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Literary Smut

The Waitress Is a Harlot

"Do you think our waitress is a cutie? Huh? Would you like it if I had breasts like those ones she has, all big and round and wobbly?"

Sometimes Cindy goes off the deep end about stuff--telling the truth about everything she observes and thinks about I mean, which I don't think is a very Christian thing to do. I still love her. Sometimes, though, she keeps yapping until it annoys me. I have to work on my attitude. It's not right.

Cindy was on a roll, "Ya know what? I could see her nips. They're big and dark brown. She shouldn't wear a shirt like that if she's not going to wear a bra. It gets all distorted so you can peek right in the gap between the buttons."

"Our waitress is a harlot," Cindy concluded.

"I'm glad you're not a loose woman," I said, stroking her arm and grateful for the safety of faint praise.

"I bet she shaves her whatzits," Cindy offered, placing her hand over mine. "I know she sunbathes without a top..."

Now she had me going. I fiddled with my fork. Our waitress was one of God's more inspired creations; I'd give her that. I didn't know what to say. Finally, all I could think of was "I think Tammy Fay plucks her eyebrows."

"It's not the same. Maybe a sin, but a mild one that God, in his perfection, would overlook, I'm sure."

Cindy's cheeks turned a bit pinkish, like the surface of one of God's ripe peaches, the kind you don't find in the supermarket any more. She fiddled with her napkin. It was paper, of course, so it made that scratchy sound.

"Here she comes. Behave!" admonished Cindy, slaping my thigh to put a fine point on it.

In the distance I could see the waitress laden with a couple plates, her hips swiveling toward our table, chest jiggling all the way. She stopped in front of Cindy to slide the strawberry short stack under her moist and waiting eyes, then took a sidestep to position herself directly in front of me, clutching my plate in both hands while beaming like a child.

She bent at the waist, graceful as an olympic skater. "And the giant stack with three big sausages for the....gentleman," she cooed with exaggerated grace, watching my eyes intently as she lowered the plate before me. I knew it wasn't right, but I couldn't help but glance toward her cleavage. God help me, if that was the valley of sin in between those soft and perfect mountains of hot jelloness, then I suddenly wanted something of mine to be trapped in there. I felt myself sliding uncontrollably into the damp confines of carnal sin. Understanding that our waitress was a harlot and had therefore induced these unnatural feelings in me as an agent of the devil was my only comfort.

When I looked up, she was smiling. Before she turned to go, she licked her lips as if something on the corner of her mouth was bothering her. She had the longest and pinkest toungue I'd ever seen.

I'm sure it was less than a second after the waitress turned to leave before Cindy hissed into my ear, "she is like totally harlotsville! She shaves for sure."

What does one say? I tried "why don't you ask, if it bothers you so?"

Cindy put her index finger on her cute little chin and thought for a minute. "No, you silly. She'd think I was asking advice. She'd have to drag me into the women's room, yank up her skirt, spread her legs and show me her thingy and how it's all smooth and stuff. She's such a wanton woman that she'd probably make me touch it while she babbled on about the dirty details, like what razor she used, what creme she rubbed in before coming to work. She does not posess one bit of shame, I'll bet, even while she erases the intelligent design of the Creator with her razor. She probably even enjoys being touched by a younger girl."

There was something oddly exciting about Cindy's smutty extrapolations from such tiny slivers of observable evidence. And why she began dragging her hand over my upper thigh at that exact moment I don't know, but my instinct was to push it away before she found out the gross result of the sinfullness playing nakedly inside my brain.

I thought about asking her to pray with me for forgiveness for the lusty movie God could undoubtably see playing inside my head, and was in the process of thinking about Jesus' staunch admonition against public prayer when Cindy suddenly pointed toward our waitress bending over a nearby table to deliver a hot fudge sundae. "Lookie! Think she wears panties?"

I decided to play along. "I'll bet not, although with today's thongs, you can hardly tell from a distance. It'd serve the harlot right if that unshaven fat dude finishing up the short stack lifted the back of her dress and started teaching her a lesson--then I caught myself and recovered nicely--about making a baby..."

Cindy broke into a vacuous grin, "Right. She'd like look back and say, 'oh, yeah. I was wondering how I was going to fit that activity in. It's so busy today."

Then it happened. Cindy had been inching her hand up my thigh when she hit it--you know, that lump.

"Honeybunch! You're all....engorged!" Cindy whispered loudly. Her big, almond eyes snapped open to emphasize her surprise. Her fingers drummed against my engorgement. That didn't help. Unless you have a really disgusting idea of "help."

"Honey, do you think we'd better go home and take care of this?"

"I can't right now, Precious."

"Can't you hide it?"

"It's not like they give you a to-go box for it."

Cindy giggled. Then she leaned into me, "If you wanna know something, I'm kinda wet down there, you know."

"You can tell that?"

"Yuppers, Captain."

I had visions of clear liquid glistening on the fuzzy insides of her slender thighs. Heaven help me. It's not nice to have this stuff inside you head. Well, it's nice but in a perverted way that God doesn't like, according to dour authorities.

As if my lascivious thoughts weren't enough, the harlot waitress trundled over at that exact moment. What timing. "Ya two lovebirds gonna have dessert? she asked, order pad at the ready.

Cindy quickly pulled her hand away, leaving me rather exposed. The slut's eyes burrowed into my crotch, taking the measure of a man, no doubt.

Cindy glared at the waitress, then followed her eyes back to my lap.

Cindy jumped. "Sorry," she blurted out suddenly, remorse making the word come out on top of a sort of squeak.

"Hey, hon, you don't have to apologize to me. Just take it into the bathroom if you're gonna take it any farther, ok?"

Cindy turned red as a Ferrari. The waitress scribbled the total on the bill and ripped it from the pad, a wry smile on her lips the whole time. "Y'all have a very nice afternoon...like I know you will," she cooed, giving me a wink before she bent way down to hand me the bill.

Cindy slammed down a twenty and popped from the booth like she'd been ejected by an errant and powerful spring, then grabbed my arm and tugged. "Just walk right behind me. Nobody will see," she hissed.

I thought it prudent to get as close to Cindy as I could as we waddled unnaturally out of the pancake house, back to front. I swear she hesitated a little each step so that I sorta mashed myself against her backside. But I knew that wasn't Cindy. That was the harlot's doing.The sin of lust has many unseen tentacles.

When we got to the car, Cindy pushed me into the driver's seat and ran around to get in the other side. I couldn't get the keys out of my pocket. No matter, it wasn't more than three seconds after Cindy closed her door before her lips were fastened to mine, and her tongue--posessing a vigor so intense one would think it was on steroids--slithered into my mouth and began a frantic exploration. While all this was going on, Cindy was flopping around trying to jerk her panties off her cute, seated self.

She had her lips stuck to my face for so long I had to open my eyes to check her condition. Her angelic face sported cheeks red as a Macintosh. Then her breath started coming out in odd, strangled snorts. Several times our teeth smashed together before she got the panties down past her knees. It didn't matter, I would still love her if our dental work had shattered into expensive stumps.

Still lip-locked, I reached over to grab her panties. That's when she opened her eyes. We had an odd pantomime going for a while before she slipped one leg out and extended the other over the gearshift, dangling the panties provocatively in my direction.

Funny, but I could smell sex. That's never happened before. Not in the car, anyway.

I admired her coltish legs for a moment before drawing the panties off her delicate toes. They were damp. The panties, too. The crotch, in fact, was sopping.

Cindy's tongue seemed to be loosing some of its zeal as she tried to figure out what I wanted with her underwear. I held them up between us. I could practically see Cindy through the crotch. I guess it was a combination of the wetness and Cindy's frugality--she never threw anything away, even if threadbare.

Finally, out of breath, we broke off the kiss. All around her mouth it was wet and pinkish. "We have to make a baby, now!" she huffed.

"We're in a parking lot. I don't think we are supposed to do it right here," I reminded her.

I turned, found the keys and started up the Buick, slamming it into reverse and peeling out into the exit lane. When I looked over, Cindywas clutching her panties in her fist, holding them against her burning cheeks. I envied her the fragrance.

We were a good half hour from the house, so I headed for the creek. I drove all the way until the front wheels started sinking into the goop. Cindy looked at me like I was crazy, but her apprehension seemed to drain away when I led her over to lie down besides the still waters, urging her softly to the mossy banks before slowly sliding her skirt up over her silky thighs. Cindy looked at me lovingly, then leaned up and began grappling with my belt, yanking, tugging, whipping it out of its loops while I gazed back lovingly at her, all naked from the waist down, the insides of her thighs clearly smeared with lusty moisture.

Zip. We were now ready to make a baby. When I looked into Cindy's eyes I knew it was the right thing, what we were about to do--I knew it was good that we had weathered the temptation of the harlot, whose cherub-like face might have been haunting me as I slid my baby-maker inside my one and only true love, my legally bound woman--but I'm not saying for sure because at that moment I had to concentrate on not spilling my seed on the backstroke. Not a drop wasted on the ground, a sin punishible by death according to the Bible! I shuddered at the thought.

"You're not thinking of the harlot's, um, attributes, are you?" asked Cindy. "I'll bet she's in the ladies, thinking about you, her hand strumming, well, you know..."

"No dear, I'm not," I said in as convincing a voice as a man can have under the circumstances. Then a thought bubble exploded above my head--the harlot wasn't an agent of the devil, but was instead a lovely apparition speaking through Cindy to induce us to make another of God's creatures on a moment's notice. I was ready--with a renewed vigor...

Cindy was ready, too, and well-lubricated. I told you that already. My piston glided into her as if riding on greased silk. My mind was almost empty now--the harlots fingers casting an ominous cloud over the smooth, modified expanse of soft, pink flesh barely made an appearance. Undulations followed, hips flying, body soon to succumb to a quaking. I exploded, finally, close to her womb, as targeted. I ground into her even after the spewing, corking her against the sin of wasted seed. Minutes later, still entwined, still corked, Cindy began herself to quake, her curly hair rasping against my groin. Spasmotic she was, speaking as if in tongues. Then heavenly bliss painted her face. It was then I knew we were successful. Praise be. She panted. Her chest heaved. It was a good chest, I thought.

There were sheep, too, in the nearby green pastures, carefully guarding several lambs stumbling about on wobbly legs. They seemed to grin, unaware we make stew out of them in the end.

(This story was inspired by a blueprint for Christian Porn (yes, it's true). Find out more at A Proposal for Christian Porn.)

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