Meeting the Minister's Wife
I'm not sure why I didn't give up on him sooner. I have never spent more time with a husband trying to figure out whether or not he wanted me to fuck his wife. Not before him. Not after. Not ever. And probably never again.
We met in an AOL chat room. Back in the day, I spent a fair amount of time hanging out in rooms with names like "Fuck my wife" or "Make my wife your slut". I still miss AOL chat. Even if I didn't connect with someone (and I often did), I heard some interesting stories, made up or otherwise.
Like a lot of guys, he messaged me outside of the group chat. Apparently, we had chatted previously when he was using a different screen name. Or so he said. It was the beginning of a series of moves on his part to cover his tracks. Rather than bore you with the details of our weeks-long conversation, I'll cut to the chase. He was a minister; a pastor of some church in a mid-sized town not too far from where I was living at the time. He was deathly afraid that he would be found out. Once he felt like I wasn't going to break into his church the following Sunday morning to tell the world his dark secrets, he finally opened up.
He met the Mrs. at some sort of Bible Camp when they were young. The "courted" during college and were married soon after graduation. The good reverend believed that sex was only for making babies and anything beyond that would annoy the Lord. They were not "active", as he put it.
Seems like the Mrs. Reverend had a more interesting background. She was "not pure" when they married though he loved her in spite of it. It's not that she had fucked anyone mind you. She was still technically a virgin, therefore good enough for him to wed, but she still had those memories of the wicked things she used to do. And some of those memories were hard to shake.
The good pastor loved his wife and wanted her to be happy, but he could not allow himself the kind of perverse pleasures that she still somehow needed. They had prayed for her "healing. Even anointed her with oil. But she still had some itch that he was not about to scratch.
He had shown me a picture of her one day over a cup of coffee. Freckles, big blue eyes, curly dirty blonde hair, and from what I could tell, a pretty impressive set of curves. Those curves, and the thought of doing some very dirty things to a "nice girl" made me far more patient than usual. It took him weeks to finally get to the point. I was about convinced that he was just using our conversations to ignite his own jerk off sessions when he finally got around to being specific.
"So, you've done this before. How does it happen?" He whispered as though he were about to share state secrets with the Russians.
"How do you want it to happen?"
"What do you mean? Isn't there something that you normally do?"
"The only 'normal thing' that I do is have sex with women. How that happens depends on the couple."
He looked confused, so I continued. "Sometimes I just meet with her."
He shook his head immediately, so I continued. "A lot of times the husband is there. Some like to join in."
Again his head shook.
"Look," I tried not to sound annoyed. "Why don't you just tell me what you would like. What have you thought about?"
He took a beat, then exhaled. "I don't want you to have sex with her. She can't have your child."
He said it as though that were even a remote possibility in my mind.
"Obviously," I said.
He sputtered, a bit but finally continued. "She wants to... She used to... In her mouth. You know?"
He blushed as he said it.
"You want her to give me a blow job?"
His head spun, checking over both shoulders to see if anyone had heard my "vulgar speech". Convinced that no one was on to us, he nodded.
"And I will have to be there," he concluded.
"You want to watch?" The questions seemed fair, but he appeared to be offended by it.
"Of course not. I just want to be sure that she's safe, and that nothing else happens.
Two weeks later I met Mrs. Reverend. She was everything that he wasn't: light, outgoing, funny, and warm. And those curves! They were even better than the picture hinted at. She wore a skirt that fell below her knee and a blouse tucked in and buttoned up. But you couldn't deny what was lying underneath.
Our meeting took place in the back seat of his car. We met on a weekday in the parking lot of a wooded area at dusk. There were no other cars nearby. They were waiting when I pulled in. Him behind the wheel, and she was behind him in the back seat. I climbed into the passenger side of the back seat as I had previously been instructed.
He introduced us with two words, her name and mine, then turned to look out the windshield. He said "Angela" but I learned later that she preferred Angie. I made some lame attempt at humor by referencing an angel. She smiled, her eyes lighting up and her cheeks revealing an adorable set of dimples. That drew my attention to her mouth. Full lips. Maybe a hint of an overbite. I couldn't wait to explore it.
The situation was awkward, to say the least. I began to make some small talk, but he said they were on a tight schedule and suggested we just go ahead with it. He was clearly tense.
"Are you sure you want to do this? We don't have to, you know?" My question was directed to him, but she nodded along with him. To be sure, I directed my next question to her.
"You're good with this?
"Yes. And I'm so thankful that he's agreed to it." With that, she dropped her eyes to my lap.
I unbuckled my pants and unceremoniously pushed them to my knees. As quickly as I did, her hand was in my lap, feeling my dick through my boxers. She fished it out of the open fly, feeling it stiffen in her hand as she did. She stroked it softly, watching it respond for a moment before leaning over to kiss the tip of the head. He turned to look out the window to his left, averting his eyes from the movement of his wife preparing to suck a stranger's dick.
She buried her nose into my crotch, inhaling the smell of whatever it was that she had clearly been missing for a long time. After getting her fill, she began to work her way back up my shaft, caressing it with her cheek. She paused again to watch it as she gently stroke me to a full erection. Eventually, she began to bathe it with gentle flicks from the tip of her tongue, fluttering up and down the bottom of cock.
Finally, she pulled it into her mouth. She was slow, as though she was savoring every moment. Eventually, she found her rhythm, applying just the right amount of suction as she pulled it deeply into her mouth before slowly sliding back up to the tip. Occasionally she let out a soft moan, sounding like a starving woman who had found her way to the banquet. Her left hand made it's way to my sac, cupping through the fabric of my underwear. She gently kneaded my balls as she continued to work up and down my cock.
She could sense that I was responding to her every move. In fact, at some point I could feel my balls tighten as the familiar sensations of my oncoming orgasm began to present themselves. She knew it. She stopped sucking and looked me dead in the eye, her tongue still on the tip of my cock, and silently shook her head. I understood. She wanted this to last.
I pushed my head back, closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and did everything I could to keep my balls from stiffening more, doing my best to prolong both of our pleasure. Finally, after 20 minutes of her excellent oral skill, I couldn't wait any more.
"I'm gonna cum if you keep that up."
She looked up at me and smiled, clearly pleased with her skills.
Her husband thrust a tissue over the seat toward me, never turning his head as he passed it to me.
She took it from my hand and picked up her pace. I tried to pull away as the first thrust worked through my groin but she held tight. In fact, she didn't pull away until the last drops finally escaped from my grateful prick.
Only then did she pull the tissue to her mouth, making a pretense of wetting it and shoving it into her purse. She continued to fondle my retreating member well after we were through.
Then she surprised me.
"Can he touch me? Like we talked about?"
Her husband was silent for a beat before finally responding.
"That wasn't enough?"
"It was wonderful. Thank you. But, I didn't really, um... you know."
I was thinking that she "hadn't really" since she met this guy. At least not with him.
"Be quick. And remember what we discussed." Only then did he turn to look at me. "You won't look on her. She will not be uncovered in front of you. But she needs something else. I guess you know about that."
I nodded dumbly, then turned my attention to her.
She leaned against the door, turning toward me, putting her right foot up on the seat. She wore plain white panties under that skirt. They were soaked.
I wasted little time, thumbing her clit and sliding two fingers into her soaked cunt. She came almost immediately as I curled my fingers and applied just the slightest amount of pressure. She muffled her sounds of pleasure, looking furtively at her husband as she did. His head never moved.
She licked my fingers clean as her breath returned to its regular rhythm.
"Done?" He asked without turning around.
"Uh huh. Thank you," she replied.
"Okay, then. Thanks." His dismissal was curt, almost professional.
"Yeah, thank you." Then turning my attention to her, "Thank YOU. That was great."
Before she had a chance to reply he started the car and indicated that it was time for me to leave. I slid out of the backseat, figuring that would be the last that I would see of them.
I was wrong.
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