Sunday School Teacher Day 02

Mrs. Beckford was breathing heavy, and the hands that had been pulling my hair were now by her sides. I was kneeling between her skinny thighs with my boner bobbing in front of me, and when Martha looked down and saw it she nodded, and as she nodded I felt her hand take my dick and bring it to her.

As I knelt there above her, I felt my dick slide into someplace so warm and wet, and so snug it felt like I was being swallowed up. Nothing ever felt like this before, and as I sank all of myself into Mrs. Beckford, I realized I was grinning like a hyena.

Looking down, I didn't recognize the woman beneath me. This wasn't the dour Sunday School teacher with the sour personality, nor was it the crazed sex-fiend from the kitchen whose actions were lewd and crude.

I didn't see any of that. The woman below me didn't have a big nose with a mark where the glasses usually were, or bushy eyebrows and grey at the roots of her black hair.

The woman below me was smiling, maybe as widely as I was, showing my pearly white teeth that I had rarely seen. She looked like an angel as her hands came to my face, holding my cheeks as her thighs clamped around my butt, and then she was kissing me, swallowing my tongue as we began to rock in each other's embrace.

I would like to say that I made her cum - gave her an orgasm that rattled the bed frame - but that didn't happen. She sighed and moaned as I moved in and out of her, but seemed to be taking her pleasure from the pleasure I was getting, and when I came she gasped a little while my dick jerked inside of her.

I might have been crying after I came, so thrilled that I had actually done it, somehow managing to get through the act without humiliating myself, but I don't remember. All I knew was that I was happy, and the woman that I still didn't recognize seemed to be happy too.

I thought that might be the end of it, but as I learned it was only the beginning.

***

The rest of the day was even more bizarre than I could have imagined, although not in a bad way. Mrs. Beckford rarely spoke to me, but was always looking at me, examining my body as if she found it interesting. That was off-putting at first, but I grew to revel in her attention.

After all, nearly every female I had ever come in contact with had somehow managed to avoid being hypnotized by its very ordinary features, so while I didn't get it, I loved it.

I spoke little to Martha Beckford either. We couldn't have much in common, no matter how much I strained for something to say. I didn't think she knew much about the Boston Celtics, or what she thought about the Baltimore Orioles starting rotation, and doubted if she even knew who Jim Palmer was.

Bringing up old Sunday School experiences wouldn't go over well either, I suspected, so that was out. As for the only other thing I knew about her, Can Man Johnson, even I knew better than to say anything about that now while I was in her bed.

So we had sex. Virtually non-stop sex, and when we weren't fucking or sucking our hands and mouths were doing something to each other in preparation for the next time. I found myself being more an more turned on by Martha Beckford's body, and grew to appreciate where she liked being touched the best.

As for Martha Beckford's fascination with me, it bordered on worship, and I say that with as much confusion today as I had then. It was as if I had turned into Paul McCartney or Rock Hudson, even though I had looked in enough mirrors to know that the truth was far different.

How many times did we have sex? If I actually knew the number (and I could make an educated guess about that), you wouldn't believe me if I mentioned it so I won't. Heck, even I can't believe it. Chalk it up to being 18, dumb and very full of cum, as well as having held a lot of myself in for too many years. Once the floodgates were unlocked, I was not about to turn away from anything.

After that initial coupling, for the next 7+ hours I grew more and more confident, to the point where by the end of the day I might not have been able to say I was any good, but I suspect I wasn't bad. That I could tell by Martha's reactions.

We did take a break for lunch. Mrs. Beckford simply rolled over towards me after we had just uncoupled and said, "Would you like lunch, Timothy?", and I said okay.

I had tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich out in the same kitchen where this crazy morning had begun. Mrs. Beckford put her bathrobe on, but I stayed naked. That wasn't my idea, it was Martha's, who simply told me I didn't need to get dressed when I began to put on my underwear after rolling out of her bed.

"Not necessary," Martha said as she took me by the hand and led me to the kitchen.

She shared the can of Campbell's with me, but as she sat kitty-corner from me at the table her eyes never left my dick, even moving the napkin I had placed on my lap so she could keep an eye on it.

Completely unremarkable tube of flesh it was, especially compared to the other one I knew she was familiar with, but it really captured her attention. She had remarked earlier that she felt bad for me because I had been, in her words, "mutilated at birth", a reference to my being circumcised, but my "deformity" certainly didn't appear to bother her.

As soon as my spoon rested in the empty soup bowl Mrs. Beckford was down on her knees halfway under the table, gobbling up my limp dick and somehow making it come back to life. She dragged me back into the bedroom and off we went again, since apparently having sex wasn't like swimming where you had to abstain right after you ate.

This time Martha went on top, and this new position really turned me on, seeing her straddling me with her boobs looking bigger as they swayed down in front of me. We must have worked our way through half of Kama Sutra already that day even though I was ignorant of everything and only went along with what ever contortion she positioned us into.

It got a little kinky toward the end of the afternoon. For some reason Mrs. Beckford started talking about me being the man, and being so much more powerful and dominant she felt like I could do anything I wanted to her and she would be unable to stop me.

My ignorance was genuine, because I didn't want to do anything she didn't want to do, and was quite content with the menu she had been offering.

No, she insisted. I was the hunter and the gatherer, and as such she was at my mercy since I could overpower her at any time and do the most vile and disgusting things I could think of. That was the way of the world and how it should be.

I didn't get it, and still didn't get it even after she burrowed around in a closet and came out with a couple of pieces of rope and a jar of Vaseline, throwing them on the bedding and climbing onto the bed face down.

"You could overpower me," she insisted, even though the thought that I could overcome her superior height and surprising strength would have been in doubt. "You could pin me down - tie my wrists to the bedposts - and have me any way you choose. You could even take me anally, and I would be helpless to stop you. You could savage me if you chose."

In the end, she almost had to tie her own wrists to the headboard, but by then even I caught on to what she was up to. That was how I found myself kneeling behind Martha, who lay spread-eagled face down on the bed with a pillow under her abdomen, her barely discernible rear end raised up and every bit as vulnerable as she wanted to be.

"No," Mrs Beckford sobbed after instructing me what to do with the lubricant. "It hurts."

"You like it," I snarled, albeit meekly, as I repeated what she had told me to say while I slid my oiled finger into her fur-ringed anus.

My only prior experience in that part of the body had been when Mrs. Beckford's finger had probed me back there, and she had managed to find whatever magic button I had that triggered almost immediate erections, so I tried to do what she had done to me.

"Timothy no!" Mrs. Beckford cried out when I brought the tip of my greased dick to that brown ring, and I did my best to ignore what she was saying, just like she had told me. "Oh no father! It hurts. Daddy please don't put your thing there."

I didn't understand anything she was saying, and the whole scenario was weird, except I loved that it was very warm and very tight in that cavity, and it felt very nice as I held onto Martha's bony hips and pounded into her ass as hard as I could, while she kept begging for mercy.

In no time. the ropes had come loose from the bedposts, courtesy of the lousy tying job I did, but Martha kept her hands up there right up until her body started undulating beneath me. She started making feral noises; growling, snarling and moaning while she tore at the bedding.

I hung on for dear life, even when it felt like she almost snapped my dick in two when her anus contracted around my cock, and after she stopped convulsing I emptied my balls into her rectum.

"Ahh!" came the sound from the wet and almost lifeless body beneath me as I spurted my load deep into her bowels, and after I rested my sweaty body onto her equally wet back, my dick slithered out of her anus.

"Are you all right, Timothy?" Mrs. Beckford asked me as we climbed off of the bed and she examined me. "Would you like something for your knees?"

It was then that I realized that the blood stains on the sheets were coming from by knees, which over the course of the day had become raw from being on my knees so much. My elbows and palms were also sore, but nothing like my knees.

"No, I'm okay," I insisted, even after Martha expressed concern over what my mother would say when she saw me. "I'm always getting banged up playing ball."

The bed was another matter. The floral sheets were drenched with our sweat and assorted bodily fluids, so Martha stripped the bed and brought out new bedding after tossing the dirty bedding in her washing machine.

She seemed pleasntly surprised that I helped her make the bed, and after she corrected the minor flaws I had made in the corners, she seemed quite content with it all.

"4:34," she announced after looking at the clock. "We need to get you cleaned up so you're out of here by your supper time."

I suspect that I had to be out of there before 6:15, which is when her husband got back after closing up their religious goods store and arrived back home, but I was so drained that I didn't complain at being eased out.

Martha brought me into the bathroom, and after turning on the shower, had me climb in with her. Their shower was a lot nicer and bigger than mine was at home, which was a good thing because we ended up scrubbing each other up.

If my friends could only see me now, I remember thinking as I soaped up Martha's breasts, the soft flesh yielding under my lathered hands. If they could see old lady Beckford too, I thought, they would not believe it. What a different woman she was under the clothes, and even the parts of a woman I never thought I would enjoy, became playgrounds for my hands and mouth.

Martha lifted her arms and let me work the soap under her arms, the deep pockets that might have never seen a razor having had a strange effect on me over the course of the day. As I lathered her armpits she smiled, having noticed my growing fascination with them, and let me have my fun. I had even gotten over the embarassment of her having more hair under her arms than I did.

Somehow, as we played around with the soap I began to get another erection, even though my dick was crimson and a little sore, and when it poked her thigh Martha reached down and grabbed it.

"Insatiable," she said, shaking her head as she squeezed my dick. "What animals we are. Incorrigible beasts not fit to walk the earth. Let me clean you."

I wasn't sure what insatiable meant, and incorrigible sure didn't sound all that flattering, but that was as Sunday School Teacher-ish as Martha had gotten all day, so it didn't bother me.

So I let Martha scrub me, and then when she maneuvered me around to face away from her and had me bend over and spread my legs, I did as she asked, even putting my left foot up on the edge of the tub.

"Oh!" I sighed when I felt a wet finger enter my back door, and as she screwed her digit around inside of me I groaned as she thoroughly cleaned me.

"OH!" I cried out a moment later, clutching the back rim of the tub when the feeling got quite different, and when I looked down between my legs through the shower spray I saw that Mrs. Beckford was kneeling behind me.

What was working around me back there wasn't as long as her finger, but the feeling was indescribable. I watched her hand reach up between my legs and grab my arching prong, and while her fist moved up and down my slippery organ I felt her tongue probe intimately into me.

Somehow I came yet again after a time, but while the little semen that dribbled out of me was hardly noticeable as it hit the tub floor, the intensity of my orgasm nearly made me faint. Mrs. Beckford kept yanking on my withered dick long after I came, and only the fact that the warm shower spray was turning cold stopped her tongue from working.

"Sorry," she said after turning off the shower. "I forgot I turned on the washer."

"That's okay," I mumbled, not knowing what to say to a woman who just gave me a rim job before I even knew what had hit me.

Disgusting. We were like animals. She was right. I needed to be healed - to be saved - and as soon as possible.

"Um - tomorrow," I stammered after we got dressed and I headed for the back door with Mrs. Beckford. "Would it be okay if I came over tomorrow?"

"You would want to?" she asked, and then stopped herself. "Oh - tomorrow. Thursday. I'm sorry Timothy. I have business to attend to."

"Oh," I said, displaying a bit of a pout that used to work on my Mom before she got wise to me.

"Friday though," she added quickly. "I don't know whether or not you have plans, but I would..."

"Friday!" I chirped. "Okay. 8:45?"

She nodded and kissed me on the forehead as she clasped my hands.

"I enjoyed your company very much, Timothy," she said as I left. "Be a good boy. I'll pray for you."

"Me too," I responded before making my serpentine way back home, praying for Thursday to pass by quickly so that I could come back for more.

***

Day Three will follow - the final installment of the story. Thank you for reading, and I appreciate your support and welcome your comments.