She Came for Doctrine but Stayed for the D
Jenna Beck didn’t just walk into the Mormon mission hall—she *glided*, her high-neck blouse hugging her curves like a vow of restraint. Her hips swayed with the confidence of a woman who’d broken faster men in Vegas and Daytona. Now she was in Salt Lake City, hunting for the cleanest, purest BWC in America. The kind that came with pressed ties, white smiles, and tension so thick it crackled like static. She sat across from two young missionaries, their eyes darting between her legs and the hymnbook. They’d been trained to preach. They weren’t ready to *sweat*.
The Mission Boys Weren’t Ready for Her Heat
Her fingers traced the leather cover of *The Book of Mormon* like a spellbook. Elder Mason read about Nephi. Elder Cole stumbled over verses on eternal families, his voice cracking. Jenna leaned in, lips glossy, and whispered, “How many wives can one righteous man really handle?” The room heated up. One elder dropped his pen. Another gripped his crotch under the table. She pulled a strawberry from her purse, bit it slowly, and let the juice run down her chin—a challenge wrapped in modesty. Her eyes said she wasn’t here to be saved. She was here to test the seams of their sacred garments.
By the Time She Left the Book Was Wet and the Faith Was Shaken
By sunset, Jenna stood on the temple steps, heels in hand, blouse undone. The elders sat nearby, silent, damp, and defeated. One clutched the soaked *Book of Mormon*. The other stared at her skirt like it was a forbidden scroll. “Thanks for the lesson, boys,” she said, smirking. “You’ve given me a lot to think about… in the shower.” She walked toward the pink-and-gold sky, leaving two men who’d rewritten their prayers in real time. That night, Elder Mason would dream of her whispering scripture while unzipping his soul. Elder Cole would draft a letter he’d never send. Both would flip through the handbook, wondering if just *thinking* about her was a sin.
