Silent Promises, Sacred Births

The oppressive silence of the church had clung to us like a shroud, a constant reminder of the vows we’d made, the purity we’d pledged. We’d entered into marriage as fresh-faced, innocent souls, utterly unprepared for the complexities, and frankly, the sheer pleasure, of a shared life. The thought of sex had been a distant, almost frightening concept, whispered about in hushed tones, something strictly reserved for the altar. But as the months passed, a potent curiosity, fueled by youthful desire and a growing realization that our vows were meant to be fulfilled, began to consume us. We devoured every piece of forbidden knowledge we could find, poring over tattered magazines and dog-eared books, desperate to understand the mechanics of pleasure. The missionary position, deemed acceptable by our zealous elders, became our sole focus, a rigid and awkward dance that offered little in the way of satisfaction.

The first time, on our wedding night, was a painful, clumsy affair. We were so nervous, so inexperienced, that our efforts felt more like a desperate plea than a passionate embrace. The honeymoon, meant to be a sacred celebration of our union, was a frustrating exercise in restraint, a constant battle against our own burgeoning lust. It wasn't until we moved into our small, sunny apartment that we began to truly explore the possibilities of our newfound freedom. The anonymity of our surroundings, coupled with the weight of our hidden desires, allowed us to shed the shackles of our previous inhibitions. We discovered the intoxicating joy of shared intimacy, the exquisite pleasure of exploring each other's bodies, and the undeniable connection that only comes from surrendering to the primal urges we’d long suppressed.

The act of conception became a perverse game, a strange blend of religious devotion and unbridled lust. We’d shower together, a ritualistic cleansing before our nightly prayers, whispering fervent pleas to God for guidance and blessings. The thought of creating a new life, of fulfilling the divine command to be fruitful and multiply, filled us with an almost religious fervor. We found immense satisfaction in our physical prowess, seeing our bodies as instruments of God’s will. Nakedness, once a source of shame, became an act of defiance, a celebration of our shared sensuality. The sun streaming through our windows, bathing us in golden light, seemed to amplify our desires, transforming our small apartment into a sanctuary of forbidden pleasures.

But my concerns about the excessive leakage of semen during our attempts at conception persisted. The church’s teachings, combined with the limited information available, left me feeling increasingly anxious. The idea that I might be unable to conceive, that our efforts might be futile, gnawed at my soul. When Will, with a rare moment of vulnerability, confessed to the overwhelming amount of fluid released during our intimate moments, my fears were confirmed. He examined me meticulously, a strange mixture of tenderness and clinical detachment in his eyes. He couldn’t deny the evidence before him: the relentless outpouring of his seed, a testament to his arousal and a potential impediment to our shared dream.

“It’s quite a lot, isn’t it?” he murmured, his voice laced with concern. “But don’t worry, my love. It’s perfectly normal.” His reassurance, however, did little to quell my anxieties. The thought of being unable to bear a child, of failing to fulfill our vows, was unbearable. So, on the day we decided to abstain from sex in anticipation of conception, I took matters into my own hands. As we knelt together, praying for guidance, I subtly shifted my position, bringing my vulva closer to his face. The scent of his arousal, the heat radiating from his body, intensified my desire, pushing me past the boundaries of propriety.

He noticed my proximity, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "You look lovely to me," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Very healthy and very nice." His words, meant as a compliment, felt like a cruel reminder of my predicament. I dismissed his reassurance, my focus solely on the overwhelming pleasure that threatened to consume me. My legs involuntarily spread, a desperate attempt to enhance the sensation, to draw him closer, to somehow counteract the relentless flow of his seed.

He recognized my struggle, a knowing glint in his eyes. Without a word, he reached around my bum, his hand brushing against my pussy. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through my body, intensifying my throbbing clitoris. He slid his hand up, gently squeezing my erect pleasure center. The sensation was exquisite, overwhelming, a chaotic blend of pleasure and panic. Despite my discomfort, I couldn’t resist the urge to moan, a primal sound that echoed through our small apartment.

Will continued his ministrations, his touch both gentle and insistent. He seemed determined to find pleasure despite my awkward position, his arousal clearly not diminished by the constant leakage. It was then that I realized the absurdity of our situation, the bizarre intersection of religious devotion and unbridled lust. We were playing God, experimenting with the very essence of creation, all while clinging to the remnants of our former innocence.

Finally, we decided to abandon our prayers and surrender to our desires. As we lay entangled in bed, the heat of our bodies radiating through our clothes, I realized that our shared experience had transformed us, stripping away the last vestiges of our former selves. The thought of conceiving, of creating a new life together, filled me with a sense of both excitement and trepidation.

As I gazed at Will, his face flushed with arousal, I couldn’t help but smile. We had come so far, overcome so many obstacles, just to reach this moment of shared intimacy. The overflowing semen, once a source of anxiety, now felt like a symbol of our passion, a testament to our unyielding desire. We were no longer the innocent souls who had entered into marriage, but rather two adults, fully aware of the pleasures and responsibilities that lay ahead. And as we prepared to give ourselves to each other, I knew that our love, born in secrecy and nurtured in defiance, would be a force to be reckoned with. The sun continued to stream through our windows, casting long shadows across the room, as we lay there, lost in the throes of our shared pleasure. The world outside faded away, leaving only us, united by our lust, our love, and our unwavering commitment to each other.

Did you like this story? Silent Promises, Sacred Births look, but like these, here Story taboo sex.