyeurism go. It was still quite light outside on that summer evening, so I slowly moved my hand up my thigh and pulled down my French knickers, lacy. More

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