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Only The Good Die Young

By: ANCILLA



Lori had been raised Catholic, went to parochial grade school, public high school. 

After she married and had a child, she began to tell people she was a "recovering Catholic", for she still remembered the Sisters whacking the kids, the boys mostly, with wooden rulers; she remembered watching a nun force one of her schoolmates to keep his hands still inside the desk while slamming the lid closed on his 6th grade fingers. She never forgot being told she was most likely going to burn in hell no matter how good she was. 

One particular story stood out in her mind; a story her brother told she and her mother about a nun making one of his friends drink that God-awful green soap in the dispenser from the lavatory. Lori's Mother, who was non-Catholic, told her son that if a Sister ever tried to make him drink that swill to make sure he threw up on her shoes. It never happened, thankfully. Detention was the order of the day at that school, and it was a long walk home. 

The end-of-the-year school picnics were a sight. Rides, games, raffles (can't forget those raffles), and the beer stand were the most popular sites. The priests stumbling from the rectory to the beer stand, back and forth till the picnics closed down for the night was a regular show in itself. After dark, the kids used to hide in the bushes and bet on who would miss the doorway, thereby smacking his head on the frame, as they giggled hysterically. 

When Lori was in High School, she went back to the picnics every year, and after she married at 23 and had her son, she took him to them. She wanted to fully return to the Church, but could never bring herself to do it. Something deep down inside always held her back, until her marriage began to crumble. 

Desperate, Lori went to see a new priest; one she had met while attending required classes so her son could be baptised. It was an odd feeling, breaking away from the Church and yet unable to completely sever herself from it. But this priest was different; he was younger, he had a better attitude, a more open mind, it seemed.

Father Mike was of Scottish descent, had a slight brogue, wild red hair and sparkling blue eyes. So it was on a hot summer day that Lori found herself sitting in his office, staring at him from across his cluttered desk. 

"Lori, tell me," said the priest, "what's wrong? Let me help you."

"Well, it's about my husband...I don't know, Father, I just can't put my finger on any one thing. He's just not there anymore. I don't think I can take it another minute."

Lori swallowed hard, fighting back threatening tears.

Father Mike leaned back in his chair, straining it, causing it to groan in pain, it seemed, for Father Mike was a big man. Easily six-four, probably two hundred twenty or thirty pounds. He crossed his long legs at the ankles, folded his large hands in his lap, relaxing. 

"What exactly do you mean he's not there anymore?"

"H...he's...he's...he works long hours. He comes home late and goes straight to bed or sits in front of the T.V holding the remote. He's gone before I wake up in the morning. We never spend any time together anymore."

"Do you have food on your table?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a roof over your head?"

"Yes."

She was getting pissed-off. Obviously this guy had no clue...

"Father," she sighed, "we have a roof and food, but there needs to be MORE. I mean, we've been married for 5 years now. Shouldn't there be...MORE?"

"Does he not come home to you every night? Is he out running around on you?"

Lori knew where this was going and that she was in too deep to back out now. Embarassed, searching for a temporary escape in order to gather her thoughts, sheturned her attention to the art on the walls. On the wall behind him, directly above the young priest's head hung a painting of the obligatory white dove holding an olive branch in it's beak, a dried palm frond from last Palm Sunday tucked behind the frame. On the wall to his right and to Lori's left was a beautiful painting of The Virgin Mary, smiling her Mona Lisa smile with a baby on her lap, framed in intricately carved oak brushed with gold. The wall to his left sported a print of saints and cherubs cavorting with rays of sunlight shining through gaps in the fluffy blue and white clouds promising everlasting salvation. She smiled at that one until her gaze lit on one more piece of art propped up on the bookcase behind Father Mike. This one was dark; bruised angry clouds covered the entire canvas over which was painted what was obviously the artist's rendition of hell. Nude, emaciated men and women struggling, sweating and laboring over bricks and wood, suffering clearly evident on their poor sad faces. A shadow crossed over Lori's eyes. She always remembered being taught that it was good to suffer, that you had to suffer in order to get to heaven. WHY did they teach that? WHY couldn't you just be a good person and get to heaven? WHY did they preach for everyone to live "poor in spirit"? Look at the Vatican! Solid gold everywhere! THEY weren't practicing what they preached! Who do they think they are anyway??? HYPOCRITES! ALL OF THEM!

Feeling the old anger and confusion return, Lori gazed steadily into Father Mike's blue eyes. Let him answer this one! Ha!

"Isn't it a husband's duty to please his wife, Father? Or is that just an option on his part?"

"A-hem! Er..." His eyes twinkled, fairly lit up. His Scottish complexion darkened a shade, and he leaned forward locking his fingers together on the desk.

"In what way, Lori?"

Dammit. He's going to make me say it! Respect that au-thor-ah-tah!

Lifting her head a fraction of an inch higher, trying to maintain some, any, dignity, she croaked "In...ah...in...bed..."

Looking everywhere but at Father Mike, Lori wished, prayed, for the earth to open up and swallow her.

"What experiene have you had, Lori? Were you sexually active before your marriage?"

Was the Pope Catholic?

Was she not a child of the seventies?

Christ! Here goes nothing, or everything, depending on how you look at it.

"I was."

"How many men have you had, Lori?"

"Err...ah..." 

"Two, three....more?"

She never did learn the fine art of lying. Burning in Hell was a legitamate dissuasion. But she could fudge a bit. 

"Ah..two."

The air conditioning kicked on, for it was 99 degrees outside in the Midwestern summer. Her sundress was drying from her sweat and goosebumps appeared on her sleeveless arms. Looking down in horror, she also noticed that her nipples were standing up. Crossing her bare legs in tandem with her arms, Lori saw Father Mike staring at her nipples as she tried to hide them. 

"Father?"

'Oh, yes...two, did you say? And what is different with your husband compared to these other men?"

"Father, he's just not there for me."

Maybe she could get the conversation going in another direction. There was no way she could discuss sex with this man, this priest. What had she been thinking???

"Lori, is he abusive to you in the bedroom?"

No, she thought. A little spanking would actually be nice....

"No, Sir. He's just not interested, I guess."

"So what you're saying is that he won't make love to you as a husband should?"

Biting the inside of her lip in embarassment, Lori refrained from rolling her eyes. Is he deaf???

Nervous laughter erupted from her mouth, causing a lovely shade of rose to rise from her chest all the way up to her hairline. Father Mike was not immune to this turn of events..in fact, he was beginning to enjoy the reaction she was having to his direct questions. 

"F...Father..yes, that is what I'm saying. My husband won't make love to me."

Mike rose, walked around to her side of the desk and leaned against it, crossing his huge arms, his feet inches from hers. Lori lowered her eyes, staring at those feet, wondering if the old saying was true...or was that the thumbs? Guiltily, she slid her eyes away from his thumb, looked at his huge feet again, then at the wall. 

"Have you spoken of this to him?"

"Well..I tried, but he's always too tired."

"And what would you say to him if he took the time to listen?"

OH. MY. GOD. 

"Uh..uh...I guess I'd ask him if he still found me attractive."

"Ok, Lori, tell you what. I've done a bit of marriage counseling in my time. Pretend I am he, and tell me what you'd say to him."

"I...I guess i'd say something like....Oh, God...uh...Honeydon'tyou wantmeanymore?"

"And he'd probably say "Of course I do. You are a beautiful woman, Lori." "

"Well, he's actually only told me that one time."

O God, why am I here? Lori wondered, squirming in her seat. She was not the type to accept complements gracefully. Everyone was always bitching at her about that.

"Lori, you ARE a beautiful woman." Mike reached out to caress the side of her face and it took everything in her not to flinch away from him. "You have beautiful soft wavy hair, reddish, like mine," he winked at that, "Your eyes have changed colors, going from brown to green to almost gold here today, your complexion and features are sweet and smooth, your lips, and..." his eyes traveled down her body boldly, "your figure are delectable."

Shit! Shit, shit, shit. This kind of bullshit happened way too much for her comfort and now a PRIEST was doing it. Lori stood, realized she was almost nose to nose with Mike, and backed up, stumbling over her chair. His big strong arm reached out to steady her effortlessly. "Tell me, Lori. When you were with these other men, let's say...the first one, did he make love to you or did he use you?"

Ut oh. Are there any of those weird sex laws in the Church, she wondered, her mind racing. She took a deep breath and plunged in.

"We lived by the Catholic cemetery until I was nineteen and the year before we moved I made love with my boyfriend in the middle of it, in broad daylight." Her eyes grew soft at the memory. Young firm bodies writhing in the sunlight, glistening with a sheen of perspiration. "It was my first time, and he made love to me." A far off look crossed her face and she smiled.

A gentle squeeze on her arm brought her back to reality, and the precarious situation she found herself in. 

"Did he perform cunnilingus on you?"

Her pussy twitched at the word he used...it went from moist to seriously saturated. This is wrong, girl, she told herself, despite the growing attraction she was developing for Father Mike.

He moved closer to her; she could smell his breath. She could smell his after shave.

'Y..yes..." Now her subconscious moved to those long ago sweet sticky summer nights, as she instinctively taught him how to love her with his mouth. He had caught on quickly. He could make her cum several times in almost as many minutes; discovering she was multi-orgasmic was a delight, to both her and the old boyfriend and she wondered where he was now and if he had improved with a few years under his belt. If he had, there was some lucky woman benefitting from her lessons. BITCH...

"Lori..."

She looked at him focusing on his black shirt...Mike never wore a collar unless he was saying Mass. "Did you fellate him?"

Ok, now the lovely shade of rose was turning to an alarmingly obvious shade of violet, she just knew it. 

"Was that wrong, Father?"

It was becoming hard to breathe now...Father Mike was way too close for comfort. He was invading her personal space and she was really worried that the little old lady that ran the front desk down the hall would pop in any second, perhaps to tell Father that he was needed to perform Last Rites or something. If he got any closer, he might have to perform something on her...a nervous giggle erupted and she put her hand over her mouth to stifle it. 

Mike firmly clasped that hand in his own and brought it to his bulging crotch. 

"Is this what you want, Lori?"

She just stood there, shaking like a wet poodle, staring into his eyes, desire flooding through her lions. Loins. Wasen't that a Catholic term? O God. She was terrified that she'd start laughing and never stop. 

Maybe the men in the white suits would come, take her away, be her Calgon. Then she could simply escape this torture, live in medicated bliss, numb, no more worries. Lord, I am not worthy to receive You, only say the word and I shall be healed. Help. Someone. Anyone. She had been taught well by the Sisters. Respect the Church. Respect authority. Respect your elders. How old WAS Mike, anyway? He couldn't be more than 15 years her senior. 

He was a man first. A very...er...virile man, she thought, his crotch throbbing under her small hand. 

This is so wrong. So very wrong, she thought as perversely, she let her hand mold itself to his hard outline prominently dispalyed through his sleek black trousers. Lori's eyes closed, and she almost swayed with desire. O she wanted him inside her, she thought as she leaned close to him, breathing in his scent, her forehead on his massive shoulder. 

"Lori," he whispered, "God forgive me."

His hands slipped down her back, all the way to the hem of her short dress; her arms went around his neck and she reveled in the primal thrill of this sensation: a hard male body pressed up against hers, holding her tight. 

Lifting the back of her dress up, Father Mike's hands slipped inside her bikini panties, pulling them down partway over her soft smooth ass. He stood there for a moment, enjoying the feel of her supple flesh under his long deprived hands, his eyes tightly closed. Holding her like that, he lifted her, turned around, and with one hand, swept away the folders, church bulletins, hand-written notes, the football scores and schedules, holy cards, and plopped her down on his desk, pulling her panties down her smooth legs, sliding them off, and tossing them in the air, causing them to land on the palm frond behind the picture of the dove, weighing it down, dangling there as if in midair. 

Mike opened her legs and gazed at the wonders within, breathing in audibly. He lifted her feet and placed them on the desk, obscenely displaying her glistening pussy to his hungry eyes. Pulling up the chair she was seated in a few minutes ago, he sat right in front of her, staring in wonder. Lori could literally feel the heat radiating from his probing eyes and threw her head back, closing her eyes tightly, curling her toes over the edge of his desk. His back was to the unlocked door.

Reverently, Father Mike reached a single index finger to her saturated pussy, just barely touching her wetness, sliding it from her seeping vagina upwards to her clit slowly, o so very slowly, watching as her inner lips twitched in response to his touch. His finger lingered on her clit and he watched again as her vagina opened and closed involuntarily coaxing him to come closer. He watched as a small stream of wetness trickled from her pussy down to her ass. The scent emanating from her snatch enticed him so that he had no choice but to taste, and slowly, he leaned his head in, as if testing a new perfume, breathing deeply. As he exhaled, his hot breath wafting over her saturated pussy, she moaned. Tenatively, as if of it's own accord, his tongue tested that intoxicating perfume, lightly flicking her opening and he could feel it twitch, offering itself to him. Encouraged by Lori's obvious pleasure, he continued. Reaching up with both hands, he spread her pussy lips wide, exposing all her glorious womanhood to his delight. Going by pure instinct now, he experimented. If he put his tongue here, she squirmed. When he slid his tongue up that pink slit to her swelling clit, she moved forward and this marvelous creation twitched of its own accord. Closing his eyes, he lifted his head toward the heavens in a moment of silent thankfulness. How could this be wrong? Lori lifted her head in frustration, begging him with her eyes not to stop. 

Slowly he slid a finger inside her, marvelling at the heat, the slickness surrounding his finger and his cock rose to the occasion, pressing painfully against his zipper. Torn between the pleasure his finger was receiving, the obvious pleasure Lori was receiving as well, and his aching cock, driven solely by instinct, he stood, unzipped his fly freeing his rigid cock and, like a heat seeking missle, guided it home to the Motherland. 

A long low moan escaped Lori's wet lips, and she lifted her hips to meet him. A long low moan escaped Father Mike's dry lips and his body moved, his hands roamed, and his eyes watched as he moved in and out of her hot, wet, tight cunt. One...two...three...four strokes...O God, Mike felt the building up deep inside, he knew it was too soon...

Lori felt the building up from deep inside...she knew it was too soon...

Five...six...seven...

Abruptly he stopped and Lori whipped her head up in frustration. "F..Father, I've been sooo bad. Punish me."

SMACK! His had slapped her outer thigh and he watched as if from above the room. SMACK! Again and again he smacked her thigh watching it turn pink under his heavy hand. Lori moaned loudly, trying to squirm down onto his cock. He obliged. He grabbed her hips and fucked the daylights out of her. He couldn't hold back any longer. 

And as Mike's hot cum exploded inside her another explosion occured simultaneously in Lori. HIs cock throbbed, shot wad after wad of hot creamy cum inside Lori's contracting pussy as it milked him over and over. Father Mike threw his head back..."Shitttttttt......"

Lori threw her head back..."Mikeeeee..."

Sharp tapping footsteps echoed from the hallway outside, getting louder as they approached the door to Father Mike's office. Lost in a haze of satisfaction, a brand new feeling for the priest, he struggled to regain his composure. Shaking his head as if to clear it while moving solely by intuition, he quickly withdrew, zipped up, grabbed Lori and practically threw her onto the chair he had been sitting in moments ago, gazing into that wondrous pussy. He flew behind the desk as the footsteps stopped outside the door and sat down.

Tap...tap...tap..."Father Mike?" A weak sing-song voice wafted through the heavy door.

Clearing his throat, he looked at Lori who was running her fingers through her hair trying to straighten it as best she could. 

"Yes... Come in, Bunny."

Bunny...Lori almost lost it then, covering her mouth again with her hand. Bunny. Why was everyone that age named Bunny? She had a great something-or-other named Bunny who was looney as a tune. 

Bunny opened the door, peeking around the corner, blue hair, red wrinkled lips, watery eyes respectfully, lovingly, fixed on Father Mike's. 

"Father, Mr. and Mrs. Mayflower are here, for their three o-clock."

"Thank you, Bunny. I'll be right out. Please ask them to have a seat in the parlor."

Bunny's eyes were no longer looking at Father Mike. They were fixed on the print of the dove behind his head, on the pair of pale pink panties dangling from the palm frond. Bunny's face turned pinker than the panties. Her watery eyes widened and her wrinkled red lips pursed up as if she had just eaten a lemon. After a few seconds of shocked silence, she straightened her spine, drew herself up to her full height of what couldn't possibly be even a fraction of an inch over five feet, and turned an accusing gaze towards Lori, who was doing her best to make herself invisible. Even with her back to her, Lori could feel Bunny's eyes burning a hole in the back of her head. O God, thought Lori. I'm gonna burn... I'm gonna burn...

Lori looked at Father Mike in panic. Father Mike looked at Bunny in panic. Bunny looked at both of them, her eyes flicking from one to the other, then swept across the papers strewn on the floor. 

"Bunny, could you take this file to Father George?" Mike held out a manilla envelope that was teetering precariously from the edge of his desk. He didn't rise, thereby forcing her to enter the room to take the file from his outstretched hand. Hesitatingly, Bunny entered the room, reached with a shaking hand for the folder. 


Only the Good Die Young



Drunk people are so obnoxious. I was driving home my wife Meryl and her co-worker Amanda from a dinner gala they had been planning for months. The ballroom was in the next county over and over 30 miles from our neighborhood. I agreed to drive that night, knowing I wouldn't drink so much anyway. I didn't think the girls would be "celebrating" so much, not to mention so loud. Although drunk and belligerent they both looked elegant and sexy in their gowns. Luckily with the drive home being so long they were almost sleeping on each other in the back seat by the time I got to my house.

I figured I would put Meryl in the house while I took Amanda home. At least then she would be asleep by the time I got back. I tried gracefully to pull her from the car and carry her into the house. She was dead weight in my arms but her tiny 100 pound frame was hardly a struggle. I gently laid her on our bed and tried to make her as comfortable as possible. I eyed her semi-unconscious body and shook my head as to why she wasn't more sexual.

I had married the "right" woman. She was the kind of woman my parents liked and was talented and good with kids and a presentable wife. But unfortunately in my small-town upbringing people married young with little to no sexual contact before the wedding night. Somehow I bread into a sex-addicted fiend who thought of nothing other. It had been seven years and we had only ever had sex missionary style with not a peep of pleasurable noises coming from her. I often wondered if she had ever even had an orgasm. 

Self-control was a daily struggle. I refused to watch porn; one reason being the fear of Meryl finding it one day and confronting me but a second reason being my fear that the addiction would take over me and I would lose self control. Not that I ever considered cheating, I just wasn't the type. The only benefit was my built, toned body I earned from working out so hard. A high sex drive and few ways to use it was motivation enough to burn off my hormones. Not that Meryl took advantage, but it gave me confidence that if she ever did come around, I would be able to fuck her brains out.

Meryl was still perfect in every other way as a wife. Besides the lack of sexual satisfaction she was kind and trusting. I had to tell myself every day sex is not the most important part of a marriage, although some days I knew I was lying to myself.

Well, my sexual issue wasn't going to be solved that night. I sulked and walked back to the car where I found Amanda completely passed out on the window pane. She had driven herself over to carpool to the gala and I was wondering if she would just be happier to stay at the house and drive herself home in the morning, instead of having someone pick her up to drive her back here.

I slowly cracked the door open on her side of the car. I gave just enough room to slide my hand in to catch her from falling out, but it was unnecessary – she popped up as soon as she felt the door move.

"Hey, you okay?" I asked.

"Ummm, Bryan, am I home?" she asked groggily.

"No, we are still at my house," I replied gently. "I thought you might be more comfortable staying here for the night and taking yourself home in the morning."

Oh my God, she was gorgeous. I was trying to be polite and a gentleman but she was lying so unlady-like with her legs spread and her gorgeous legs exposed. Amanda was certainly not the type of women I was used to being around. She was very independent and self-assured without a husband. And her body was phenomenal. She was in her early or mid-thirties but she had the body of a 25 year old. She had naturally tanned skin, which emphasized her toned physique. She had the most gorgeous legs I had ever seen and even though she was fit she had enormous breasts, not the kind generally seen on such fit women. They were soft looking and definitely not fake. It was amazing she had such a naturally perfect figure; I bet other women hated her for it.

I know my wife did. She was always nice to Amanda but I could tell Meryl was insecure around her. Amanda was just two years older but much more successful and advanced in their company. Plus Meryl's frame didn't hold a candle to Amanda's. Meryl never worked out but stayed slender. But neither did she have a toned body, and her thin physique kept her from ever growing large breasts. I had never been a boob-guy for that very reason, but it was difficult not to enjoy Amanda's as she busted out of her gown and searched for a coherent sentence.

"Stay here?" she asked herself. "Umm, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Its perfectly okay," I persuaded her. "It's no trouble at all and I'll even make breakfast for you two in the morning." I really didn't want her to go. Rarely did I get to see Amanda and I was unashamedly hoping to get more eye entertainment out of her. 

"No," Amanda replied with a giggle, biting her lower lip. "I really don't think I should."

I instantly became stiff in my pants. I generally didn't make assumptions but the look on her face was pure delight and she was definitely thinking about me. Oh my God, I have to get this woman home and away from my house.

"Ok, not a problem, I'll take you home right now," I said quickly as I made my way back to the driver's seat.

I still couldn't believe how big her house was. We were doing pretty well for ourselves and both Meryl and I were working. Amanda's house was bigger and nicer than ours and she certainly wasn't getting any help. I gripped the steering wheel and took a breath, anticipating the next few minutes of getting Amanda to her bedroom.

I opened her door to find her sitting up comfortably but not stable. I reached for her purse and searched for her keys before putting her purse in her lap and prepared to pick her up. I flung one of her arms over my shoulder and reached underneath her knees to pick her up, but my aim wasn't as good as I was hoping; instead my hand had slipped underneath her entire dress and I had to grip the tight muscles of the back of her thigh to pick her up. I tried not to think about her perfect legs and apple bottom, which I was inches from at this point, but my stiff dick was definitely thinking about it. 

I half-sprinted to her front door, fiddled with her keys to let myself in, kicked the door shut and quickly found the stairs. I was kind of impressed how effortlessly it took for me to carry a grown woman all over her house. I pushed the door open to her bedroom and laid Amanda down on her bed. I couldn't help but think of how uncomfortable she must be in that gown. With the "glam" on it she was either going to ruin the dress or ruin her comforter. No! What was I thinking? Undressing her? I need to get home.

But then she moved. I was at first relieved, thinking she would be awake to undress herself. That soon faded when she adjusted herself only enough to expose the peak of one dark nipple from the top of her dress. What was she doing to me!?!? I couldn't pull my eyes away from her. My cock was pushing hard against the back of zipper. It was completely uncontrolled.

I had to see her. Just once. Just to give myself something to think about for the next lifetime of fantasies. She was completely unaware, it would just take a second. 

I pulled her hair up to the side so she wouldn't pull on it. I casually stroked my fingers down her neck and across her collar bone to her shoulder, and whoops, slipped her dress strap down. Her breathing became heavier and her breast looked like it was aching to be let out. I continued to stroke the top rim of her dress, back and forth, slowing pulling it down to expose the most perfect breast I had ever see in my life. 

I was gawking so much so I didn't realizing I had gone from her dress to stroking the underside of her firm tit. Goose bumps rose underneath my finger tip and I watched as her dark areola hardened and her pert nipple stood at attention. As if I had no control my strokes slide up the arch of her breast and slowly slid back and froth over its beautiful peak. And she moaned.

My cock bounced in my pants. I hadn't heard a woman moan in years. It was a soft humm and Amanda began to stir. I froze in fear but she still did not wake. She arched her back, unconsciously begging for attention as she pushed her tit into my hand. It was so soft and so full, like no one I had been with before. I massaged the perfect tit as I watched Amanda continue to arch and moan softly. I was curious how she couldn't be awake but I obviously wasn't thinking logically at that point to give it much attention.  I bent down and wrapped my lips around her sensitive nipple. A sharp gasp escaped her lips but then she lay still as if the sensation knocked her out again. Her skin tasted amazing. I rolled my tongue around her huge nipple, biting it lightly to keep it erect in my mouth. 

I couldn't believe I was doing this! Meryl was probably wondering where I was or why it was taking me so long to come back. On the other hand, she was more likely passed out and Amanda seemed completely unaware of what I was doing, or at least who was doing it to her. I found my conscious again and pulled away. My action was replied by a whine from Amanda. 

"Daaavid," she whined louder.

David? . . . who? . . . that must have been the guy she was dating, or rather one of the guys she was dating. It seemed she always had someone new around when I saw her next. But she certainly was not the slut of the relationship; she dominated those men like they were her pets, and I was starting to see why.

"Daaavid, will you please help me," she said again in slow, sleepy words. "Just get this dress off of me, please."

Her eyes were still closed and she acted as if she were almost sleep talking. Nonetheless I was eager to abide. I stroked both my hands across her shoulders and down her arms catching the sides of her dress and slowly pulling it the rest of the way off. I softly caressed her mounds as I continued the slide the dress past her smooth, soft stomach. When I got to her hips I reached around to the small arch of her back and pulled the material off her ass, but not before getting a quick squeeze of each firm cheek. The rest of the gown fell to the floor, along with her shoes. 

I starred at her unbelievable body, taking extra notice of her string panties with, how cute, a picture of a road map on the palm-sized cloth covering her V. And I bet she was good with long rides.

Now my mind was in a completely different stage. Up until now I was giving myself excuses for the caressing and the stripping but now I really wanted to fuck this woman. I stood up to leave but before I could make it to the door I heard Amanda's sultry voice cry out again.

"Oh David, can you at least even me out before you go?"

When I turned back around I was starring at Amanda holding up her right breast, squeezing it to make the tit seem even bigger. Whether she was conscious or not I was not concerned.

I dove back to the bed, engulfing her full breast into my mouth. Sucking. Licking. Biting. Flicking. Amanda returned with short, quick breaths that grew louder as I reached for her other moist nipple I was pleasuring before, pinching and flicking it as well. I was more relieved now to know that she did think I was someone else and I didn't have to have the conscious of knowing she was betraying Meryl as well. Oh Fuck, Meryl. What is wrong with me?!?! Never again. Oh my God I need to go, Now!

I pulled away, not giving myself another moment to change my mind. 

"OH, thank you Bryan," Amanda said as I closed the door behind me.

WHAT!?!?! I ran back into the room.

"You knew!?!" I asked with half surprise and half anger.

"Of course," she answered very coherently and with a smirk on her face. "Now I would love to help you out," she said as she reached forward and gripped my hard cock from outside my pants. "But you are probably wanting to get home." I grabbed her hand from my throbbing cock. 

"I hate to be so needy, but is there one more thing you can do for me?" 

She didn't wait for me to answer but instead pulled my hand down to her pussy, folded my fingers back and inserted one index into her soaking-wet sex. I could not believe a woman could cum so much from breast stimulation alone.

She said nothing else but turned over and exposed her beautiful, round ass to me before pulling the covers over her.

I stood in a daze, still confused about how the night had played out and who had taken advantage of whom. I strolled back to my car, got behind the wheel and tried to think of how I was going to put myself past this. I quickly wiped my mouth, trying to get the sweet taste of Amanda's nipples off my lips. But then I smelled her. Her sweet, wet pussy cum was still all over my hand and my dick felt even harder as I breathed her in. How could someone be so unbelievably sexy? And want me? I reached down and jacked my cock twice from outside my pants. I had to get home and fuck my wife.

************

"Bryan stop," Meryl whined as she pushed my hands away. I was bearly grazing her sides, trying to get her out of her dress.

"Darlin, don't you think you should get out of your dress?" I asked, sounding desperate.

"Stop, I'm trying to sleep," she squealed, pushing me harder away. I almost contemplated taking her. She had NO idea what I walked away from to get home to her tonight. I could just fuck her now, tell her she was out of her mind the next morning when she chastises me for taking advantage of her. I could blame it on her drunk ass and how she makes things up when she can't remember the night before. I was gripping the hem of her dress, strongly contemplating it, but I couldn't. It was difficult to imagine I had any conscious but there was no cause to do that to her.

I ran to the bathroom and in half a second I was naked. I straddled the side of the tub and leaned up against the shower wall. I was jacking my dick so hard and so fast it was going to be a record-breaking cum. Her tits . . . her skin . . . her taste . . . that pussy . . . her smell. It would take months to get her every sense out of my mind. And those panties. I bet she was such a good fuck. Not one that would just lay there and be taken. She is the taker. I could just see her riding a cock, her ass rocking back and forth, her soft tits bouncing to her rhythm and that tight . . . pussy . . . wrapping around my cock as she . . . . "OHHHHHHhhhh FUUUUUCCCccckkkk!" 

The first spurt hit me on my neck, the second my chest and continued to shoot cum all over my stomach. I don't know how Meryl didn't hear me but she probably didn't care as much, as long as she didn't have to get fucked. Not that she participated much anyway. Well, I got what I wanted: something to jack off to for the rest of my life. Thankfully there was no reason for me to see Amanda for any reason on a regular basis. This should blow over just fine.

************

Within a few weeks I was actually able to go an hour without thinking about Amanda and that night. Meryl was still showing me little sexual attention but I was sort of knocking that out myself lately. Luckily it was my birthday next week and I'm guaranteed sex that night, and even a little more freedom to get a little more out of her. 

I was anticipating the end of the day when I was buzzed by my secretary.

"Your wife is on line one."

"Hey darlin, can't wait for me to get home can you?" 

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry to do this to you today," Meryl shouted over a loud crowd.

"What's going on?" I asked with concern.

"My boss just told me about a PR disaster in California. I told him about your birthday and if there was anyone else who could go. He said he was sorry but it was my field and its one of our biggest clients. He also said dinner was on him next time. Oh, darlin, please forgive me," Meryl sobbed.

"Don't worry about it sweetheart," I said, trying not to sound so disappointed. "We can just do it tomorrow."

"Okay, but I already put together a back-up plan for you," she said with a little more excitement. "Amanda."

My breath caught it my throat. "Huh??" I asked.

"I told Amanda how upset I was about missing your birthday so she volunteered to take you out with her boyfriend . . . ummm . . . David, I think is the name of this one," she said.

"Umm, Meryl, that's unnecessary, they don't have to do that . . . this wasn't anything you could help . . . ." I searched for another excuse as to why this was NOT a good idea.

"Well, she sounded thrilled to do it for you, and besides, she said she was meeting you at the house after work and I have no way to talking to her before then," she said. "I'm about to get on a plane. Love you baby. Have a good night!"

Dial tone. Oh, hell no. She is not going to manipulate me into another tortuous night of teasing and guilt. I just wasn't going home.

I stayed with my work, desperate to not think about her again, or the possibilities she had for the evening. I knew I wasn't strong enough to resist her and I was just going to stay away. It was almost pitch black outside, except for a few street lights that streaked in. The lights outside my office door were off and I knew everyone had gone home by now. I figured it was safe to think she got the point and went home by now.

I was shuffling through a few more papers of my desk when I heard the latch of the door. I was first startled by the sound but my shock turned to fear as I saw Amanda walk in my office wearing a light brown trench coat, tied tightly, and very high heels.


"Hi birthday boy," she said seductively.

"What are you doing here." I demanded more than asked.

"Well, I thought we had plans, but it seems I got stood up," she said, making a sultry walk toward me.

"Well, I had a lot of work to do and with Meryl out of town . . . ." My voice trailed off as I watched Amanda slowly start to untie the straps of her coat.

"No. Don't do it." I said firmly.

"What Bryan, haven't you thought about our night together? Don't you miss my body? I sure miss your mouth," she said as she dropped her coat from off her shoulders and onto the floor.

I couldn't believe what stood before me. She was wearing a matching bra and panty set, but none like I had ever seen. The bra was turquoise lace but the lace was cut out just at the nipples. The top came about half way down her torso but still showed her smooth stomach. Her lace panties dangled clips which held up her thigh-high panty hose. I could only assume the panties were crochless, just based on what I could see in plain view. She looked magnificent.

"Stop, I'm not letting you manipulate me again like this," I said, trying to stay firm, or not, rather.

"It seemed to me you were all in control last time we were in this situation," she said slyly.

"You are just trying to take advantage because you know Meryl is out -" 

"Now let's just think about this logically," Amanda interrupted. "You have done nothing but think about my naked body spread out for you - "

"What is your point?" I interrupted back.

"Is it not more logical for you to just let me fuck you so you can stop fantasizing about it?"

"Huh?" I asked.

"At least then you can actually think about your wife when you touch her, and then you're actually more faithful."

I couldn't believe what I was contemplating, but what she was saying was true. Well, other than the "when you touch your wife part" since I had yet to get any real sexual action from her since the last time I saw Amanda. But I knew that would change soon when she came back home and celebrated my real birthday. But Amanda was right; I would still be fantasizing about her body and her sexuality and wanting to fuck her still. Was what she was saying actually making sense?

I didn't respond but she could tell it was all sinking in. She approached me again and lightly guided me to the couch I had in my office for guests, and she gestured for me to sit. Her dark, toned skin was even more defined by the shadows created by the dark room and street lights. I could feel my dick swell already; I wanted to get out of these clothes so badly!




Only the Good Die Young



As if she were reading my mind she leaned forward and started undressing me. She pulled my shirt over my head with ease and never stopped staring at me. She got onto her knees and without looking unbuckled my belt, top button and unzipped my pants. I lifted myself only slightly to allow her to pull my pants down and let my cock bounce free. She had grabbed all my clothes on the way down and I sat on my couch completely naked, not saying a word. 

She stood up and leaned over me now with her full tits and exposed nipples hanging in my face. I didn't move. I could tell she wanted me, even more than I wanted her. With a wince on her face she lifted her legs and straddled over my lap so that her nipple was grazing my lips. My cock was straight up but she was sitting up on her knees and I could only feel the warmth of her pussy hovering over it. She rubbed the pert nipple across my wet lips and I slightly let my tongue stroke it.  She shuddered at the touch on her sensitive skin and slightly buckled her hips. That's when I felt my assumption was correct and her panties were crochless – her wet pussy kissed the head of my dick before she re-composed herself. 

"Bite it," she whispered heavily. I looked up at her and had never seen such intensity and desperation in her face. "Please," she pleaded again.

I prepared to give her what she wanted and simultaneously wrapped my arms around her back and pulled her down onto my throbbing cock. The sensation both in her pussy and her nipple forced a screech from her I had never heard from a woman, but I liked it. I bit down hard on her nipple while holding her down and grinding my cock deep inside her. She was like a vice on my cock. So warm and tight, she was so wet. It was satisfying to know her seduction and talk about how much I was thinking about her was also a reflection of how much she had been thinking about me.

I eased my grip on her body and torn the cups all her tits. Her top was fully exposed and I danced between the two sensitive nipples – biting, licking, pinching, flicking. Amanda picked up the pace and began to grind hard into me, grabbing onto the back of head for leverage as I was face deep into her gorgeous cleavage. Her pussy squeezed tighter and tighter around my hard dick; I was hardly fucking her at all but she was completely fucking me. The only freedom I had was my hands and I found her ass and held onto it to feel her ride back and forth on my dick, helping her cum.

"More, more," she whispered. "More, More, MORE, MORE, FUCK, FUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!" 

It was like flood gates had opened. I felt her warm, wet cum spill over my lap and my stomach. I had only heard about women cumming like this in porn but certainly never experienced it myself. It was hot as fuck.

It was as if the orgasm has completely knocked her out. She was leaned over me, breathing heavily and her body limp. I lifted her off of me and threw her onto the ground. It was almost too rough but she didn't seem to mind – her ass immediately lifted up in a welcoming gesture as she got on her knees.

I slid off the couch and positioned myself behind her. My dick was already soaked with her cum and it was no effort to slip right into her again. I grabbed her hips and pulled her into me so she could feel how deep I was inside her. We both moaned at the amazing sensation.

"Bryan . . . please," she pleaded.

"What?" I asked.

"Tear my pussy up," she begged.

Not a problem. My fingertips dug into her firm ass and gripped it as I began to slam her pussy over my huge cock. She went into a fit of screams, pleasurable screams, mixed with moans and "Oh my God!" and "You are fucking the hell out of me!" screams. I couldn't even feel my muscles anymore I was pounding her so hard and so fast. 

I couldn't keep my eyes off her submissive body bent over in front of me, her muscular back shinning in the street light, her sexy round ass bouncing off my dick and her screaming for more. I felt so dominating over her, which seemed to never happen with Amanda. The control was overwhelming; I just wanted to fill her up.

"OH Please, please, don't stop . . . you FEEL so GOOD," she continued to scream.

I didn't know what the answer would be if I asked, so I didn't. I felt the cum building up in my balls and begging to be released. I pulled my swollen cock out of her pussy and slammed it into her ass.  Amanda screeched. I couldn't tell if it was pleasure or pain, but probably a little of both. I stretched her ass out even more as my thick dick poured my cum into her.

After I finished filling her with my nut I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back to me.

"Did you get what you wanted?" I asked.

"More than expected," she said, sounding pleased.

"Good, now stay away," I said as I stood up and put my clothes on. Without saying another word I left the room and made my way out of the building. I meant what I said but leaving her there, still in ecstasy, with my cum in her ass was so dominating and erotic I could only imagine what she must have felt.

I wouldn't let her overcome me again though. I was sure curious what sort of boundaries I would push when my wife comes home tomorrow night. I definitely need to go buy some wine. 



Only The Good Die Young Ch. 2



The doorbell echoes deep from within the two story brick house.

"Come in, Lori, how are you?"

What am I supposed to say? We both know why I'm here, and having an affair with a priest under the guise of marital counseling isn't anything to write home about. 

I want to say that I'm scared, that I feel terribly guilty, that this is wrong but that I can't not do this, and as I look up into his blue eyes, trying to form my reply, even though I am the one with sexual experience, albeit minimal, I feel suddenly shy, skittish. Maybe it's the forbidden lure of the taboo. Maybe it's his overwhelming presence. Maybe I'm just horny as hell, but he never gets his answer. 

Father Mike seems confident enough; he's wearing old tight faded jeans, a 38 or 40, I'd guess, and a St. Louis Cardinals (from back when they WERE the Cardinals) t-shirt. His red hair is wet, combed neatly and smells wonderfully sexy, even from this distance. 

Stepping aside, holding the heavy oak door open for me, he says in a low voice, "Come in, Lori. Now."

Unable to maintain eye contact, I look down and step inside the darkened foyer, lit only by a single votive on the side table, staring at the dark green marble floor clutching my purse tightly with both hands. He's awfully aggressive tonight, I think to myself. 

"The maid's gone home for the night and Monsignor Eager's at a conference in Springfield. I thought our...meeting would be more comfortable in the den rather than my office." 

Several scenarios and thoughts flow heterogeneously through my mind without my actually forming the words and thinking them. Ok. He wants to go ahead with this, he wants me, I can see that, but I can also see that he's going to have to go through some sort of off-the-wall ritual in order to justify this to himself, and to me, also. This can't be easy for him; it sure as hell isn't easy for me.

Father Mike's eyes are tender, his hand gentle yet firm as he takes me by the elbow and guides me down the hall through a door on the right, into what I can only assume is the den, where a fire is casting undulating shadows across the booklined walls from the fireplace. 

Gracing the only free wall above the fireplace hang antique weapons and instruments of torture from hundreds of years ago. What odd decor for a den in a priest's house, I think to myself. Compelled to acquire a better look at these old iron devices, I move away from Mike. He watches as I walk toward the fireplace, my upturned eyes staring in fascination, unable to tear my gaze away. 

Facing the fire, my eyes glued to the wall above the mantle, the front of my body is warmed delightfully, chasing away the chill of the autumn evening air. 

It had taken me two months to screw up the courage to phone for another appointment with Mike, and I'd been grateful that I hadn't had to speak directly with him when I called, talking rather with Bunny, the Church secretary who had been there for over fifty years I'd heard. When I'd given her my name she hesitated, no doubt trying to recall the specifics of my last visit to his office, when she'd nearly caught Father Mike and I on his desk...

"Fascinating, aren't they?"

My backside is equally warmed as he stands close behind me looking over the top of my head at the vile apparatus. 

"Father Eager never uses this room, so he allowed me to hang my collection in here." He laughs. "He was a bit startled, I think, at my choice of decor, but had no objections since they're obviously antiques. What do you think of them?"

His hand rests on my shoulder, sending a shiver through my body. I peer at the pieces, unable to name most of them, but knowing instinctively what they are, and what they were used for. One item in particular catches my eye, and I can't believe what it is I'm seeing, it turns my stomach but I am unable to look away. A rusty metal ring about an inch and a half wide, yet long enough to encircle a human neck when bent at the hinge in the middle, flat triangular spikes protruding from the inside around the whole strip hangs on the wall front and center, as if considered a trophy of some sort. It could be nothing other than an old slave collar, and as I looked at it, a wave of horror washed over me; I couldn't believe this sort of thing still existed in our modern world, and I was sickened at the very sight of such wickedness. 

My body, however, was reacting in a totally opposite manner. I imagined myself inside that collar, with a heavy chain attached to it as a phantom guard led me nude and helpless to my master's chambers where he awaited, planning all sorts of devious methods with which to use my aching body...my mind retreats to my favorite, and very first sexual fantasy. Bound tightly, spread eagle on a big fluffy bed, blindfolded, and gagged, a ruggedly handsome stranger, a Scottish laird, perhaps, boldly and roughly fondles my body from head to toe and back again, nibbles, even bites my secret places, tonguing my swollen pink clit to the brink of orgasm when he finally plunges deep into my quivering pussy taking me over and over until I scream through my gag, a multitude of orgasms producing wave after wave of convulsions throughout my entire being. That fantasy got me through a lot of sleepless nights as I watched, helpless, while my marriage went down the tubes... 

Mike's broad hand squeezes my shoulder, returning me to the present and I shudder in an attempt to cast off the conflicting emotions coursing through my body and mind. Ashamed at myself for even thinking such thoughts in the presence of a priest, I nevertheless lean slightly back against his warm body, closing my eyes against the overwhelming desire I feel for him. 

Sensing my reaction to the wall of torture, his arms encircle my upper torso from behind, pinning my arms to my sides as his head dips down allowing him to run his tongue lightly up the nape of my neck to my hairline, causing me to shudder violently. His arms tighten, rendering me immobile as his tender tongue disappears and is replaced by teeth, biting down hard on my neck akin to a stallion overcoming a mare in heat.

Mindless now, throwing all caution into the fireplace, my head involuntarily throws itself back, affording him instant access to my entire neck, where, completely out of character, his arms squeeze until I can barely breathe and his mouth devours my neck, licking, sucking and biting as I gasp aloud in startled pleasure.

O God! Forgive me! This cannot be wrong, can it? Is such bliss only reserved for saints and martyrs? Why is it right for a husband and wife to own such happiness and not a man of the cloth, one who serves Him day in and day out? Where is the justice in that? 

Roughly grasping my shoulders now, Father Mike turns me to face him and reflected in his eyes I see the fire burning, flames licking at his irises, seemingly reaching out for me. 

"Lori," he whispers hoarsely, "I'm thinking of leaving the priesthood." He pulls me tightly to him and my arms slip up and around his neck, my hands grasping his wild red hair, as the pounding of our hearts mingle. "I don't know what else to do. Ever since you came to me in August, I haven't been able to focus on anything else. You're all I think about. When I try to write a sermon, I find my mind drifting to other things. I find myself looking at these things on this damn wall wanting you in them, at my knees," His voice lowers, "at my mercy..."

My body and mind suddenly still at his words and a tentative feeling of coming home overcomes me. Can he read the secret desires on my face, I wonder as heat rushes up my neck in embarrassment and wonder. Or are they really secrets anymore? Memories hasten back to me as I recall whispering to Father Mike about the times I tried, unknowingly, to submit to my husband as he scoffed at me, mistaking my acquiescence for weakness. The times I attempted to anticipate his needs as he laughingly accepted my offerings with total disregard. My face grows hotter. The time I willingly, lovingly sponged him while he sat in the bathtub, watching me as if I were a bug, an interesting insect on a mission. He had no clue, I think as Mike's words flow through me, no clue at all. 

"I want you, Lori, I want you near me always. I want you available and ready for me unfailingly at any time. And in return, I want to protect you and love you." His large sweaty hands on either side of my face now, he stares deeply into my eyes, searching for a way to convey his needs, needs my soul is already aware of. Needs that are mine, too. 

My face changes before his eyes, from alarm to understanding, from terror to surrender and upon recognising my expression, Mike grabs me and kisses me deeply, pouring all his desire into my mouth with his, his hands ripping at my dress, popping buttons and tearing cloth. My legs turn weak at this onslaught of passion and he picks me up, continuing the kiss and carries me to the deep green leather sofa, where he gently lays me down on my back, falling on top of me, our mouths and tongues still connected. Lying on top of my shredded dress, my breasts bare, he raises his head as mine raises with it not wanting that kiss to end. 

"Lie still."

A tingling rushes throughout my veins at his order and I immediately obey him, lying my head back on the sofa, watching him gaze upon my breasts. Watching as his hands cup each one, raising them, squeezing them together as he reverently lowers his mouth to them, tonguing each as if they're his favorite flavor of ice cream, licking, suckling, slowly circling my nipples over and over until I think I'm going to die right there under him. 

Inexperienced but for our last encounter, driven solely by instinct, he rises and kneels on the floor, pulling me to him, pulling at my tattered clothing until I am nude on my knees in front of him, trembling with unbridled passion, untamed lust. In a shaky voice, he speaks to me. "All my life, I've felt driven by something, some indescribable need. I was always, always in trouble for aggressive acts as a child. I never hurt anyone, Lori, and I swear by all that is holy, I will never harm you, but there's a...a need inside me to be in control. To...dominate. I joined the priesthood hoping to tame it, to control it by giving myself up to God. I thought this need for power was a sign that I should help guide people in the right direction, but now I know it's not. Now I know what it really is." Looking intently at me, he continues, "And from what you've told me about your husband, he's unable to give you what you need. I am not."

Visibly shaking now, I stare at him as he stands, strips, then kneels back down in front of me.

"Turn around."

Unable to comply, overcome by his revelation, I stare at him in uncertainty, terrified that this is a dream and that I'll wake up at any moment. Can this be true, I wonder. Can he really comprehend the words that just came from his mouth? He wants to...to dominate me, to control me. A feeling of utter sweetness rushes through my belly. A balm for my aching soul.

His hand reaches for my pussy and grasps my fleece, tugging on it. "Turn around. I'm going to show you what I'm talking about."

How do you describe a feeling of combined dread and exhilaration? You don't, but that's what I felt. Along with fear, anticipation, excitement and relief all rolled up into one big emotion as I clumsily turned around still on my knees, presenting him with my backside. 

"Bend over." One hand gently pushes me forward at the shoulder while the other holds my hip until I am on my hands and knees, my head down, my hair hanging. Positioning himself between my legs, nudging my knees further apart, he leans against me and I feel his hard cock prodding against my back slit while his hands at my shoulders slowly slide down my back, short nails lightly scraping my flesh, causing me to tightly arch my back and lift my head high. Stopping at my ass, he begins to rub my cheeks in slow circles, then vertically, then...SLAP! Right on the center of my ass his hand lands. I gasp loudly, attempting to crawl away from him as he grabs my hips and plunges his cock deep into my dripping pussy, stilling me, making me want him like never before. Unmoving, he remains inside me, holding me by the hips as I reverse my momentum moving backwards now, trying to fuck him. 

"This is what I mean, Lori. Do you want it?"

My head jerks to the side, trying to see him, trying to beg him without saying the words, my ass wiggling frantically. Recovering from the sting of his hand, my breath comes in short puffs, and I nod, my hair flying. 

"Say it."

Dropping my head down now, refusing to humiliate myself in this way, I back up to him again and he withdraws. Whimpering, I whisper huskily to him. "I...I can't..."

"Yes, you can. Say it, Lori."

"NO, dammit! I can't!"

I want to, God knows I want to, but distant laughter echoes at me from those other times. Times with my husband in the first years we were together as I tried to beg him, as I tried to communicate my need to be controlled and he only laughed at me, making me feel small and insignificant, making me feel worse that I already felt. Those times hardened my heart, helped me build walls against the pain. But the walls were thin, as yet unreinforced, and a crack forms as we kneel together on that floor, on that beautiful red and gold Persian rug that must've cost thousands of dollars.

"Say it, Lori, I know you can do it."

Could I? Could I really put myself in that position of total vulnerability once again risking my all? 

To Be Continued...



Only The Good Die Young Ch. 3



Here goes nothing, or everything, depending upon how you perceive it...

"I want it. I want it now, please."

"Good girl. Very good.

He reaches for my hair, caresses gently, runs his fingers through it, grabs a handful, squeezes and jams his rock hard prick into my hot wet cunt, pulling on my hair as he fucks me. Damn! For a beginner, he's sure caught on quickly!

He's like a kid in a candy store, his hands are everywhere. Reaching around to squeeze my breasts, my shoulders, my ass, my thighs, fingering my clit clumsily, but effectively, and I begin to feel it build. 

It feels as though there are ten pairs of hands on my body at once. My hair swings as he, quite simply, fucks my brains out for a full ten minutes, hard. Pounding me from behind, I hear his raspy breath and I know it's taking everything he's got to hold back his climax, but hold back he does and he lets me cum.

My legs stiffen almost to the point that they're straight out behind me at an angle, my toes gripping the Persian rug as I ram my pussy back onto his cock, quivering and spasming around it, my breath coming in short pants and animalistic grunts. 

He's got hold of my hips, but in his effort to prolong his own orgasm, he lets go of one and yanks on my hair and the effect is such that it prolongs my own orgasm, offering me renewed waves of pleasure. He has to let go to grab my hips again as I grind myself onto his cock to keep his balance. 

After my breathing slows a bit, he pulls out slowly, lets go and sinks to the floor, sitting with his back to the sofa. Still on my hands and knees, I crumple into a ball, drawing into myself until my forehead is resting on my knees, and my arms are curled around my legs, jerking occasionally from the aftershocks of my powerful orgasm. Staring through the crack between my knees at the Persian rug, I wonder if it's handmade, and if the dye used was natural or manufactured, anything to distract myself from the way I just behaved.

Ashamed and confused, my mind still spinning, I raise my head a bit and peek at him over my arm. He's breathing hard, sweating, trembling, watching me closely as if trying to read my thoughts and body language, and when his eyes meet mine, he smiles, eyelids heavy, cock ramrod straight. 

Tentatively, I straightened so that now I'm sitting on my knees, hands flat on the floor propping myself up, looking back over my shoulder at him. I know there's more to come and I know he's pleased thus far. This is a novel sense of awareness, this sense of approval, this sense of acceptance, it feels good.

A thought pops unbidden into my head: I could help him. Wait. Help him do what? Well....help him learn to give me what I need. But what is it I need? What's wrong with me? Despite my confusion, I have a deep feeling it's something we both need, we just don't know the words yet. So, I could help him, teach him. No, he knows. He doesn't need help, I do. Christ!

Even though he was a virtual virgin until two months ago when we made love on top of his desk, he knew what to do and how to do it. He took charge. He's definitely authoritative. His instincts are right, most definitely.

I smile to myself. Need to ride this out, see where it takes us. Maybe we can learn from each other. Teach other. What exactly that would be, I don't know yet. 

These jumbled thoughts swirling around in my head confuse me. I am unable to fully comprehend them. It's as if Nature has taken us and molded us to Her hand. It's as if She has intervened, allowing us to be who we are, not who society dictates we should be.

We smile at the same time as if our thoughts are intermingled and move in tandem toward each other in one fluid motion, kneeling, facing each other.

My hands reach for him and he takes each one and puts it behind my back, indicating they are to remain there. My eyes close as I feel what can only be satisfaction, anticipation, balm to my aching soul. 

He puts a hand to either side of my face, looking deeply into my eyes. Slowly he slides them down the front of each shoulder to my breasts, where he places a hand under each, weighing them lightly. His fingers move to my nipples and he pinches each one, watching my eyes widen, listening to my sharp intake of breath. 

He twists. Pinches harder. Rolls them between his thumbs and forefingers watching my reaction. My eyes close and I throw my head back in ecstasy as a little jolt of electricity travels from each nipple in a V straight to my pussy.

O God. I need...I need to show him. I need...something. Opening my eyes I stare at him, trying to make him understand what I don't. 

His eyes harden, a flicker of fire flashes in them and he stands, giving me what I need. What we both need. 

Eye level with his fully erect cock, my hands reach for it haltingly and I rest my cheek against it, preparing myself for what it is I am about to do. 

I know this is a normal activity for most, but it isn't for me.

Before, when I would do this for my husband, I did it out of what I thought was love and I did it because I thought it was my duty, and every single time I hated it. 

He invariably made sure that he held back for close to two hours and by the time he finished, I could hardly move my aching neck and the inside of my mouth would be scraped raw by my teeth. On more than one occasion, I would look up at him during this and he would be just lighting a cigarette, or flipping through channels on the TV with the remote...or both. 

In retrospect, it was a form of obedience, yes, but there was a vile malevolent energy present always. And after, I felt unspeakably violated, akin to the lowest of the low. 

Needless to say, I was apprehensive at best. Mike saw this, he SAW it somehow, and so he placed a gentle finger under my chin lifting my face to his and said. "Try. For me." And I did.

I slowly slid a single finger from the base of his cock to the tip, reveling in the velvety softness of his flesh, tracing the veins standing out on the sides. At the tip I catch a drop of precum with my finger and trace small circles over the eye with his slippery wetness. He shivers visibly and I smile at his obvious enjoyment of this simple act. 

As he watches from above, I bring my finger to my mouth and lick it. It doesn't taste like my husbands, it tastes of ocean breezes and sunshine and as I suck my finger into my mouth my eyes close of their own accord while his hands slide down over my hair touching lovingly, reverently, admirably.

Next I try a small lick around the rim of the head and he inhales audibly at this, tightening his fists in my hair.

Wanting more, I stick out the tip of my tongue and lick all the way up from base to tip, then another slow firm circle around the rim of the head, grasping it with one hand. My tongue dips into the eye and tastes his spirit as he moans quietly through his teeth. "Ohhh...Godddd."

Looking up at this, I see his head is bent back, his throat working as if in silent prayer, thanking God for this. I can't believe the difference in the reactions between he and my husband. I LIKE this. I WANT to do this. Pleasing him in this way fills an empty place deep within me. It's unexplainable, it just does.

Bolder now, I inhale deeply and press my lips tightly to the head, opening bit by bit as I push my mouth onto his cock, inch by inch, my tongue flicking under the rim as it slides deeper and deeper until it hits the back of my throat. Two inches remain, and I am as yet unable to take it all in so I grip the base and tighten my fingers around the excess. 

On the outtake, I suck lightly and he gasps in pleasure. His first blow job. O yes...I DO like this.

Confidence building, I take him in and out, going deeper each time, relaxing the back of my throat, sucking a little harder on each stroke. His hips are moving in rhythm with my bobbing head, his hands gripping my hair tighter and tighter. Deeper and deeper each time it goes into my mouth until there is no need to grip it with my hand so I reach around behind him and lightly scrape my nails vertically across his ass, then trace his crack with a fingertip from the top to the bottom barely touching, feeling his muscles tighten and twitch. 

I want all of him. I want to taste him, feel him and hear him. I want to watch his reactions to my actions. I raise my eyes to his face and see that he's staring at me, watching my lips circle his throbbing cock. I see him swallow deeply, his Adam's apple moving up and down. I blink at him heavily and he blinks back, our only form of communication. 

Following Mother Nature's silent instructions, my hands move slowly from his ass sideways, around his hips and my left hand grasps the base of his cock again while my right hand reaches under to cup his balls lightly, balancing them, rolling them over my fingers.

"Ahh...h..h..h.." He groans, gripping harder now, his hips almost twitching as if trying to behave themselves, as if trying not to ram his cock all the way down my throat.

Inside my mouth, his cock gets harder, and a bit larger. Each time I pull back, my tongue circles the rim of the swollen head, and I suck, circle and suck while pumping the shaft with my hand until he firmly places his hands on the back of my head and takes over, pumping my face. Instinctively, I relax my muscles, letting him hit the back of my throat and beyond. I gag a little and place the palms of my hands against the front of his hips and he presses harder, fucking my face with vigor, in and out and in over and over until his thigh muscles turn hard as rocks and he stiffens. His hands practically rip my hair out as he squirts once, twice, three times and more until I hear a loud "AAhhhhh..nnnnn...."

I swallow each spurt quickly and the tightening of my throat on each swallow brings forth one more squirt, until he pulls me by the hair away from his ultra sensitive cock, unable to tolerate one more lick or suck.

He takes a wobbly step back bending forward a bit as if to protect himself from more tongue lashing and I sit back on my knees, palms open and up on the tops of my thighs. my head lowered in satisfaction and regret, secretly wishing I could have sucked him longer...and the realization of this thought stuns me. I liked it. I loved it. He didn't smoke during it. He enjoyed it...the difference is amazing.

Peering up through my lashes to smile at him, he's nowhere to be seen, but a moment later, he strides into the den nude, proud, with a look of determination on his face. A goblet of Chablis in each hand, he walks to the sofa, sits each glass down on a side table and sits on the floor, back against the sofa again, crooking a finger at me, becoming. 

Instead of rising and walking to him, I decadently crawl on my hands and knees slowly toward him, watching through sleepy eyes as his cock renews itself at this sight, growing larger and harder right before my eyes. He opens his legs wide and pulls me to sit between them, my back to him. He is a furnace, body heat radiating over my back, warming me, surrounding me.

Handing me a glass, we sip silently, our thoughts our own. My sense of relief and satisfaction overrides the guilt. I don't know how or why, but this was not wrong. Legally, it was. Even morally, it was. But whatever is happening here is much more profound than man-made laws. What we followed were the laws of the universe, as old as time itself and it feels damn good. It feels right. It feels like coming home. 

Leaning against him, his cock pressing into my back, I can feel him breathe. I can feel his heartbeat. I want more and so does he.

Somehow, from deep within, I know there's a lot more to this than the type of sex I had with my husband, even more than with my first. 

I want him in me, on me, over me, above me. I want...no, i need...what? What is this deep seated need? My body tenses with it, silently begging for some unnamed necessity, some unnamed requirement in order to stay alive, in order for the world to continue to turn.

And I know, somehow I know that there's so very much more to this than sex. It's almost as if my soul is going way back in time, back to the time when men ruled, women followed. Back to the way things were centuries ago, the way things should still be. And, I know that that's how it could be with us.

Mike feels it, too. His presence behind me circles me. It overpowers me.

His cock is urgently prodding my backside, demanding from me what it is I cannot name. I only know it is up to him to provide me with the answers to my unknown questions, and I know he has them.

Silently, simultaneously, I hand him the goblet as he reaches for it and sets them back down on the table. His calloused hands push forward on my shoulders, walking them down my back until I am on my hands and knees again, ass presented to him as if for approval. 

Still seated behind me, his hands rub my cheeks in circular motions, massaging my flesh, squeezing, making it his own.

A single finger slides downward from the top of my crack and lingers on my rosebud, causing me to pull away in alarm a bit. A sharp pinch on my ass stills me. The finger insistently circles my asshole, slides into my slick slit catching the wetness and back, prodding slowly and carefully until the very tip slides inside my ass. I gasp loudly, tensing around his fingertip, afraid. 

His other hand reaches up and cups my mound from behind, and he pulls my soft curly fleece, commanding me to be still for him. I don't move as the hand holding my hair releases, then inserts another finger into my dripping wet cunt, sliding in and out slowly. Another finger joins this one as the fingertip in my ass is removed. 

He turns and twists his wrist, the two fingers deep inside me, sliding in and out rubbing the walls until he finds my small circular spongy spot on the topside, and, upon hearing my gasp of pleasure, rubs it in small circles until my ass begins to back up toward him, imploring him to...to do something. What is it I need? What is this craving, this hunger? This seemingly unquenchable thirst?

SMACK! My head flies up. O my God! He hit me! 

SMACK! And before I can even think to respond, not sure how to anyway, his warm hands are instantly massaging my ass where he'd just slapped it.

I don't even think to crawl away, I follow my heart and I still completely, my head hanging down, my breath shallow as I try to absorb what just happened. 

It HAS to be wrong, he just HIT me! But slowly, as his warm hands massage away the sting, something happens inside me. I begin to breathe deeply, and the combination of pain and pleasure roil through my senses, all my muscles twist and tighten and I bear down, almost in a soul searching attempt to control this deep deep passion building inside me. It's alien. It's familiar. 

SMACK! O God! My pussy twitches, I know he can see it. SMACK! My back arches, my ass raises, begging for more. My abdomen tightens, the muscles circling my waist clench and contort until it almost tickles. 

SMACK! "Uuunnhhh." My God! He's moaning!

SMACK! "Uunnhh!" It erupts from some untapped place deep inside my belly. O dear Lord! It's not him, it's me! 

It has to be me because his tongue is now deep inside my cunt flicking my slippery tender flesh, his face hot against my ass. 

A desperate guttural sound escapes my mouth as I back into his face, wiggling my ass in an attempt to get his tongue deeper inside me.

My ass cheeks stinging for more, my flesh fairly steaming, his hands reach up and open me wide for his assault. My pussy lips are stretched deliciously wide by his fingers, pulled painfully apart as he tongues my sopping cunt, licks my swollen lips, saliva mingling with my juices. 

A hand smacks my ass once more and teeth clamp down on my pussy lip, gnashing together, almost too hard. 

My entire body is quivering. The strength in my legs fail, I fall to the floor on my stomach and he smoothly follows, ramming his granite cock into me. 

Body flat against body, back to stomach, he fucks me hard and deep, pushing me across the floor with each stroke, hands under my pussy, fingering and rubbing my clit slick with juice. 

"Unh.." "Unhh.." "Unhhh.."

Each thrust produces another crude grunt from my mouth until it becomes background music, much like drums echoing in the air from a distant fantasy land.

But this is no fantasy. It's all too real this time. The drumming becomes my head banging against the heavy leather of the recliner across the room from where we started. 

In an effort to meet his relentless pounding, I climb the chair by my hands, knees on the floor, resting my hands flat against the lower back of the seat, Mike not missing a single thrust. 

Still fucking me, his hands reach around and roughly pinch my nipples, pulling and twisting sending little sparks of fire throughout my nerve endings. 

A deep swell builds from within, a rush of blood twists through my veins, and with every stroke, with every twist of my nipples, it amplifies, coming stronger and stronger until my mouth opens wide and a bloodcurdling scream erupts, vibrating the very foundation of this holy house. 

My body stiffens and strains against the onslaught of his cock, the chair now wedged tightly against the wall as I try to escape this terrible exquisite too good to be true pinnacle of truth. 

"Un! Unh! Unhh!"

He won't stop, he's fucking me harder and harder, and my pussy twitches, tightens, clamps as another orgasm washes over me. When he hears my breath quicken again, he clamps a hard hand over my mouth just in time to muffle the second scream as my hips buck hard against him. I can't think, I don't even try, all I know is that something is near another of my openings, so I bite it, trying to draw it into me, trying to absorb all he has to offer. 

A grunt of pain escapes his mouth and the hand is yanked away to grab my hair, pulling hard on it as hot lava pumps into my pulsating pussy,

shooting into me like a drug, offsetting yet another climax or extending the same one, I don't know anymore. I don't care. We move together violently, creating a tropical storm of sweat and cum, the scent of raw sex filling the air like the cloying odor of sulfur that appears before a tornado hits.

As my senses return, the only sound in the room is ragged breathing, slowing now. Still on my knees, my upper torso resting across the seat of the recliner, Mike's cock is slowly sliding out of my sore, beautifully used pussy. His body collapses over mine and we lie together for several minutes until he stands, pulls me up, takes me by the hand and leads my out of the door down the hall to the stairs. There he gently pushes me in front of him and we ascend, Mike following me this time. 

Upon reaching the top, hands on my shoulders, he guides me down the left hallway through a door on the right, which leads to his private quarters.

Padding silently across the plush carpet straight to the bathroom, he urinates while I watch, then lowers the seat for me, places a hand on my shoulder pushing me down.

Sitting on the commode in front of him is a little intimidating and it's hard to let go at first, but when I look up he's occupied retrieving fat fluffy towels from the little linen closet, paying no attention to me, so I am able to let loose, pee, and pat myself dry. 

Mike pulls back the shower curtain and leans over the edge of the tub to turn on the tap. 

Meanwhile, I'm brushing my hair in front of the mirror with his brush I found sitting on the vanity next to the sink. 

"Get in, Lori."

"Ok, just let me finish..."

"NOW."

His tone startles me and I stop, brush in midair, staring at him in the mirror. Previous thoughts rush back to me, mixed with new ones. I'm scared, but I like this. I wonder if my husband hadn't been such a complete jerk if I would have been able to adapt to this easier, even though I still don't know what "this" is. I do know it makes me feel safe and protected. I know that it scares the living daylight out of me. I know that it's not only a want, it's an inherent need inside me, and I think it's in Mike, too. 




Only The Good Die Young Ch. 3



My hand instinctively reaches back to cover my ass. 

"Lori," he sighs and closes the lid of the toilet so he can sit on it. "Come here," he says and I move to stand between his open knees as he takes both of my hands in his and holds them looking up at me. 

"I'm not sure yet exactly what's going on, but I do know it's not wrong...it's perfectly natural and we're going to be fine. I know you don't understand, but I'm going to help you. I've been reading a little about this on the internet, at a site called castle realm and others. It explains a lot of what I've been going through...and you're in it, too." He smiles.

"I am?"

"Uh huh. How do you feel when I give you an order?'

Unable to admit that I like it, I whisper, "I...I'm not sure."

He scrutinizes me for a second, reading between the lines. 

Nodding, he goes on. "And how did you feel when I spanked you?"

My eyes lower in embarrassment, and he squeezes my hands in an unspoken signal to look at him. I do.

"It felt..." I have to close my eyes. "It felt really good...but it has to be wrong."

"I'll decide what's wrong, but just know this, Lori. It's not. It's just who we are."

My eyes widen in alarm as something occurs to me. 

"What's it called? What is it? I mean, is there a name for it? Is something wrong with us? O my God!"

He leans over to turn the water off. 

"Calm down. Nothing's wrong with either of us. Question. Do you believe that gays are born gay, or that it's a choice they make?"

'Well, personally, I believe they're born that way. I think it's a trait."

"There you go. So is D/s."

"D...s? What's that?"

"Dominant, submissive. Me and you. I am Dom. you are sub."

My interest is peaked, my heart races with the excitement that real words are presented to me, the knowledge that information is out there, and most importantly, that nothing is wrong with us. 

"Tell me. What is this? What? Where's the webpage? What's the address?"

I'm fairly dancing between his knees, dying to learn about this, To learn about me. Us. 

Chuckling, he squeezes my hands a bit to still me. 

"Look it up when you get home. Read and learn. For now, trust me that not a thing is wrong with us, and there are a whole bunch of people out there just like us. I'll explain more as time goes by. And we're going to just take this slow and see what happens. Now, do you feel safe with me?"

Even though we've only known each other a few months, I did trust him. Completely. No one can tell me that this hasn't happened before in one form or another. Sometimes, you just know. 

"Yes."

"And my spanking you, did you like that?" he asks, even though he knows the answer.

My pride compels me to say, "I was going to ask you about that..."

"Don't ask. I'll tell you."

Ok, now I'm more confused than ever, my upbringing warring with my submissiveness. Who in the HELL does he think he is? How DARE he? And as my hackles rise, I open my mouth to tell him just exactly what the story is here....and he leans forward and kisses me deeply, wrapping his massive arms around me tightly. And just as I'm beginning to melt, he pulls away, reaching out to brush the tips of his fingers lightly across my sensitive pussy. 

"Were you going to say something?"

I can't think when he does that, dammit! I stare at him blankly.

"N...no..."

Again, he smiles, and turns the water back on. "Good, get in."

to be continued... 



Only The Good Die Young



Father Mike stood, blocking Bunny's view of the offending panties, bent over and kissed Bunny on the cheek. 

"What would I ever do without you, Bunny?"

Flustered to the core, her secret crush on Father Mike evident as she clutched her heaving bosom with her free hand, Bunny's face fairly glowed through her heavily powdered nose. 

"Ohhh. Father Mike...don't be silly," Bunny giggled girlishly.

Gently placing his hands on Bunny's shoulders, Mike turned her and gave her a little push towards the door, reaching behind and snatching the panties off the wall, jamming them into his pocket.

Incredulously, Lori watched the scene, watched the smoothness with which Mike handled the situation and smiled a wobbly smile, still shaking from the close call and the after effects of the long awaited orgasm he gave her. Damnnnnnn....that was his first time, she thought to herself. Boy, could she teach him a thing or two. She wondered if she could schedule regular appointments...her mind raced ahead of herself, imagining a plethora of steamy scenes yet to come.

Upon reaching the door, Bunny turned, looked at the wall; surprise, then confusion registered on her face. She looked at Lori, who blinked back innocently at her, then shrugged, gazed lovingly one more time up at Father Mike, and exited, quietly closing the door behind her. 

Mike stood with his back to Lori, breathing deeply. Without bothering to turn around, his low Scottish brogue broke the silence. 

"See you next week, Lori?"

"Yes, Father. Next week."

Mike left her sitting there alone, leaving the door ajar. As his heavy footsteps faded away, she stood, smoothed her hair, then her dress. Deciding to leave by the rear exit, she walked down the silent hall, found the door and opened it. Blinking in the hot sunlight, Lori hoped a stray breeze wouldn't suddenly kick up and whip the hem of her dress up showing that she was now sans-panties as she made her way to her car. 

After all...what would they think?

This WAS the Church.