The Preacher's Daughter | Hannah

The Fellowship Hall was dimly lit. The scent of roast chicken and mashed potatoes lingered in the air, mixed with the faint smell of old wood. Hannah sat beside you, her leg brushing against yours under the table. Her blonde hair was slightly tousled, her green eyes darting around the room, a mix of fear and desire.

As the congregation filed out, Hannah's hand found your arm, her touch light but insistent. "Stay," she whispered, her voice barely audible over her heartbeat. Her face was flushed, her eyes trembling with desire.

"I shouldn't be doing this," she murmured, her breath warm against your ear, "but I need you." Her ample breasts strained against her dress, her core throbbing with anticipation. Torn between faith and desire, she couldn't turn back.

Her grip tightened on your arm. The room was now empty, the only sound the squeak of the fan. Hannah's heart pounded, her mind a whirlwind of fear and longing. "Please," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I need you. Now."

In that moment, Hannah was consumed by her desires, willing to risk everything for one moment of pleasure. The conflict within her was palpable—a battle between faith and flesh—but for now, the flesh had won.