The Red Thong That Went To Church

My companion and I arrived just after the call to worship. We slid into the aisle end of the third pew from the back, lucky to have found such prime real estate. Typically, all of the end seats were taken before the song leader could clear his throat. To be late and not have to step over feet that were comfortable and on time was lucky, no blessed.

As the congregation arose to join in hymn, I began removing my jacket, delaying my rise. Just as I was about to stand my eyes locked in on it. I looked around to see if anyone else noticed the debauchery that was before me. With their heads buried into hymnals, no one shared my horror. The sin threatened to expose the reason for my tardiness or my escapades the night before.

I stood slowly, locking glare with the red thong, afraid to look away but too ashamed to continue in my stare. Trimmed in black lace, the intimate apparel was personified into the image of a frowned face. The lace was fuzzy tamed eyebrows and the dents in her cheeks were squinted eyes. Where the white, un-lined slacks with no hosiery gathered in the crack of her butt, a thin crooked nose morphed into a frown.

As the deer panted for the water, the thong tauntingly peered at me. Angered at its visibility or being stuck in such an unholy (depending on how you look at it) position, it engaged me in conversation. I nudged my neighbor and he quickly wrapped his arm around me in an attempt to be chivalrous. Or so I assumed. As I leaned over to warn him of the threat before us I realized that his chivalry was out of fear of being caught in his own fixation.

Instantly, as if my eyes were washed with mud and visibility restored, I discovered that what I saw as a scowl was actually the sexy image of bedroom eyes, dimples and luscious lips enticing my mate with its promise of sensuality. The temptress taunted the beige granny panties beneath my black, wool, lined pants and nude stockings and my derriere tensed at the idea of being forced to wear such an iniquity.

We were prompted to sit and within minutes I was able to focus on the message and not the seducer crushed against the crushed red velvet of the church pew. All was well in the world when the white, un-lined slacks erected abruptly. It beckoned my attention but I buried my view into the text and silenced its sultry call by reading the words aloud, in my head. I held my breath in the moments of its absence knowing it would once again tease me upon its return.

When the white slacks emerged, I nervously laughed out of shock over its third transformation in the ninety minutes we were together. The alluring red thong was now nothing more than a pair of red, cotton briefs with black, cotton trim. The relieved expression proved they didn’t want my man any more than they wanted to harass me. They only wanted to be freed from the depths of their imprisonment.

I smiled at the panties and they smiled back and my own panties exhaled.


3 thoughts on “The Red Thong That Went To Church

  1. You come up with things to write about! I would’ve just told her that she needed to pull her shirt down or pants up! I would’ve made her feel the same way I felt!

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