From: PreteenLover@MailAndNews.com   
      
   Angela the Naughty Altar Girl 3   
      
      
   Chapter Three   
   Written by Janus   
   Copyright 2004   
      
      
      
   My next chance to touch myself in church came sooner than I expected.   
   After masturbating on the altar, I put away the robe and got dressed.   
   When I went to return the key to Father Terry in the rectory, he thanked   
   me and asked me if I could be the altar server for tomorrow's mass at 11   
   a.m. I accepted, of course.   
      
   11 a.m. mass was very popular. It was usually the most crowded of all   
   the Sunday services because people never wanted to get up early for the   
   8 a.m. or 9:30 a.m. services. I thought about my masturbation session on   
   the altar and imagined the pews if it had been 11 a.m. mass. There would   
   have been an endless sea of faces looking at my naked body. The thought   
   made me shiver.   
      
   I went to bed that night thinking of the service and fantasizing madly.   
   I already knew I would be naked under the altar robe, hidden yet exposed   
   to all the church-goers. I fell asleep and had dreams of being nude and   
   touching my button in church.   
      
   When I woke up in the morning, an inspiration was waiting for me when I   
   opened my eyes. It was like my subconscious had formulated an idea and   
   was waiting for me to wake up so it could present it to me. Before I   
   headed to the 11 a.m. service that morning, I slipped my mother's sewing   
   shears into my pocket.   
      
   Once in the church dressing room, I made sure I was alone before   
   grabbing the altar server robe and turning it inside out. Each robe had   
   a pair of pockets at waist level. Pulling out the sewing scissors, I   
   neatly snipped the pockets off from the inside of the robe. Quickly, I   
   got completely undressed and put the robe on, right side out.   
      
   I examined my handiwork as I looked into a full-length mirror. The robe   
   extended to my ankles and my shoes and socks were partially visible. No   
   one would know I was naked underneath. Next I slipped my hands into the   
   waist pockets. My fingers brushed against my bare thighs.   
      
   It was perfect. By putting my hands in the robe pockets, I looked   
   perfectly innocent. But with a bit of maneuvering, my fingers could   
   easily reach between my legs. I carefully hid my pile of clothes and got   
   ready for the service.   
      
   Father Terry greeted me at the rear of the church. It was 11 a.m. sharp   
   but there were still people flowing in at a steady rate. Father Terry   
   motioned for me to pick up the altar cross, which was a cross set atop a   
   long pole that was taller than I was. I picked it up and we began the   
   procession down the main aisle leading to the pulpit as the choir began   
   the first hymn.   
      
   As we slowly approached the pulpit, my little heart thumped with   
   excitement. Finally we reached the pulpit and I placed the cross down   
   next to the altar and took my place next to Father Terry for the opening   
   welcome.   
      
   I swallowed hard as I turned to face the crowded pews. My skin tingled   
   against the rough cotton of the robe as I stood in my secret nakedness   
   before the hundreds of people. My face flushed slightly as I surveyed   
   what seemed to be an endless sea of faces. Men, women, small children,   
   teenagers, elderly people, all with their attention seeming to be   
   focused on me. The throngs of faces and the hushed noise of the crowd   
   made this experience totally different from when I was alone in the church.   
      
   The service went by in a blur. Each time I was called up to the pulpit,   
   the cool air flowed up underneath my robe as I walked, emphasizing my   
   nudity. I felt so exposed and naughty as I performed my altar server duties.   
      
   It wasn't until midway through the mass that I got the chance to try out   
   the modified pockets in my robe. It was during a moment in the service   
   where everyone was supposed to kneel. I had my own kneeler off to the   
   side of the pulpit. The pews fanned nearly 180 degrees around the pulpit   
   so even though I was off to the side, there were still rows and rows of   
   people behind me.   
      
   As I knelt, I casually slipped both hands into my pockets. To my   
   surprise, my little button was wet. Very wet. Surreptitiously, I started   
   to diddle my button as I knelt. It felt so incredibly good to be   
   touching myself in public. My excitement rose as I imagined all the   
   people staring at my back while I secretly pleasured myself. Across the   
   pulpit from me was another bank of pews and occasionally I would make   
   eye contact with a stranger. It felt so wicked to touch myself like this!   
      
   I was already getting close to the good feeling when Father Terry moved   
   on to the next segment of the service. I had to go fetch the communion   
   bread and wine chalices and bring them up to the altar. Reluctantly I   
   pulled my hands from my pockets to perform my duties.   
      
   Next came the blessing of the bread and wine. At this point, I was   
   supposed to stand next to the altar, a little behind the priest as the   
   transubstantiation took place. The parishioners were still kneeling as   
   they watched Father Terry perform the blessings. My hands moved of their   
   own volition, slipping back into my robe pockets.   
      
   I could feel the blood rising to my face as my fingers resumed their   
   insistent rubbing of my little button. Each stroke of my little finger   
   felt so dirty and delicious as I secretly masturbated. My fingers were   
   getting very slick as I pleasured myself. A telltale hint of my wetness   
   wafted up from beneath my robe. The only person who might notice was   
   Father Terry and he was busy doing the blessings.   
      
   My eyes scanned the rows of faces as I drew nearer and nearer to the   
   good feeling. I took care to not disturb the front of my robe as my   
   fingers worked their magic on my privates. Each time my eyes made   
   contact with a parishioner's eyes, I would flush slightly and revel in   
   the naughty feeling. But I'll never forget what happened next.   
      
   During the blessing, Father Terry would take the large communion bread,   
   raise it high above his head, and chant a blessing before breaking it in   
   two. The bread was large and flat, about the size of a dinner plate, and   
   he would next break that into little pieces for all the parishioners.   
   This time, however, the communion bread slipped from his fingers as he   
   held it above his head. I saw it hit the ground and roll toward me. A   
   murmured hush swept across the pews as the parishioners saw what happened.   
      
   The circular bread kept on rolling and I turned my head to see it stop   
   several feet behind me. I turned my head and saw Father Terry looking at   
   me sheepishly. He didn't have to speak because I could tell from his   
   body language what he wanted me to do.   
      
   Hastily pulling my hands from my pockets, I scrambled to retrieve the   
   communion bread. It wasn't until I picked it up that I realized just how   
   wet my hands were with my juices. Embarrassed, I saw that my fingers   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
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    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)