Emma & Pastor John

On a summer evening, when the sun seemed to hang low in the sky for what seemed years, A women pulls a chair out on the porch and takes a seat to catch the evening breeze. The last of the reddish yellow hues loosing themselves to the increasing grey black of night, with few clouds in the sky the stars begin to make their appearance one at a time. The woman sits motionlessly waiting for the cool to engulf her as she goes over her days events in her mind. “Just more of the same”, is the only words that come to mind, her husband is far off and her child is away for several weeks for summer camp. The days have been dull and dreary, with only the relentless sun of the Midwest to scold her during the day and staggering endless nights of alone to keep her company. She is tired, and lonely and needs to have some company of some kind, of any kind, but, this is a farm and the closest neighbor is miles away. With the planting season in it’s prime, there is no one to come to her need. Even her husband has abandoned her for work on a corporation farm that pays more than the thirty acres they have. Sometimes she wishes that life would be different for her, but, take it as it may, this is her lot in life and she must bear under its weight.

Occasionally the headlights of an automobile or a pick up truck speed by her porch on old highway 61. A stretch of blacktop between to large interstates that cover points to the east and west, with the largest port of call some five hundred miles distant. Along the interstate route are small towns and villages that barley survive as entitles unto themselves without the support of some large agriculture conglomerate. Thus each summer she is left to tend to her vegetable garden and chickens while her husband makes a living elsewhere. Not that it matters much to her what her husband does, for the romance in their marriage has long since diminished to subtle greetings while passing each other in the hall. The one joy in her life, her son, is allowed to escape the prodigious boredom of a summer in the Midwest via a vacation bible camp in the Rocky Mountains courtesy of the local Baptist Church. The family cannot afford such a luxury if not for the goodness of Pastor John, a nice man who does odd jobs to make ends meet. Last year, Pastor John lost his wife of ten years when she succumbed to lung cancer and left him alone to sort out the wisdom of God’s intentions for him and his life. Every year, the Pastor received donations of eggs, vegetables and chickens in order to alleviate the cost of sending her son to the Great Rocky Mountains, a place she has yet to see in her own life.

As she watches the stars begin to appear in strength she is relieved of the day’s heat by the cool breeze that rustles past her on the porch. “Ahh, something to thank God for, at least” and she close her eyes and drinks in the coolness. In a few moments she rises and retrieves a bowl of water and a wash rag and places it on the table next to her chair on the porch and she begins to giver herself a nice cool wipe with the moist rag around her neck and face. Heaven is in the most simple of things and she is comforted by this.

A set of headlights turns off of old 61 and a rusted out ford 150 pick up truck rolls to a noisy halt in her yard scattering chickens and followed by a cloud of dust. From the pick up emerges Pastor John who on occasion has visited her while her husband and son are away to ease the loneliness in both of their lives.

Being a tall lanky man, he seems to unfold himself as he gets out of his truck and upon seeing Emma sitting in her chair, he smiles to her showing an even row of white teeth surrounded by a weathered face of a man used to hard work and not much more.

“Evening Emma,” he calls to her as he strolls toward her, “it’s a good night for sitting on the porch and watching the night roll on.”

“Ain’t that the truth Pastor. Why don’t you pull up and have a sit, I’ll fetch you some lemon aide if you like?”

He ambles up to the porch and takes a seat on the opposite side of her with the table between them. “Lemon aide sounds real nice, Emma, and even better if there was a little more than just lemon aide in it,” together they have spent many an evening sipping lemon aide with just a touch of sour mash to spice up the tartness.

Emma smiles at this and without any more talk she is anxious to oblige him, for in truth, sometimes the sour mash is what gets her through these nights and she would never drink alone. John being a Pastor and all, there seems no harm in it and so, to the devil beware.

They are both accustom to sitting for long hours sipping on their lemon aide and not discussing much but the weather and what the season has been like so far, with maybe a bit of speculation as to the comings and goings of some of the parishioners within moderation, of course. After about four hours and the better part of a quart of sour mash the two of them retreat inside to allow the mosquitoes to feast on something else for a change. This happens often and soon, Pastor John is fast asleep in a rocker by the fireplace and Emma covers him up with a blanket and, happy for the company in the house, puts herself to bed.

The clouds obscure the moons light and the blankets on Emma’s bed peel off of her and she feels his hands as they raise her night gown slowly up her body. He softly angles her this way and that and succeeds in removing the night gown completely. She gasps as she realizes that he is naked and is sporting a full erection. His body is beautiful and the size of his erection is something she hasn’t seen since her wedding night years ago. She wants to scream but she can’t find her voice. He begins to arrange her on the bed and she is helpless to resist him. He kneels before her legs and gently spreads them wide open and he leans forward to taste the essence of her. The first lick sends a shock wave through her entire body and she lies on the bed, an eye transfixed on his bobbing skull as he wets her insides and begins to send erotic pleasure through out every fiber of her being. She feels a wealth of emotion surge inside of her and she wants to moan out loud but she can’t find her voice. Instead she clamps onto her breasts and pulls at her nipples and lets out a long breath. She feels the heat building up inside of her and it’s impossible to contain any longer and she arches her back and. . . then she wakes up to find her own hands being used as she imagined his mouth was being used.

Wide eyed and in a cold sweat she completes her orgasm and immediately feels guilty for using the vestige of a Pastor for such carnal pleasure. She wonders if he heard her or even if she made any sound at all. Then she keeps herself awake wondering if the good Pastor would or could ever support an erection that she dreamed of and if she should try and find out.

Emma rises before dawn and takes her time dressing. She chooses certain underclothing that accentuates her firm breasts and flat belie, and uses clothing to suggest rather than revel her womanly charms. So armed with cleavage and a tight skirt she goes about preparing a little breakfast for the Pastor, should he require sustenance prior to leaving.

When John does awake, he is taken in by the sight of Emma’s round buttocks as she is bent over a table to arrange something out of his sight. Not for the first time in his life has he been so taken in by her, but today she is lovely. She smells of fresh soap and a faint scent of floral perfume touches his noise. The skirt is modest but revels her lovely legs and he can trace the outline of her panties underneath. She straitens up and he can make out the line of her bra through a fabric that although not see through it could have been. She wheels around and plants her eyes dead on him and sends a slight smile in his direction. Though it is not the smile he is observing but the welling of her cleavage and the almost distant outline of her nipples. How does a woman do that he wonders.

“Can I get you anything? Anything at all,” she asks.

The Pastor is somewhat without words as he sees her, and not for the first time, as a woman of desire and not just another one of his prisoners.

“Surely you see something you like, John, just help yourself to whatever it is.”

It is at this moment that he notices that she is holding a tray with coffee, eggs, bacon and a slice of ham.

“It all looks so good, it would be hard to pass up.”

“Then help yourself Pastor,” and she puts the tray on the table next to him, “take what you want and leave the rest behind.”

He watches as she strolls back into the kitchen, her long hair seems to swish behind her, dancing on bouncing motion of her ass as she walks.

She feels his eyes take her in and she is about to burst into a thousand tiny pieces knowing that he likes what he sees and wishing he would make a move to take what he needs. But she is a cool one on the outside and does not reveal such need nor would she ever dare to.

When the Pastor is ready to move on she presents him with a sack full of freshly harvested tomatoes and a basket of freshly laid eggs. She follows him to his pick up and shuts the door for him. Before he can say goodbye, she reaches across him, allowing her breast to brush against his chest as she grabs two of the ripe tomatoes. She withdraws herself and posing the tomatoes about where her nipples would be she informs him that she needs them for her own lunch and gives him the Mona Lisa smile once again. He nods in agreement and drives off down highway 61 amazed at the hard on he is sporting and hoping that it will subside prior to reaching his next destination.

Emma is certain of the Pastors return and she prepares herself accordingly. She washes herself prior to sunset each night and dawns her sexist undergarments and then covers herself with a shapeless long dress that allows the light to pass through should she stand just so. For the next week she does this every night waiting for the Pastor to arrive. However by the seventh night he has yet to arrive and the clock is turning to ten pm. Perhaps she was a little to obvious and scared her prey away. Perhaps it was just a dream that would not see the light of reality.

At ten fifteen she sees a shooting star and then decides that she is being ridicules and that she should just act like the mother and wife she is and accept that she will live without romance until the day she dies. She stands letting the cool breeze flow through the thin dress and then opens the door to go inside. That’s when she hears the crunch of gravel as his pick up turns in. Turning to watch him approach, full aware she is back lit by the interior lights giving him a silhouette of her body, and she smiles just like Mona Lisa.

PART TWO

Sitting inside his truck, Pastor John is bombarded with the silhouette of a near naked woman with her legs parted and her near transparent dress rippling in the wind. Almost instantly he feels his pants tighten around his balls as he gets hard. He is instantly ashamed by such an overwhelming lust and riveted to his seat least he betray his hard on.

“Evening Emma,” he manages to say coolly, “I know it’s a bit late in the evening for visitors but I was wondering if perhaps you might have a cool glass of lemon aide for a thirsty overworked Pastor?”

Emma shifts slightly and he catches a glimpse of her garter belt strap and his dick is pounding at his zipper to get out.

“Why, anything for the church Pastor,” she drawls in a rather sultry voice, “you know that. Come on in and sit a spell, it’s done cooled off inside and its right nice.”

He watches as she turns into the light of the home and watches he glide into the kitchen. A perfect outline of the female form is conveyed as she moves and he is glad she won’t see the bulge in his pants as he disembarks from his vehicle. On the way to the open front door he adjusts himself and tries to conceal his throbbing membrane. Once inside the doorway he politely shuts the door behind him and something inside of him screams that that was an essential turning point in his relationship with Emma. Shaking off the thought he moves to his favorite rocking chair near the fireplace only to find it filled with knitting odds and ends. Temporarily confused as to his proper place he selects the only other piece of furniture to sit on and reluctantly lowers himself onto the couch. It is a soft couch and long. One could feasibly use it as a bed, and in a flash thoughts of Emma naked on the couch race through his head and he is grossly distracted by this which further inflames the bulge in his pants and the blood rushing to his head.

Once inside the kitchen, Emma makes a fuss putting together their sour mash lemon aide. She darts a quick glance to see that Pastor John is seated where she wants him to be and then takes an ice cube and rubs her nipples with it causing them to go erect and hard within seconds. Her bra is a low cut affair that allows the nipples to be free and they poke like tiny arrows through the thin fabric of her dress. Satisfied, she takes the lemon aide to the Pastor and presents him with his glass with a smile on her face and sharp pointed nipples at eye level between the rim of the concoction.

She notices that he is not looking at her eyes but at the sharpness of her nipples and he accepts the glass eagerly and takes a long draft on the brew. She sits right next to him even though there is enough couch for at least three more people and she admires the bulge in his pants. Things are progressing nicely she thinks.

“Bet that takes the bite out of the day,” she says and places a hand on his thigh and leans into him to click glasses as if in a toast. He must move his left arm onto the top of the couch behind her and swivel his torso around to comply with the toast, “And then some,” he says.

They talk for a while about variety issues of concern to no one in particular while sipping on their liquor and her hand never leaves his thigh and his arm is beginning to slide to her shoulders. She leans into him as he places his arm around her and they laugh and talk of events and people as two old friends would do. When both glasses are empty and neither wishes to move to refill there is an uncomfortable silence between them. Emma places both glasses on the floor and then takes his chin in hand and penetrates into the depth of his soul with her piercing green eyes. Like a deer caught in the head lights of an oncoming vehicle he is frozen. She hesitates for a moment and then she presses her lips to his. At first he is startled and then, as if by remote, he pulls her in and he finds that his tongue is discovering the inside of her mouth and she is practically sitting on his lap. They kiss with a ferocity that surprises both of them and then, as sudden as it begins, they break off.

Both of them stunned by the passion of the other and both, not knowing what exactly to do next until Emma places a hand over the bulge in his pants.

“I know you want me,” she says as she gently rubs the bulge, “and I certainly know I want you, Pastor.”

John makes an effort to speak and she pulls the words out of his mouth by placing his hand on her breast. He can feel the nipple through the fabric and in his minds eye he sees her naked and lovely, exposed for his eyes only and unconsciously he caresses her breast. She leans into him and deeply kisses him as she finds her way through his belt and zipper and without looking she knows that what she dreamt about was smaller than the actual penis she had in hand. With a flourish of fabric she sends her flimsy dress flying and she is on her knees between his legs. She admires the size of him and the heft and she drags her tongue from the base of his dick to the head and then wraps her mouth around it.

“Oh my God,” Pastor John is amazed at her beauty and the lustiness’ with which she attacks sex. The low cut bra and the garter belt with matching panties lends itself to something out of a dream and for him it’s real and happing now. It all happing so fast, she is tugging on his pants and underwear to take them off and he is compliant without question. Once his pants are off she begins using both hands and her mouth on his engorged penis and all he can do is let her. He pulls his shirt off and places his hands on either side of her head as it bobs up and down along his shaft. It has been a long time since he has had sex and he feels he is about to burst very soon. He tries to slow her down and she casts off his hands. The sac around his balls is so very tight and then, he floods her mouth with his semen. At first she chokes a little and then she allows cum to flow down her throat drinking in every last bit of him. There are all kinds of sounds that he hears and as his orgasm subsides he realizes that he is the one making them. It all seems so unreal to him. A beautiful women tending to his long neglected need of human contact and she is a willing participant. There has been many a time when he contemplated the use of a pay for sex hooker, but being a Pastor it seemed that it was out of bounds. Then, as she licked the last of the semen from his shaft he remembered that here was a “married” women and one of his flock. How could he let this happen?

Emma’s eyes gazed up at him as she licked the last of his juice up and saw the look on his face and instantly knew what he was thinking. Emma knew he would be torn between what is right and what is wrong. But for Emma, what was right was having his dick inside of her and to hell with the rest of the world. She was a woman and wanted to feel like a women and be sexy as a women and give in to carnal desire. If that was wrong that all that God made was wrong.

“John,” she said lustily, “I want you, all of you. I want to love you and there is nothing wrong with love.”

“Emma,” he pulled her off her knees and she sat on his lap, her nipples within centimeters of his mouth, “I am your Pastor, and I should be your example in your walk with God.” He was almost pleading with her to understand.

“Then be a good example,” she tilted his head forward and offered up a breast. He took her breast into his mouth and suckled on it like a baby, “OH John, you are good.”

He moved from one breast to the other and she urged him on with giggles of pleasure and a lustiness that he had never know before. He lay he upon the couch and allowed his tongue to work its way down and around her belie button and to the rim of her panties. He gently pulled the panties aside, not removing them, but exposing her clitoris, and he began to lick her.

“OH JOHN,” she burst out as he did so, “You are good.”

He licked her and found a hard little nub that he tickled with his tongue and used his fingers inside of her to accentuate the experience. Her taste was exotic. She was like some rare wine that is found only in a small little corner of the world and he had a lock on all of it. She writhed and cried out, her legs engulfed him and her hands pulled on his hair in an animal like passion. She arched her back and pulled on her own nipples and the scent of her sweat filled his nostrils. She grabbed him by the ears and lifted her whole body off the couch as a burst of her juices flowed out of her and into him. He drank like a drunken sailor on a three day leave. He wanted to absorb all that she was giving out and he kept on with her until she did it again. Her panties were moist and wet as were her thighs and her breath was coming in gulps. Somewhere along the line she had removed her bra and her nipples were like twin towers riding the wave of her bosom. His jaw was tired and he felt like his tongue would fall out from over use, but the mere sound of a woman in the troughs of orgasmic pleasure served as an erotic stimulant in and of itself let alone the beautiful women before him. He was hard again, like a rock and he wanted her. No, correction, he needed her more than anything in his life. To hell with being a Pastor, he was a man now and he was claming his right to be so. He slid her panties off and tossed them aside. She was still in the aftermath of her own orgasm and not fully aware of his movements.