I was born with a burden that most girls my age would kill for – a body that seemed to defy the very laws of physics. My tits, at a staggering F-cup, were like gravity's cruel jest. They were the kind of breasts that could make a saint question his vows, and I had them, all of 19 years old and just trying to make it through another day of college without becoming the main course of every hormone-driven feast.

My father had always had a peculiar fondness for me, something that was palpable in every accidental brush of his hand against my chest, every lingering glance that swept over my body like a warm summer breeze. It was unnerving, but I had grown accustomed to it over the years. His eyes would often glaze over with a hunger that didn’t quite match the love a parent should have for their child, and his hands would often "slip" when we hugged. But it was nothing that a well-placed elbow or a stern glare couldn’t fix.

Church had always been a haven of discomfort for me. Every Sunday, dressed in my tightest blouses and shortest skirts to keep the stares to a minimum, I would sit in the pew, my eyes cast down to avoid the gazes that bore into me from all sides. The men in their starched shirts and polished shoes would sweat in the pews, their eyes flicking down to the swell of my chest as I took communion, the weight of their stares like a physical touch that left me feeling both violated and desired.

The whispers grew louder as I approached the altar, my father’s hand resting a little too heavily on the small of my back, his breath hot on my neck. I felt the fabric of my skirt stretch taut across my ass with each step, and the men’s eyes followed the movement like hawks tracking prey. The priest’s gaze lingered on my cleavage.

The congregation was a sea of bulging crotches and furtive glances, each man trying to disguise his arousal behind a veneer of piety. It was as if my mere presence had transformed the sanctuary into a den of iniquity, and I was the forbidden fruit that tempted them all. My heart raced as I felt the hardness press against me from every side, the unspoken desires thickening the air like incense.

As we knelt for the final prayers, I felt the unmistakable pressure of my father's erection against my thigh. My breath hitched, and I stared at the floor, willing myself not to move. The men around us shifted in their seats, their own hard-ons straining against their trousers. It was a symphony of lustful tension, a silent hymn to my untouchable sexuality. The room was a cacophony of shallow breaths and furtive glances, each man fighting the urge to reach out and claim what they so obviously desired.

When the service ended and we made our way to the back of the church, we approached the group of dad’s friends. Their eyes devouring me like I was the last slice of a decadent cake. They greeted me with wide smiles and over-enthusiastic hugs, their hands sliding around my waist with practiced ease. I tried to maintain my composure, my cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. But then it happened—each one of them, under the guise of a friendly embrace, slipped a hand down to cup my ass, their fingers brushing against my pussy through the flimsy fabric of my skirt. I gasped, my legs going weak, and the room swam around me.

My father's best friend, Tom, grabbed a handful of my ass with a grip that was anything but innocent. His thumb slid along my panty line, and I bit my bottom lip to keep from moaning. He leaned in close, whispering, "You're all grown up now, Bella," his breath hot and sticky in my ear. I could feel the bulge in his pants press against my hip, and the knowledge that he was hard for me made my own arousal spike.

Another friend, Dave, took a more direct approach. As he pretended to straighten my collar, his hand brushed against my massive tits, the pads of his fingers tracing the curve of my mounds before giving them a gentle squeeze. I looked up at him, his eyes twinkling with mischief as his thumb grazed my nipple through the fabric. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity straight to my clit, making me squirm in his grasp. His smile grew wider as he whispered, "You've got your mother's eyes," his voice thick with lust.

The fabric of my skirt was no barrier to their eager fingers, as they found their way to my pussy, the wetness there a betrayal of my own wantonness. They stroked and prodded, their touches growing bolder with each passing second. My breath hitched in my chest, my body responding to their advances in a way that my mind could not control.

It was then that Mike, the muscular military man, stepped into the fray. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into a crushing embrace that seemed to swallow me whole. His biceps bulged against my breasts as he squeezed, and I could feel his cock pressing into my stomach, thick and demanding. His hand slid down my back, the roughness of his calloused fingers sending shivers through my body as they reached the elastic band of my panties. With a deftness that belied his size, he slid the fabric to the side, exposing my bare skin to the cool air of the room.

As he held me, his middle finger began to trace lazy circles around my opening, teasing the sensitive flesh before dipping in to explore further. His touch was surprisingly gentle, the pad of his finger gliding through my wetness as if he were reading Braille. My eyes widened in shock, my breath catching in my throat, but I didn't pull away. Instead, my body melted into his, my legs parting slightly to give him better access. The sensation was exquisite, the pressure building slowly as he found my clit and began to rub it in slow, deliberate strokes.

Mike's finger delved deeper into me, the pad of his thumb now pressing against my clit with a firmness that made me bite my lip to keep from crying out. His other hand had moved to cup my right breast, the heel of his palm grinding into my nipple as he squeezed and massaged the heavy flesh. The sensations were overwhelming, a maelstrom of pleasure and confusion that swirled within me, threatening to consume me whole.

As if sensing my impending orgasm, Mike's touch grew more insistent, his finger sliding in and out of me with increasing speed. The men around us continued their conversations, oblivious to the depraved dance we were performing in the midst of their holy sanctum. My body was a traitor, betraying my mind's screaming protests with a building crescendo of need.

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, I came with a silent scream, my eyes squeezed shut as waves of pleasure crashed over me. My pussy clamped down around Mike's invading digit, my body shuddering with the intensity of my climax. I could feel his grin against my cheek as he whispered, "Such a soft pussy, Bella," his breath hot and moist.