Title: Thou Shalt Not Commit
Author: Sara
Keywords: Fm, adultery, cheat

Sunday October 11, 2009

We dressed for church this morning in a grey chilly light from
the windows.  Your hair was still wet from your shower as you
quickly donned the gray charcoal suit and a crimson tie.  You
brushed your thinning hair, checked yourself critically in the
mirror, disapprovingly patted your stomach (which I must admit
has been getting a little bigger these last few years) and then
settled down to watch my more leisurely dressing.

"White or black," I asked you, teasingly, standing wrapped in a
towel.

"White.  A pastor's wife should be innocent," you said in your
Mississippi drawl.  "Virginal, even."

I smiled at you enigmatically and chose the lacy white thong.  I
dangled them over one finger.  "Virginal enough?"

Your eyes seemed a little unfocused.  "Yeah.  I like `em."

That's my wordsmith, I thought.

I slipped them up my legs and over my slender hips.  I love my
body.  Maybe that's vanity.  But I love the pleasure it gives me.
 I love its sexiness, its scent, the way it feels when it's
touched.

I snapped a matching white lacy bra over my small breasts.

"Stockings?" you asked from the bed where I think you were
getting very turned on.  My back was to you but I smiled again,
to myself.

"No," I said seriously.  Not that fashion is serious, but I was
thinking about what I had planned, and stockings were not part of
it.  "Stockings are not in just now."

"I wouldn't know," you said.  True enough.

"Now for just the right dress," I said, mostly to myself.  In the
walk in closet, in my underwear, I chose a plaid skirt that came
just below my knees and a white blouse that would, if anybody
cared to stare, show the laciness of my bra.  I buttoned it up
caressingly.  My heart was starting to beat a little harder.  I
could feel the familiar tingle of excitement.  Cute strappy heels
finished me off, elegant ones.  It isn't too cold yet for these,
I thought.

Next a touch of perfume.

"I love that stuff, Christy," you said from the bed.  "It makes
you smell amazing."

Yes.  You're not the only one, Brian.  "Thank you.  I'm glad you
like it.  Lots of folks seem to like it on me," I said.

Not too much makeup.  But my hair pulled back, just a couple of
strands of my dark curly hair falling around my temples.

There.  Finished.  The pastor's wife to those who want to see
that.  A woman with secrets to those who want to see that.

You kissed me passionately.  I knew you felt me smoldering.  It's
a strange thing to love you, Brian, but to only endure your kiss,
to feel that strange, kind indifference to you.

On the drive to church you talked about your sermon while I
stared out the window at the gray sky and the wet boughs of the
elms and said "Mmm-hmm" from time to time.  Now and then I'd say,
"Yes, but what about...?", but I was barely there.

We arrived, and you parked, and we held hands as we walked
towards the Sunday School wing.  I was calm.  But I could barely
control myself.  I wanted to scream, laugh, weep, tremble.  I
kept my eyes straight ahead, but my concentration was intense.

A little knot of the youth group was standing around outside
where they felt free, felt the air crisp and autumnal, and where
they were preparing for the long hour of Sunday School and the
hour and a half of church.  Peter, Margaret, Katie, Travis, and
Andrew.  They all grinned self-consciously at us, and you waved.

"Mornin', kids!"

"Morning, pastor," they returned.

I smiled in their general direction but did not look at them.  I
held my Bible under my arm and walked to Sunday School, where
Jackson taught the young adults on the third chapter of Romans.
(Hush.  I'm a young adult.  Just thirty.  Just because you're
pushing forty, don't think badly of me, Brian.)

There's something about Sunday School that turns me on.  I don't
know why, but my thoughts can drift in and out of the text, the
teaching, the conversation, and somehow a warm sexy haze descends
on me.  Church makes me think of sex.  I don't really think of it
as wrong.  But it's God's foreplay, maybe.  But God, Brian, I was
so turned on by the time class was over.

The class broke up after prayer, and coffee was had, and I smiled
at people and asked after the sick and about how everyone's week
was.  The good pastor's wife.  As the knot of people broke up and
drifted towards the sanctuary I availed myself of the privilege
of a pastor's wife: she has to be there, but if she isn't people
assume she's got a good reason.

I had a wonderful reason.

He was waiting in your office, Brian, sitting on the edge of your
desk, and I slipped in, and locked the door behind me, and leaned
against it, just to look at him.  Travis is beautiful: tall and
muscular, short dark hair and brown eyes.  He plays baseball for
the high school.  He was confident and shy at the same time. "You
look beautiful today," he said.  I closed my eyes and smiled.

"For you, Travis.  I've been thinking about you all morning."

He didn't move, but he asked me in a deep smoky voice, "I've been
thinking about you all week.  Are you wet, Christy?"  God, I love
the way he talks to me.  I love how he makes me feel beautiful,
brilliant, dirty and sexy at the same time.  I opened my blue
eyes and stared directly at him and slowly lifted the hem of my
skirt and said, "Travis, baby, I'm so wet for you.  I almost came
in Sunday School.  I kept crossing my legs and rubbing my thighs
together.  I need you in my pussy."

He was standing in front of me now, a full head taller than I am,
and his arms were around me.  "How come the sexiest woman in the
world is my pastor's wife?"  He inhaled the scent of my neck as
he kissed it. I couldn't stop smiling at the ceiling as my eyes
closed.

He knelt before me and while I held the hem of my skirt around my
waist, he lowered my wet panties, the ones that turned you on
this morning when, unknown to you, I was putting them on for him.

Oh, when he licks me, and his finger slides up inside me, I can
barely stand.

From his knees, he looked up at me with those intense brown eyes.
 "I love the way you taste."

We kissed and I tasted my pussy on his lips.

And when I fell to the floor with him in your office and my legs
went around his waist and held his hard young cock inside me, and
I kissed him more passionately than I've ever kissed another man,
Brian, you would have wept to watch him fuck your young wife, and
to hear the things I said as I assured him with perfect truth
that he's the best fuck I've ever had, and I miss the taste of
his cum in my mouth, and I love him. 


  
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