The Minister's Wife

Dani, my bohemian girlfriend lived as freely as a lark. Minimal limits. Maximum adventure. Her parties reflected that spirit, drawing a fascinating collection of creative nonconformists and thinkers – starving artists, libertines and exhibitionists all in a constant state of sexual experimentation and joy. They brought exotic liquors, stuff to smoke and things to either eat or rub on each other’s body. That’s another story. At one such gathering, I met a rather tall 30-something couple I’ll call Peter and Wendy – two nicely tanned, tall and toned friends of Dani. He had piercing, deep-blue eyes like sparkling sapphires. She had dreamy brown eyes, long, straight black hair and an easy smile that revealed perfect teeth. Both carried themselves graciously as they moved around the raucous crowd at Dani’s house, stopping occasionally to sway to the mix of indie rock Dani had selected. He wore cutoffs, a half-buttoned silk shirt and sandals. She wore a long, semi-sheer beach cover-up with no bra and had left her sandals at the door. When Dani introduced me to them, I shook their hands and immediately felt a jolt of erotic energy, especially with Mrs. X. As we chatted, I noticed she was peering deeply into my (brown) eyes and brushing one hand across her breasts. “Peter’s a youth minister at (a suburban megachurch),” Dani said, “and Wendy’s an IT specialist at (a big local company).” Then she told them I was a writer at a local agency and her new lover that she had wanted them to meet. Long story short, by night’s end, Wendy and I had connected on a fun, deep level, and we wanted to spend more time with each other. So, she said, come over on Saturday while Peter’s on the coast for a weekend retreat with his minions. That Saturday, when I rang their doorbell, Wendy opened the door, flashing her big, easy smile. “C’mon in!” she said. “I have a surprise for you.” Barefooted, she had dressed in extreme Daisy Duke cutoffs, a cropped peasant top and, again, no bra. “How nice,” I said, following her into the den where she had glasses of iced tea and cookies set out. “Have a seat,” she said, motioning to the couch. As I sat down, she walked toward me, unbuttoning her Daisy Dukes then slowly pulling off her peasant top, presenting the beautifully small but elegant tits that drive me crazy. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “It’s a hot day. Please get as comfortable as you like.” I can’t remember what I said, but it probably was something inane as I awkwardly reached for my glass of tea and took a big swig while my dick felt like it was growing into thirty feet of granite. “You should know that Peter’s fine with this,” Wendy said. “I’m sure he’s fucking women on the beach and who knows where else.” Then she sat down beside me and reached for my belt. “Let me help you,” she said, laughing at my unstoppable tendency to deeply blush. “Stand up for me, OK?” I stood. She kneeled in front of me. I relished her touch as she unzipped my jeans and slid them down. I was, as usual, going commando, and my boner popped out at full attention. “Beautiful,” she said, caressing my dick then slowly jacking me. “Have you ever read Anais Nin?” she asked, referring to the awesomely erotic feminist writer. “She said, ‘Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.’ You must be very brave, like Dani.” I’d become her mute toy adrift in a warm sea of churning libido. Then Wendy laid back onto the carpet, slid off her Daisy Dukes and was simply, beautifully naked as she spread one long, toned, tanned leg onto the couch and the other onto her coffee table. Her pussy was clean-shaven – the first smooth pussy I’d ever seen – and her swollen labia darkened as she massaged them with her elegant, manicured fingers. “Get naked with me?” she asked. Again, I don’t remember what I said, but it probably was another inane comment as I shucked my sandals, jeans and polo shirt. “Come up here and straddle me,” she said. I straddled her waist but she pulled me higher, moving me above her face and taking my dick between her lips then deeper as she began to suck it aggressively. I’d had no better oral sex. The warmth of her lips and tongue as she moved her mouth back and forth along my boner left me mesmerized. She stopped for a moment. “This is what I do with my friends at work, after work, in the back seat of my car,” she said, “almost every day. And they reciprocate.” “And I will as well,” I said, moving down to Wendy’s pussy, which now was awash in natural lube and fragrant with the inebriating smell of a woman. I loved the smoothness of her mons and labia as I worked my tongue all around and into her pussy then finding her rock-hard clit with the tip of my tongue and gingerly flicking it. Wendy gasped, moaned, thrust her pussy against my face. After what seemed an eternity of sucking, nipping at and tonguing her pussy, she exploded with shaking cascades of orgasms, stuffing a fist into her mouth to muffle screams that would have brought the neighbors. That was as far as we went. But it lasted for a good two hours until I came violently in her hand with which she gripped my dick. I hadn’t wanted to cum in her or on her, although she wanted all that, because she was so beautiful. But I left her with a handful of sperm that she slathered around her tits and chest. “Please,” she said, “come back next Saturday. Peter will be at a conference at his seminary, and he’ll be busy with the Jezebels.” I said I’d call. I wanted to, but I didn’t. I dared not. Wendy would have owned my soul. I never saw her again. I married Dani.