Contrary to popular belief all preacher wives aren’t sexually repressed prudes. Quite to the contrary, most of us are very horny ladies because our husbands have some pretty weird and unnatural ideas where sexual gratification is concerned. Most of them have the misinformed idea that God gave us sex for reproduction only and to enjoy having sex is sinful. I mean, get real. If God hadn’t meant us to enjoy having sex, he wouldn’t have made having an orgasm feel so fucking fantastic. None of us get enough at home, at least not from our husbands. Some of us do have a good sex life at home. We have it with intimate friends and relatives but those aren’t the story I want to share with you here today.
Good sex is the one thing that I will never be able to have too much of and I’m always ready to get it on with anyone that turns me on, anywhere, at anytime. I’ve always enjoyed sharing my encounters with all my intimate friends and relatives but I never thought much about becoming an author of erotic true confessions. At least not until a few weeks ago when my seventeen-year-old daughter, Rachel, and her twenty-four year old lover, Rudy, I’ll tell you more about them another day, urged me to try my hand at it. Just thinking about sharing my real life encounters with complete strangers got me so wet that I had to get myself off right there in front of them.
The stories that I’m going to share with you here are all true but they aren’t necessarily told in the order that they happened, at least most of them won’t be. Most of my girlfriends have had orgasms in church but I’m the only one that actually had one during their husband’s sermon and that the encounter that I want to share with you today.
Masturbation in the Pews
I’ve always been something of an embarrassment for my husband because of the way I dressed. In his opinion all my dresses and skirts were too short and all my tops were too revealing. Even more embarrassing for him was the fact that I never wore a bra to church. The bottom line is that I never wore a bra anywhere. I stopped wearing them right after I became pregnant with my son, Paul, because my nipples had become super sensitive and even the softest fabrics irritated them. Then I discovered that I enjoyed the way the soft material caressed my large nipples keeping them in a mild state of arousal. My mother, a very hot lady in her own right, told me as I was growing up that great beauty was to be shared and not hid away beneath layers of clothing. My father agreed with her and we all were naturalist before nudist colonies became an accepted lifestyle. Anyway, my husband preferred me to sit in the far corner of the last pew of the church on Sunday mornings.
That particular Sunday morning, as I dressed for church, I slipped into a white, Empire waist tunic top and a very short, white, cotton miniskirt with nothing on under them except for a very skimpy white lace g-string. It was new outfit. I bought it a few days earlier at my favorite clothing store, Fredericks of Hollywood. My husband had yet to see it because we stopped sleeping in the same bed right after Rachel was born because he didn’t want anymore children and he didn’t want to be tempted to sin in the eyes of God by touching my naked body. I always slept in the nude. I studied myself in the mirror before going down to breakfast. Even with the top two buttons undone, my large, firm titties stretched the thin fabric taut; my cleavage bulged outward through the opening. My large, ruddy colored nipples and saucer size areola clearly visible the stretched thin cotton material. My miniskirt was so short that you couldn’t really tell that I was wearing a skirt because my tunic top was actually longer. He had already left for the church by the time I came downstairs.
That morning as I slipped into my pew I could feel the ushers following me with their eyes. As a rule, I had the pew all to myself but not that morning. A young couple that I had seen around the church but had never spoken to slipped in behind me and sat down close beside me. Sally and Bob, I knew their names but I didn’t really know them. However, that was all about to change in a very satisfying way for all of us.
This guy always reminded me of that ruggedly handsome cowboy in all those old Marlboro cigarette commercial. No Sunday going to meeting suits for this guy. He always came to church in tight fitting jeans and Jean shirts. He dressed the part right down to the cowboy boots that he wore. The girl with him, I found out several days later that she was his fiancée, always wore the shortest mini-dresses that I had ever seen, mini-dresses with necklines that plunged down to her bellybutton.
As the call to worship begun, the ushers closed the doors and moved forward to take their seats near the front. As they moved forward the Marlboro Man stretched his arms out along the back of the pew, his left hand cupping my left shoulder. Glancing around I saw he was smiling down at me. Slowly he increased the pressure of his hand pulling my body tightly against his. Tighter, closer, until it felt as if our bodies were one from shoulder to ankle. Slowly his hand slid higher on my shoulder until his fingertips caressed my neck.
Every girl has certain parts of her body that are especially erogenous and for me two of those erogenous zones are my neck and ears. His feathery light caresses had currents of arousal running throughout my body like currents of high voltage electricity. My body took over and I relaxed into his side letting him know that I was enjoying what his fingers were doing to me. All too soon for me it was time to sing the first series of hymns.
As we rose to sing, he slid his large, strong hands slowly down our backs to close over our hips keeping us pressed tightly against his body. As we moved into the next hymn, he slid his hand up under my tunic to close over by bare flesh. I was finding it increasingly hard to get the words right as his fingers pushed up higher to caress the side of my inflamed tit flesh. My nipple had grown rock hard and even the soft fabric of my tunic top pressing down on them was becoming uncomfortable. Without thinking about what I was doing, I unfastened another button on my top letting it fall away from my hard, throbbing nipples. As my top fell away, Bob’s hand slid up to take my nipple in his fingers, caressing it, squeezing it gently, I felt it grow even harder, fatter, longer until it felt like it was about to explode in his fingers. My knees and legs had grown so weak that I would have fallen to the floor if I hadn’t wrapped my arms around his waist for support. My bare arm pressed against Sally’s as she clung to his waist and hips from the other side of him.
As the opening series of hymns came to an end and we started to sit down, Bob slid his hand out from under my top, sliding it slowly up my back to cup the back of my neck in his hand. By then the only thing I could think about was my growing arousal. I no longer cared about anything except my orgasm that I could feel building up in the pit of my trembling belly. After a few minutes, Bob dropped his hands to our thighs to caress them lightly as my husband started into his hour-long sermon. Sally and I slid lower in the pew. Slowly, we spread our thighs further apart giving Bob free access to our soft, sensitive inner thighs. As his hand slid between my thighs to caress my lace covered pussy lips, my head slipped down on Bob’s shoulder. I moaned loudly from the intense pleasure that his touch was bringing. Sally was experiencing the same intense pleasure and we were moaning continuously now as we reached out for orgiastic bliss. Bob was in no rush to get us off either. It seemed like an eternity had passed before I felt his hand pulling my sopping wet g-string from my body. Glancing down through half closed eyes I saw that he had pushed our skirts up our hips and we were sitting there naked from the hips down. My sopping wet g-string and Sally’s laid on the floor between our feet.
As Bob’s fingers found their way between my bloated pussy lips I was right on the brink of that bottomless pit called ecstasy. Sliding my left hand inside my top I played with my own nipples as my right hand found his long, fat cock through the rough Jean fabric. As I stroked him through his Jeans, Sally reached down and unfastened his Jeans pushing the open giving me free access to his throbbing hard-on. I knew then that he had planned this because he was wearing a rubber.
As I started pumping furiously on his fiery hot shaft, I felt Sally’s hand slip pass mine to cup his swollen nut sack. All three of us were moaning in unison now as we started cumming together. I could feel every powerful spurt of his jism as it raveled up his twitching shaft to splash against the end of the rubber catching it. We milked him dry as our own climaxes continued to roll over us leaving us totally satisfied, totally spent. We sat there like that; his finger deep inside us as held his cock shaft and balls. We made no attempt to separate and straighten our clothing. Then within minutes, I felt his cock starting to grow hard again in my hand.
We masturbated each other again, slower this time, bringing each other to an even more powerful orgasm. We finally rearranged our clothing just as the sermon ended and the ushers picked up their baskets to take the morning offer. Bob still held us tightly to him as the ushers walked to the back to begin the collection. Sally and I left our g-string lay where they had fallen knowing that the ushers would see them.
Not a word had passed between us until it was time to exchange brotherly and sister hug and words of brotherly and sisterly love. As Bob and I hugged, his hands slipped down to my ass cheeks pulling me tightly into is crotch as he spoke the first words that had passed between us that morning. “Let’s worship again next Sunday.”
He was hard again and I slipped a hand between us and squeezed that beautiful hunk of meat, “Oh Jesus, yes, I have never been to heaven in church before.”
A man that had been sitting in the pew ahead of us and uttered these words. “Can I come back there and worship with you next Sunday. I’ll come prepared so I would end up having to jack off in one of my socks like I did today.” With that, he leaned over the back of his pew kissing Sally and me and the kiss was anything but a brotherly kiss.
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