My name is Ezra Vasher.
And I’m the worst kind of sinner.
Pray for me.
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“What if women can’t arouse me?”
“We find ways for you to adapt, so you can have children.”
“How can I stifle desires I might have otherwise?” It wasn’t a sincere question. I was stalling. For what reason, I didn’t know. My would-be bride was the last thing I wanted to discuss, though. I knew that was the purpose of these meetings. But I thought it had evolved.
“There are ways. Various therapies. I know a little, but never cultivated an interest for further study. I can if you request it.”
I wasn’t remotely interested in any sort of therapy that was meant to alter the way God made me. Sorcery was a sin, last I checked. “Then what do you plan to do?”
He smiled. “Are you aroused right now?”
I watched his eyes move down to my trousers. I made a point to adjust. “Yes.”
“When you take your wife for the first time, do you know what to do to make her ready, so it doesn’t hurt?”
I shook my head. I really didn’t know much at all. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
“I know you don’t. Unbutton your trousers, Ezra.”
Well, this little experiment wasn’t going to be accurate now. Certainly he knew that. I unbuttoned, but I didn’t mess with the zipper. He would need to be explicit. Though I couldn’t stop my thumb tracing my length as it pressed against my hand, patient, but needy.
“I’m going to blindfold you, Ezra. It will heighten your other senses.”
Oh. Well. Interesting. I closed my eyes as he stood, and a minute had passed when I felt cool silk cover my eyes and tied behind my head.
I heard a chair being moved behind me, and felt the inside of his left thigh press up against mine. I felt his breath on my neck and I bared my throat. Neither of us had expected that, but I didn’t move.
A moment later, his wet lip touched my neck, and he spoke. With every word and every exhalation, his lip pressed, pushed, and slid without apology. I couldn’t concentrate, but I resolved myself to try.
“There’s actually not much you can do to make it hurt less that first time.”
I wanted to express how unfair that was and how I would likely be incapable of hurting Naomi on purpose, but that would be stupid. I might tell him later, when his lips weren’t on me.
“God puts a small layer of skin there, and when you enter her, it painfully rips the skin away. Even if you go slow. The blood on your cock tells you she’s a virgin. In His design, He meant for it to hurt.” I felt his tongue as he licked his lips.
And it completely distracted me from my horror and disgust.
“It likely won’t hurt again, but she’ll remember. Are you still aroused Ezra?”
I was, but how silly that he thought I might not be. Unless he just wanted to hear it from my lips. “Yes.”
“Mmm,” he said, both lips touching me for a split second. “When I was in seminary, it was argued that if she enjoyed it, she was possessed by Satan.”
Arden Aoide lives in San Antonio, Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and three cats. Turn ons include men who cry during sex, long walks on the beach, and talking about herself in the third person. Turn offs include mean people and trying to figure out how to write an interesting author bio.
She doesn’t write about the typical men you normally read about in erotic romance novels. She likes her men brainy and just this side of manic.
She’s an introvert, she loves coffee, Internet, British television, and pot stickers. And pie. She loves pie.