Ben's lips parted, but no words came out. His pulse thundered in his ears.

He managed a shaky nod, barely visible. “What do you mean, help?”

Claire’s gaze held his, steady and calm. She didn’t rush.

“You know what the rules are,” she said. “You know what’s considered off-limits.”

He nodded, slowly. “Vaginal sex. Before marriage. It’s a sin.”

“Exactly. That’s the line. That’s the thing they build the purity talks around. The vows. The accountability checklists. That one act.”

She paused, letting the silence settle between them again before continuing.

“But that’s not the only way to feel close to someone. It’s not the only way to relieve pressure.”

Ben frowned slightly, unsure. “But they also said that pleasuring yourself was wrong, a sign of weakness and poor morals. You’re saying there’s a loophole?”

Claire’s lips twitched somewhere between amusement and something gentler.

“I’m not suggesting masturbation. I’m saying ‘intercourse’ means one thing to them. But there are other ways. Ways that don’t break the rules.”

Ben’s breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t stupid. He’d heard jokes back home. Whispers. Euphemisms. “You mean,” he hesitated. “Anal?”

She nodded. “It’s a grey area. One most people pretend doesn’t exist. But it does. And for some people who are really struggling, really suffering, it’s an option. One that doesn’t make you any less of who you are.”

Ben was quiet for a long time.

He looked at Claire again. She wasn’t seductive. She wasn’t pressuring him. Her voice was calm, almost clinical. In her eyes there was something that said she understood exactly what he was feeling.

“And you’d… help me with that?” he asked, barely audible.

Claire’s voice was soft now. Almost a whisper. “Only if you want me to.”

Ben exhaled, long and shaky. He couldn’t believe this was happening. “I think I do.” Ben’s breath was shallow, hands clenched loosely between his knees. He looked around the annex at the soft gold light spilling through the stained glass, the pews standing like quiet witnesses, the heavy air of silence that always hung in sacred places.

“Here?” he asked, voice small.

Claire nodded once. “It’s quiet. No one comes here at this time. Everyone is on the other side of campus.”

He didn’t answer right away. 

She leaned in slightly, her voice softer now, but somehow firmer. “We’re not breaking anything sacred, Ben. Not unless you believe we are.”

He met her eyes. For once, he didn’t look away.

Claire stood slowly, smoothing her blouse with a practiced hand. Then she stepped out of the aisle and toward the narrow front altar platform, motioning him with a glance.

Ben followed.

Every footstep felt unreal, like moving inside a dream he was finally allowing himself to have while awake.

Claire turned to face him in the soft light, her expression unreadable but open. “We will go slow. You tell me if you want to stop. You’re still in control, even if you don’t feel like it.”

Ben nodded.

His hands were shaking.

Claire reached for the small bag she’d set by the bench earlier, a campus-issue tote with her study materials. She pulled out a small bottle. A pause. Her eyes met his again. “You’re sure you want this?”

Ben’s voice cracked, but he said it anyway. “Yes.”

Claire stepped closer, her movements calm, unhurried. “Then take this. Unlike vaginal sex where the woman makes some lubrication for herself, with anal you need to add some in before starting or it can really hurt.”

Ben’s hands shook as he took the bottle from Claire.

He couldn’t believe this was happening. It felt like stepping into one of his dreams, only sharper, clearer, real. The low glow of the stained glass cast soft colors across her skin as she stood at the altar, back arched, skirt lifted, tights rolled down to her knees showing off her gorgeous buttocks and the milky white skin of her legs.

He swallowed hard, squeezing the cool gel into his fingers. The texture was slick and strange, but his body didn’t care. His heart pounded. His pants were tight. Every breath he took seemed to stoke the fire building inside him.

“It’s alright,” Claire said gently, her voice low but steady. “Take your time.”

Ben stepped forward. His fingers hovered over her for a moment, unsure, until he finally touched her just a light press of his slick fingers to the crevice between her cheeks.

She sighed, a quiet sound of permission.

He began to move, rubbing the lube in small circles, massaging it gently across her puckered entrance. The way her body tensed slightly, then relaxed into his touch, made his head spin.

This wasn’t a fantasy. She wasn’t a thought, a dream, she was here. She was real.

His breath came faster as he slid his finger inside the tight hole. Claire moaned as he breached her, smearing the lube over her inner walls. 

 He worked the lube in deeper, his fingers moving more confidently now. Claire rocked her hips back a little, the invitation unmistakable. “That’s good,” she murmured, breath catching just slightly. “Nice and slow.”

Ben nodded, though he wasn’t sure she could see. He spread the lube carefully, easing it in with slow pressure, watching how her body accepted it. Each small shift of her hips, each quiet gasp, fed the heat building low in his belly.

He could feel how tight she was. Every movement of his fingers drew another small moan from her lips. “Almost ready,” Claire whispered, eyes closed, her voice rich and shaking now. “Keep going. Just like that.”

Ben’s mouth was dry. His cock throbbed, straining painfully against the fabric of his pants. He had never felt this turned on in his life, never imagined anything could feel this intense. The dream had never come close.

He pressed a little deeper, his slick fingers gliding, coaxing her body open just a little more.

Claire’s breathing was deeper now, her body still and braced, as if she was holding herself in place against the rising tension between them. Beneath his fingers, Ben could feel it—that subtle shift in her muscles, the readiness in the way she held herself.

“That’s enough,” she whispered, a tremor in her voice “You’ve done well. I’m ready.”

Ben’s heart nearly stopped. His mouth went dry.

This was it.

The heat in his chest bloomed outward, down through his arms, into the ache between his legs. He stood there for a second, unsure if his body would move without falling apart.

Claire looked over her shoulder, not rushing him, just smiling encouragingly. “It’s okay, you’re allowed to want this.”

That broke something loose inside him. All the guilt, the hesitation, the weeks of restraint and confusion, they were still there, but quieter now. 

Ben leaned forward, just a little, and whispered, “Are you sure?”

Claire smiled, barely visible, just a soft pull at the corner of her mouth. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

Ben’s hands moved to his belt, clumsy with nerves. His fingers fumbled the buckle, heart pounding in his throat, breaths shallow and fast. He felt exposed already, his body buzzing, skin too warm, and he hadn’t even moved yet.

Behind him, Claire stayed still, braced, her skirt still hiked around her waist, her breathing calm but not unaffected. There was a quiet tension in her body now, ready, waiting, offering.

When Ben finally pushed his trousers down, the rush of air on his skin felt like a jolt. His body was alive, aching, full, desperate. 

He positioned himself behind her, his hands on her hips. Claire looked back over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his, warm, steady, utterly unflinching. “Go slow,” she said, breath soft but sure. “Let your body find its rhythm. Let me feel you.”

Ben nodded, almost too overwhelmed to speak.

With a deep breath, Ben pushed his dick into her tight ass hole. He moaned at the sensation, feeling the warmth of her insides envelop him. She let out a soft whimper, her ass clenching around him. It felt so good, he couldn't believe he was finally doing this.

Claire let out a low sound, part exhale, part moan, and braced harder against the altar, adjusting to him. Her body accepted him inch by inch, slowly, carefully, until they were fully joined, his breath shaking against her back.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world narrowed to that point of contact, the press of skin and heat and heartbeat. Ben’s eyes fluttered shut. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t believe.

Ben moved, slowly his hips unsure at first, driven more by instinct than confidence. The sensation was immediate, all-consuming. Her body gripped him, warm and impossibly tight, wrapping around him like it had been waiting for him. He felt her breathe beneath him, felt the slight tremble in her thighs, the quiet hum of tension in her muscles as she adjusted to him, accepted him.

He pulled back just a little and pressed forward again, the slow glide drawing a strangled sound from deep in his throat. 

This was really happening. That thought looped in his head with every motion. This was real. Not a dream. Not a fantasy whispered in the dark and repented for in the morning.

He was inside her. A woman. Claire.

His breath shuddered. He leaned forward, his chest brushing her back as he moved in deeper, slower now, savoring the way her body tightened and relaxed around him in response. Her low moan curled into his ears like a blessing.

His nerves receded as he found himself getting more and more into it. His hands moved up her thighs, pushing them apart so he could get a better angle on entering her. He leaned forward slightly, his body pressing against hers as they both started to move together. It felt so good, better than his dreams by far.

And then she spoke, soft, breathless, but steady. “You’re doing so well, Ben. Just keep doing that, it feels so good.”

So he kept moving. Each slow thrust sent sparks up Ben’s spine.

The pressure inside him was building faster than he wanted to admit. Claire’s body met his with practiced ease, soft moans slipping from her lips with each stroke, her hips rocking gently in response to his rhythm. 

Ben’s fingers dug into her waist, gripping tighter as he tried to hold on, to control himself. But he was slipping. The sensation was too much. She was so tight, so warm, the slick resistance of her body wrapped around him like it had been built to break his composure.

Their bodies jerked together, their sweat mixing and mingling as they coupled under the chapel's dim light. They moaned in unison, their eyes closed tightly as they lost themselves in this newfound ecstasy. Ben could feel himself starting to pulsate inside her ass, his cock throbbing with every heartbeat.

He could feel the edge coming fast. Too fast.

“Don’t come yet,” he thought. “Not yet, not now, not already.” But he was panting now, shoulders tense, legs trembling. His hips stuttered as the tightness in his core clenched hard, unstoppable.

“Claire!” he gasped, voice breaking.

She turned her head slightly, her voice low and breathy. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Let go.”

His release hit him like a shockwave, sudden and searing. He pushed forward one last time, filling her completely before letting out a long, loud moan.

His seed spurted deep inside her, coating the walls of her insides. His body jerked forward, every muscle locking up as the climax crashed through him in waves. He groaned, loud, helpless, his head dropping forward, forehead pressing between Claire’s shoulder blades as his world folded in on itself.

His knees nearly gave out. His vision blurred. His hands trembled as he held onto her, riding the long, shaking aftermath.

When it was over, he slumped forward, his chest against Claire’s back, sweat-slick and silent.

His thoughts were a blur.

Claire reached back slowly, her hand resting lightly on his thigh. “You okay?” she asked softly. “You did good.”

Ben didn’t speak. Couldn’t. He stayed pressed to her, still inside her, still shaking, still buzzing, his heart pounding hard against his ribs as he leaned against Claire’s back, breath hot on her shoulder. He had just emptied himself completely, But as the wave of release ebbed something strange lingered.

He was still hard.

His hips twitched, involuntarily, still pressed snug against her, his cock somehow aching with a second pulse of need. The intensity hadn’t faded. If anything, it had deepened, duller now, more controlled.

Claire shifted slightly beneath him, clearly expecting him to withdraw. But when he didn’t, she glanced over her shoulder, a question forming in her eyes.

He answered it with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

Her lips parted in surprise. “Really?” she whispered, half a breath of disbelief, half pleasure.

Ben didn’t speak. He just moved again, gently, testing the rhythm, feeling how her body welcomed him a second time. He wasn’t frantic now. He wasn’t afraid. He was wanting and that was something entirely different.

Claire let out a quiet moan, her hands flexing on the altar’s edge. Her body leaned back into him instinctively. She hadn’t expected more but she seemed very receptive. “You don’t have to,” she began, but he cut her off with another slow thrust, firmer this time, more deliberate.

“I want to,” he said, voice low and rough in his own throat. “You didn’t…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, but Claire seemed to understand.

She looked back at him again, her gray eyes darker now, more open, more needy.

“Then don’t stop,” she breathed.

That was all the permission he needed.

Ben’s hands slid over her waist, holding her tighter now, more confident. This wasn’t about him anymore. It was about her. About giving her what she had given him. He moved with a new rhythm, slow and deep, letting each motion be about feeling her, reading her, responding to every soft gasp and quiet tremble of her thighs.

Claire’s head lowered again, a breathy moan escaping her lips, softer than before. This time, her body wasn’t just receiving, it was reacting. Moving with his. Urging him on.

Ben pressed closer, the heat between them rekindling, stronger now, quieter, more intense.

Ben’s pace quickened, no longer hesitant, no longer unsure. His movements grew more urgent, driven not by desperation, but by intent. 

Claire’s body shifted beneath him, her breath catching on a deeper, more guttural sound. Her moans lost their careful edges. They came unfiltered now, richer, louder. She arched her back, pressing into him, her hands sliding up her own body.

Ben watched, dazed, as she undid the buttons of her blouse one by one, her breath shaking with every motion. The soft cotton parted, and she shrugged it back off her shoulders, revealing the black strap of her bra, her pale skin flushed and gleaming in the low chapel light.

His hand reached around her waist, tentative at first, then hungry. His palm found the soft skin of her stomach, just above her skirt, fingers tracing higher until they grazed the hem of her bra, then slid beneath it.

Claire gasped, not soft this time. Sharp. Immediate. Her hips rocked harder into him, the release that was no longer just a possibility, it was inevitable. “Yes,” she gasped. “Ben! Don’t stop. Just like that, Oh yes! Keep going.”

The sound of her voice like that, raw, demanding, sent lightning through him. His body answered on instinct, thrusting deeper, harder, the slap of their bodies echoing beneath the stained glass. Her body clenched around him, her hands gripping the altar, holding them both steady as the storm built.

They were moving together now, no longer teacher and student. No longer giver and receiver. Just two lovers rushing toward the edge together.

It was no longer slow, and was getting faster and faster. Claire moved with him now, no longer quiet, no longer composed. “You feel incredible,” she cried, voice catching as her body trembled beneath his. 

Ben pressed into her, the pressure exquisite, the need still burning in him, softer than before but no less potent. He didn’t know where his confidence had come from, only that he had it now.  “I don’t want it to end,” he murmured, forehead brushing her spine. “You feel so perfect.”

Claire let out a sound halfway between a moan and a laugh, genuine, breathless, overwhelmed. “God, Ben!” her voice broke as her hips bucked back into his. “You’re so good. I didn’t think you’d still have this in you.”

He smiled, he felt her words settle into him like fuel. She wasn’t just letting this happen. She wanted it. She wanted him. “I want to make you feel it too,” he said, voice rough with determination. “I don’t want to be the only one.”

Claire’s breath hitched at that. Her hand moved lower, fingers slipping down, and the sound that escaped her next wasn’t filtered or careful. The cry filled the small chapel with the sound of her pleasure as her hand did something Ben could not see.

Ben thrust again, and Claire cried out, her voice echoing high against the vaulted ceiling. Every moan, every cried name, every gasping yes rang out into the once-holy air around them and came back more real than any prayer.

There was something sacred in it still, but not the kind that came from kneeling.

This was a different kind of devotion.

What had started slow, uncertain, tender, was now something deeper. Heavier. Claire’s body rolling back into his with a hunger that made it impossible for him to think. Their breaths were ragged. Their skin slick. The chapel air, once cold, was warm now with heat and echoes.

Claire’s voice broke into the air, gasping. “Yes, Ben, just like that, don’t stop!”

He moved harder, responding to the way her body responded, tightening around him, hips pressing back greedily. Her blouse had fallen further open, clinging to her flushed skin, her breath stuttering with each thrust.

He couldn’t help it; he was reaching a peak again. Unable to contain himself at the sight of this woman bent over the altar in front of him “Claire!” he gasped. “I’m close.”

She turned her head slightly, eyes heavy, voice thick with pleasure. “Me too. Don’t hold back. Give it all you’ve got!”

Her hand between her legs was working in rhythm with him, her moans rising louder now, echoing through the high ceiling. It was overwhelming. The sound of her, the feel of her, the way she moved beneath him like she needed him.

His hands roamed across her waist, up to the exposed skin beneath her open blouse, fingers brushing the curve of her ribs, under her bar and round her nipples. She leaned into his touch like she’d needed it all along.

Ben could barely breathe.

And suddenly, he knew. They were right there. On the edge. Together.

Claire's hand moved faster between her legs, her other gripping the altar hard, knuckles white, body tight and trembling. Her head lowered, lips parted, hair sticking to her cheeks in damp strands.

Ben could feel her shaking. “God, Ben!” she gasped, voice almost a whisper but soaked in tension. 

Their rhythm was wild now, raw and full of shared desperation. Ben couldn’t speak. He couldn’t reply.

Claire cried out, full-throated, voice echoing through the chapel’s hollow space as her climax hit. Her body clenched around him with a force that nearly buckled his knees. She shook, bracing herself against the altar as wave after wave rolled through her, raw and unrestrained.

Ben followed.

His second climax exploded hard and sudden, a full-body surrender. His hips locked, his muscles tensed, and a helpless, guttural sound tore from his throat as he emptied his cum into her for a second time, his vision blurring with the intensity of it.

Their bodies trembled together, breaths overlapping, skin sticky and warm.

There was no shame. No fear. No need for words.

Just the sound of two people breathing in the aftermath of something sacred.

Ben slowly peeled himself away from Claire, his hands lingering on her waist, not wanting to let go too quickly. Their skin clung together damp with sweat and breath.

As he slipped free from her, Claire let out a long, slow exhale, half relief, half release. Her body trembled once, then stilled, the last of the tension unwinding from her spine.

She stayed there for a moment, hands resting on the altar, her chest rising and falling. Then she turned and flopped down onto one of the pews, her hair mussed, her blouse still open, one bra strap fallen off her shoulder, her skirt bunched awkwardly around her waist, tights tangled loosely at her ankles.

Ben looked down at himself, shirt unbuttoned, trousers abandoned near the base of the altar, legs shaking slightly. He was flushed, still dazed, blinking like someone who had just stepped out of another world.

Claire gave a soft, lopsided smile. “You alright?”

Ben nodded, still catching his breath. “I think so. Yeah.”

Ben sat down beside her. The cold wood kissed the backs of his thighs and calves, and the air against his skin felt electric after the heat they’d shared.

Claire didn’t speak right away. She let the quiet stretch, comfortable now, not charged.

Then she turned to him. “You’re not the first person I’ve helped like that,” she said gently. “There have been others. Guys who come here thinking they can out-pray their urges. Who wind themselves up so tight they forget how to breathe.”

Ben’s eyes flicked up to meet hers.

“But you’re the first,” she continued, voice softening, “who could, who even thought to give something back.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. His throat was tight. He looked down at his hands. “I didn’t want to just take,” he said. “You deserved to feel it too.”

Claire smiled again. This one was smaller. Warmer.

She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I want you to promise me something, Ben.”

He looked at her, still holding on.

“Don’t let yourself get like that again. That bottled-up. That close to cracking.”

He nodded slowly, shame flickering across his face. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“I know,” she said, gently but firmly. “But you were hurting. You don’t have to white-knuckle your way through this place. You’re allowed to want, and you’re allowed to take care of yourself.”

She leaned closer, voice low. “And if it gets to be too much again, come to me. Don’t wait. Don’t suffer through it.”

Ben swallowed, a rush of something unspeakable catching in his chest. Gratitude. Longing. Maybe something more. “Okay,” he said. “I will.”

Claire nodded, her hand still wrapped around his.

They sat there a while longer on the pew, not saying much, just breathing, letting their bodies settle. The space between them was warm, their knees touching, her hand still lightly resting in his.

Ben leaned back, head tilted toward the stained glass. The colors glowed faintly in the dark, soft blues and deep crimson halos caught in moonlight. He hadn’t realized how quiet the world could get until now.

Claire leaned her shoulder against his, her blouse still hanging open, her tights bunched loosely around her ankles like a forgotten afterthought. 

And then, somewhere far off, a bell rang.

Ben stiffened. Claire blinked. They both turned toward the sound: the final curfew bell. The one that meant doors were locking in three minutes.

“Shit,” Claire said, suddenly very alert.

They scrambled up from the pew, half-laughing, half-panicked. Ben grabbed his trousers from the base of the altar while Claire tugged her tights up in awkward jerks, hopping on one foot, her skirt still twisted.

“I have never cut it this close,” she muttered, breathless as she tried to fasten the last few buttons of her blouse.

Ben pulled his trousers back up, fumbling with the buttons, adrenaline coursing through them once more.

They met by the door, both flushed, barely dressed properly, still catching their breath.

Claire looked at him, her hair a mess, one shoe untied. “We are not doing this here again,” she said, eyes wide but laughing. “Next time come to my dorm, I’m allowed visitors remember”

“Agreed,” Ben said. “I’ve been trying so hard to be good it would suck to get told off for being out late.”

They cracked the side door open and peeked into the dark corridor.

Empty.

Claire gave him a quick look, less serious now, a spark still in her eyes. “Run.”

They took off, two shadows disappearing into the night. Clothes half-done, hearts still racing, smiles just beginning to spread.

And for the first time since arriving on campus, Ben didn’t feel like he was fighting against himself.