What Angels Must Feel Like When They Fly

Content Warning: Religious imagery and sex

Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body.

1 Corinthians 6:18

She had been tossing and turning in her bed for hours. Lying on her back, she stared at the ceiling in the dark. Her hands were kept safe tightly under her back and she tried not to move. She had been experiencing the restless feeling again, the one that made her ache in places that only a husband was allowed to touch. She kept reminding herself of what the good Father had said. Staying chaste would make her more desirable. She was in her early twenties and everyone expected her to marry soon. She hoped deeply that soon would come soon indeed.

She couldn’t stay in bed anymore, she had to move. Her restless mind, her restless body, needed to be kept busy or she wouldn’t be able to keep her promise. With trembling hands she reached for the nightlight and lit the candle. She was wearing her white nightgown and slipped into her boots. It was the middle of the night and she knew she would have her peace if she went to pray. She put on the coat that was carefully hung up at the back of her bedroom door, grabbed the rosary from night table, and found the keys to her room in the maids’ quarters of the estate. And off she went on her her way to the chapel on the grounds.

A thick mist covered the grass when she walked over the wet ground. Spring was approaching and she breathed in the fresh air as if it was the first breath she had ever taken. The cold awoke her senses and she felt more at ease in her body again. Other sensations than the overwhelming need crawling in between her legs, crept over her. The wet grass touching her naked ankles, the cold hair tickling her face, the wind dancing past her ears.

Reaching the chapel, she felt strengthened in her trust in her abilities to abide the Lord’s wishes. She would need to control herself, she would need to wait. And she could, if only the wait would have a foreseeable end. She needed touch. She needed relief. A sigh escaped her mouth as she climbed the three steps that led to the door of the chapel. She opened the heavy door to the small room, and closed it behind her again.

The room was dimly lit by a torch on each side of the altar in front of her. Four short wooden benches were neatly placed so one could face the statue of Jesus on the stone altar when sitting and contemplating in prayer. She stared at the statue and sighed again. She would need to pray very hard because this night had so far been quite a difficult one. She could not control her urges anymore. Her natural instincts were in an open battle with her need for obeying the rules that she had been taught.

She slowly walked to the front of the room and sat down on the bench closest to the altar. She took off her coat and could now feel the cold of the wood through the thin fabric of her nightgown. A shiver ran over her. The sensation was both pleasing and uncomfortable. The rosary clenched in her hands, she leaned back and closed her eyes. She tried to go deep inside her mind and find the strength to follow the Lord’s words. But her mind didn’t focus on what she had come to the chapel for. Instead, she felt the weight of her rosary’s cross on her right thigh. The fabric of her gown barely saved her from the cold of the silver. She opened her eyes and looked down. The silver on the white, her round thigh showing through the white cotton. She swallowed.

She carefully placed the rosary on her thigh and looked up at the statue. Why would God create needs if they can’t be met? Why would he torture me so? She was trying to reason with her body, with the urge to touch herself. “Ah!”, she exclaimed and desperately pushed her fist against her heaving chest. The sensation was too much for her to take, and her fingers slowly relaxed and started gently rubbing her hard nipples through her dress. She sighed and leaned back again. She opened the bow that kept the top part of the gown in place, and pulled down the fabric.

She caressed her nipples and started massaging her breasts gently. Sliding forward a bit on the wooden bench, the rosary moved from her thigh onto her pelvis. The pressure made her shiver. The need to touch where she shouldn’t touch grew stronger. Her hands wandered down her body and she pulled up the gown, exposing her nether regions to the cold of the chapel. Her right hand held on to the rosary now dangling down her inner thigh, the silver shining on her skin, golden in the light of torches.

The other hand found its way in between her lips, two fingers spreading them open while a third started circling her clit. A loud moan escaped the innocent girl as she finally experienced what she had been craving for so long. Her eyes opened and she looked into the face of the Jesus status observing her. Minutes ago, she would have felt an overwhelming shame just imagining being naked and needy in front of the Lord, but now she found the thought arousing. She had made her decision. She was naughty, not good. And she wanted to show him just how naughty she could get.

She was now rubbing her button, letting go and taking in all the beauty of what was happening to her body, and to her mind. She clenched to the cross of the rosary, spread her legs wider and pushed the longer end inside herself. Her wetlands welcomed the silver ship and allowed it to ride on its waves, warming up the cold cross. Now pleasing herself with what had giving her spiritual pleasure so many times, she felt the want for relief increase. She pushed harder, she rubbed faster. Ferociously, her hands worked on getting her closer to what she had been craving for so long.

The relief surprised her with its strength and beauty. Wave after wave of intense pleasure made her body twitch, her hands covered in her own juices, she let out a scream of absolute ecstasy. Still quivering, she opened her eyes again. She became aware of where she was, and pulled down her nightgown and quickly tightened the bow on her chest again. She sat up straight, looked at the statue in front of her and held onto the wet cross in her hands. Closing her eyes, she started mumbling a prayer of gratitude: “Thank you Lord for giving me the tools to experience divinity in new forms, and allowing my body and soul to feel what angels must feel like when they fly. Amen.”