The Preacher’s Daughter

Svetlana glowered at the droplet of sweat threatening to tumble down into her eyes.  She tried to blow at it but it stubbornly danced to the edge of her eyebrow, then plunked down on her cheek.  She sighed and prodded at another piece of garbage.

Community service was stupid, when you got down to it, especially as a punishment for bad behavior.  Svetlana refused to call it anything else.  Bad behavior just sounded so ridiculous.

“Hey, hon, you want a drink?”

The sweet voice caught her attention and she jerked her iPhone’s headphones out with an elbow.  "What?“

A pretty red-headed girl, tall and slender and dressed in a very modest green dress, stood at the doorway of the nearby church.  She waved, ensuring she had Svetlana’s attention, then cupped her hands over her mouth.  "I have lemonade!  Inside.”  She gestured and then vanished inside the church.

Svetlana narrowed her eyes.  The day was oppressive, but she had an irrational fear of all things religious.  But.  The girl was cute, whoever she was, and maybe she could drag out a break to cover some of the pesky required hours.

She left her stick and bags where they were and sprinted across the ditch to the church door.  Inside it was quiet and cool and smelled like old people.  She sighed and made for the one visible light, which turned out to be illuminating a kitchenette.

The girl was standing over the sink, pouring lemonade from a pitcher into two Dixie cups.  Svetlana could not contain her chuckle.  "Are those for midgets?“

"Sorry,” the girl said quickly, turning an apologetic smile towards her guest.  "They’re the kids’ cups.  It’s all I’ve got.  I can always top you off!  I’m Esther, by the way.“

"Esther,” Svetlana repeated, then held out her hand.  "Svetlana.  Resident punk.“

Esther laughed, and Svetlana found herself warming everywhere at the sound.  "I’m the preacher’s daughter, but there’s no need to pretend you’re awful.”  She reached for the pitcher again, but this time she spilled one of the little cups across her chest.  The dress immediately became see-through and clung to her skin.  "Oh gosh,“ she said, and rested her forearm between her breasts as if to preserve her modesty.

Svetlana’s eyebrows rose.  "My fault.  Want help?”

“Sure.  Yech.  It’s all sticky.”  Esther began to shrug out of her dress, and Svetlana almost withdrew her helping hands.  Almost.  She felt Esther’s silky-smooth skin as she lifted the sopping dress over the other girl’s head and left her standing there in granny panties and a loose camisole.  Somehow, it was the most adorable thing Svetlana had ever seen.

She realized she was posing against the counter.  "Hey,“ she said suddenly, as if just thinking of it, "can I kiss you?”

Esther turned hot pink, but the blush crept down her body and Svetlana knew she was not against the idea.  "I mustn’t,“ the preacher’s daughter said softly.  "It’s against God’s – ”

Svetlana crossed the distance between them and planted her lips very firmly on Esther’s.  She wanted to search out the girl’s tongue with hers, but restrained herself, waiting for a reaction.  Esther stiffened at first, but as Svetlana did not move away she began to relax.

They broke away for breath, both panting.

“Gosh,” Esther said again, and then in a move that seemed almost practiced, she reached to put her fingers under Svetlana’s chin.  "I’d best try again.  Just to see if that’s really – what God – didn’t…“

And she kissed Svetlana again.  They came together, body to body, keenly aware of sweat and lemonade.  Svetlana thought about how Esther tasted like lemons and sweetness, and she trailed her tongue hungrily along the other’s girl’s chin.

"May I?” she asked as she slowly crouched.  Esther bit her lip, nodded.

“Forgive me, God,” she whispered as Svetlana slipped her hand inside her panties.