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My name is Laura Fellatio and I really need to talk to someone about something that happened to me last Sunday. Well, that’s not really my name, of course. I’ve changed one or two details so that no one I know would recognise me for reasons that will soon become all too clear.
My thirty nine years on God’s green Earth have blessed me with two wonderful teenaged children, a can-do attitude and the sort of curvaceous, full, hour-glass figure that I know turns a lot of men’s heads.
Sunday means church for me and, like most of the ladies in our congregation, I like to put on my Sunday Best to make the occasion something special. Last Sunday this meant having my long, red hair done on Saturday, full make up, a pretty summer frock and high, strappy shoes. And, underneath it all I wore an expensive, matching ivory silk and lace bra, garter belt and panties and, of course, dark tan fully fashioned stockings.
As you might have guessed by now, I’m one of the stalwarts of our little flock, always ready to pitch in. Mostly this involves prayer and pastoral visits so it was no surprise to me when the minister came up to me after the morning family service and asked if I could pay a pastoral visit to a new member. And it was no surprise to my husband when I told him that he should get lunch for him and the kids and expect to see me when he saw me.
So, twenty minutes later I was parking my car at the address the minister had given me: 69 Rodeo Drive. A nice looking house in a nice looking area, with a new European sports car parked on the drive. I took just a minute to check my make-up and finger-comb my lustrous red hair in the vanity mirror behind the sun visor. I dabbed a dash of scent on my pulse points, opened the car door and swung my shapely legs out onto the street. Steeling myself to deal with whatever might come, I smoothed down my dress, marched up to the front door and rang the bell.
The door was opened by a tall young man of about twenty five. He wasn’t exactly dressed for church, but I couldn’t really complain: his tight jeans and crisp white T-shirt did show off his fine physique to excellent effect. I strongly believe that it doesn’t hurt to dress pleasingly, and he did look very pleasant to me. His smiling blue eyes ran appraisingly from my head to my feet and back again, causing my cheeks to redden just a touch.
“Yes?” He asked in a friendly tone. “What can I do for such a beautiful woman on this fine morning?” His sexy English accent nearly had my knees buckling.
“Dick Rockhardt?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady and my door-stepping smile plastered in place. “I’m Mrs Laura Fellatio,” I held out my hand. He frowned, my name obviously meaning nothing to him. “From the First Avenue church?”
“Oh!” he exclaimed, recognition dawning. “Great! I thought I recognised you!” he reached out and shook my hand in a strong, dry masculine handshake. “I wasn’t expecting…. I mean, thanks for coming round so quickly. You’d better come in.”
He led me inside and through to the lounge. Although everything was immaculate, it was clear from the décor that no woman lived here.
“Take a seat, Mrs…” he began gesturing to a pair of large, leather couches.
“Call me Laura,” I interrupted with a laugh. He nodded and smiled as I settled myself on the nearest couch and began to straighten the hem of my dress, pulling it towards my knees. It was a bit short for sitting on such a low couch and had ridden up quite a lot on my thighs when I had sat down.
“Laura… Fine,” he smiled, watching me intently as I settled myself. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Maybe later,” I replied, setting my clutch bag down beside my feet. “Unless you want…?”
“No, no, that’s fine,” he responded, although the fact that he was still standing suggested he was a bit nervous about something. I decided I needed to put him at his ease.
“Suppose you sit down and tell me why you asked for a pastoral visit?” I smiled, patting the couch beside me. Getting someone to sit next to you always creates a more intimate atmosphere, helps them to open up. And people, especially men, always respond to my smile. He nodded and sat down, his hip and knee brushing casually and tantalisingly against my own. “You’re new to the church, aren’t you? The area, too?”
“That I am,” he nodded. He was close enough for me to smell his uniquely masculine musk, and it was starting to make me feel a little heady, like I could cast caution to the wind.
“So, Dick, what can I do for you?” I repeated.
“Well,” he equivocated. “It’s a bit embarrassing. I’m not sure if I should…”
“Don’t worry. I’m not exactly inexperienced, I’m used to all sorts…” I gave him a gentle, reassuring pat on the knee.
“OK, if you’re sure?” I nodded and smiled broadly. “I’ve been coming to your church for the last few weeks…. I’m really enjoying it. Really, really enjoying it.”
“Good,” I reassured him.
“And I love the special effort that you and some of the other ladies make…”
“Thank you, we try,” I replied, thinking he meant the flowers, the coffee bar, the singing group.
“But escort bostancı that’s really my problem. I mean, you ladies, you. And a few of the other ladies. You always look so….
“Yes?” I frowned, unsure where this was going.
“So hot….” I couldn’t conceal my surprise. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped. “Sexy,” he qualified, in case I had been in any doubt. A hot flush blew over me. I was suddenly aware that a hint of the reinforced band at the top of one my stockings was showing and also aware of how close together we were sitting.
“And that’s the problem, really, Laura. I want to keep coming, but for the last few Sundays I’ve had a raging hard-on all through the service and all afternoon, and the only way I can get it to go away is to…”
“Masturbation is a sin!” I chided him. I blushed at my own words and dropped my eyes to his lap. Heavens! He wasn’t kidding about the hard-on! His jeans were bulging preposterously – I imagined it must have been quite painful.
“Yeah. But I can’t exactly keep spending my Sundays with an erection like the Eifel Tower either.”
“Want we need to do, Dick,” I declared, taking charge in the way that the whole congregation always valued so much. “Is find a way to solve your little… umm… quite big problem. We’ll start, as we always should, with prayer.” I paused and licked my lips. The next words were out before I even realised I was saying them. “So if you could drop your pants?”
“You what?” Dick laughed openly. I was a bit taken aback.
“Oh… um… Round these parts we always lay on hands when we pray,” I explained, recovering quickly, but still blushing. The words had come out on autopilot. We did indeed always pray in that way, but in this instance, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea?
“Well, if that’s the way it’s done round her…?”
“Well, at my age, it isn’t anything I haven’t already seen.” I tried to laugh it off and rally my self-confidence.
“OK,” he shrugged and stood. I could scarcely believe my eyes as his fingers quickly sped through his fly buttons and then dropped jeans and shorts in one smooth action.
Dick’s member sprung up, instantly at attention now it was freed of its constraints. He was well named. It was long, broad and velvety, with just the shortest thatch of well-trimmed hair where it merged into his balls and abdomen.
Dick sat once again beside me, the impact of him landing on the sofa causing my hemline to bounce up yet further, a suspender strap and a tiny patch of bare thigh now coming into view. I elected to ignore them for now as clearly I had bigger things to deal with.
“It’s like this for hours, every Sunday,” Dick explained once again, indicating his twitching manhood. If true, I could understand how that could be a problem.
I blew on the tips of my fingers, turned slightly towards him in order to use both hands in my ministry and, trying to still my racing heart, reached out towards his magnificent cock.
“Dear Lord,” I began, curling my left hand around his shaft, and cupping my right around his balls. His organs twitched and trembled excitedly beneath my palms and he his breaths had begun to come in pants. Sweat beaded on his brow. Maybe the Spirit was moving in him already?
“We thank you for the gift of sexuality, and for the pleasures and passions it blesses us with.” Dick was watching me intently, his attention torn, his eyes darting between my hands on his crotch, my stocking-clad thighs and the words spilling from my ruby-red lips. “Show mercy on our brother, Dick. Ease his affliction, bring him relief from his discomfort and sew the seed…”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, interrupting my prayer. Dick’s gasps had suddenly turned to groans as I had been speaking, and without any other warning thick ropes of white cum were spurting forth from his member, landing on my dress. I just froze. I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat there, my hands still clamped to his equipment, until his climax passed.
“I’m, umm, sorry about that….” Dick broke the ice. “But thanks… I needed that!”
“Umm, that’s alright. God moves in mysterious ways,” I let go of my grip on his softening member and began to check where his cum had landed. “Your erection is going down, after all, just as we prayed it might.”
“I think it’s just on your dress,” he pointed out where he could see it had fallen. He seemed to be right.
“It should be easy enough to rinse out,” I agreed. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure, down the hall, first on the right,” he gestured which way to go. I stood. “Hey, Laura, as it’s lunch time and your dress’ll take a while to dry off, do you want me to get you something to eat? It’s the least I can do.”
“That sounds like a plan,” I agreed as I began to make for the bathroom. He was so considerate.
“Tuna salad on rye?” He called after me.
“Perfect. And a glass of wine if you have any.” I’d decided that I needed a drink after that experience.
It wasn’t every pastoral visit that led to me sitting eating a tuna sandwich at a handsome stranger’s breakfast bar, dressed only in ümraniye escort just my very finest lingerie and a pair of four inch strappy stilettos, but I must confess that it was quite an enjoyable experience nonetheless.
I helped myself to another sip of wine to wash down the last bite of my sandwich.
“You know, you look amazing in that get up, Laura,” Dick remarked. He’d hardly taken his eyes off me for the last thirty minutes, ever since I’d walked back into the lounge in just my jewellery, my lingerie and stockings and my high heels. I hadn’t anything else to wear until my dress finished drying, and I wasn’t showing any more flesh than I would in a bikini, so it had seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to do. He’d put his boxer shorts back on to make lunch but had left it at that in order, he said, not to make me feel underdressed. These English guys could be such gentlemen.
“Thank you.” I responded graciously and with a slight blush. I tried to keep in shape, even if that shape was hour glass rather than stick insect.
“But I have to say, it looks like my little problem’s coming back,” he confessed, looking rather bashful. I peered round the counter top. He was right. The bulge seemed to be returning to his shorts. “What do you want to try next?”
“Next? I’m a married woman,” I replied. “This morning was just an unfortunate… Sexual relations are out of the question….” But still, I was already rather entranced both by the thought that I could have such an obvious effect on him and by fantasies about what we might do about it.
“Fair enough,” he nodded. Then he smiled, as though he’d just had an idea. “Hey, do you remember Bill and Monica?” How could I not? I nodded. “Well, apparently blowjobs don’t come under ‘sexual relations’. And I can’t go around all afternoon like this….”
He had a point. What was good enough for the POTUS was surely good enough for me? And Dick’s problem wasn’t getting any smaller. Even as I watched his cock was starting to emerge from his boxer shorts. It was my pastoral duty to minister to his needs as best I could. I’d taken on this task, I couldn’t back out now. Best not to overthink these things – just get on with it. It was the maxim that had got me through a hundred church bake sales.
I took another mouthful of wine to fortify my resolve, slipped from my stool and knelt on the floor beside him. He spun on his stool to face me and stood. His bulge was at eye level now, so, without further ado I pulled his shorts down and then set to work.
His cock seemed even bigger close up than it had in my hands, but still just as perfect. I started by teasing the end of it with my tongue, giving little nips with my lips between lips as I worked around the tip, cleaning off any traces of precum. Then I began to lick up and down its length. While my hand stole up to cup his balls, his began to massage my scalp. I looked up at him, as best I could manage without abandoning my task, and he smiled down at me.
“Oh, Laura, that’s just fantastic,” he encouraged me. I kissed the base of his shaft as reward, my hand leaving his balls just long enough to wrap around his shaft and give three slow, languorous strokes. He groaned in ecstasy. That was when I chose to close my lips around him and suck.
“Holy moley…!” Dick exclaimed. “You suck like a Hoover!”
But that wasn’t the only trick in my arsenal. I’ve been married for nearly twenty years, after all.
Up and down I went, sucking, licking, and rolling and fluttering my tongue against his shaft as I went. After a minute or three of ministering to him I could tell he was getting close by the salty taste of precum starting to overwhelm my taste buds.
“Laura… Laura….” He began to chant my name in slow heavy breaths and I knew it was time to back off if I didn’t want it to be all over in seconds. I pulled away. He groaned in disappointment.
“I want you to cum in my mouth,” I reassured him, before sucking down hard on him again. I had my reasons for doing so. I believe that spilling a man’s seed is wasteful and wrong. I didn’t want a repeat of this morning, when his cum had just spurted willy nilly about the place. And I also wanted to suck him dry, to make sure that this time his cock would stay flaccid when I was done, to fulfil my self-appointed pastoral mission to relieve his priapism.
I sucked hard once again, fluttering my tongue against him. That did the job – he cried out in pleasure, and at the same time my mouth filled with his warm, salty seed. But I didn’t stop sucking – I really was determined to ensure he was totally emptied this time. I knew I was getting there a minute or so later when he tried to pull away, his knees buckling as he begged for release from my mouth.
I decided that that was probably enough. I took mercy on him and let him slither out through my lips. I swallowed hard and stood, my huge grin matching his. Except, of course, for the fact that he had no trace of cum dribbling from the corner of his mouth.
“Wow, that was…. Incredible,” he complimented me, running his hands up and down my sides. When his fingers diverted to kartal escort bayan cup my pussy I opened my mouth to object that we’d be having none of that. But he spoke first.
“Oh, Laura, you’re so wet!” I blushed. I didn’t like to think about how sexually excited I had got by parading about in my underwear and then sucking him off. I was on church business, after all, never mind the fact that I’m a happily married mother. “I know how expensive this sort of silk kit is – you ought to rinse your panties out straight away.”
I nodded. Not only did he have a point, it got me away from his wandering hands, hopefully long enough for his lust, and mine, to subside. As I turned and wiggled towards the door on my high heels he wolf whistled after me. “Don’t take too long, sexy,” he called as, heading through the door, I coquettishly flicked a glance back at him over my shoulder. What can I say? The wine had gone a bit to my head, bringing down a few of my barriers towards flirting like that with a strange man.
“Dick!” I called out, trying to work out where he had gotten to while I was rinsing out my panties. I hadn’t taken too long over it – to be honest, a little, naughty part of me wanted to rush back into his presence, to see what might happen next.
“I’m in here,” he called from the next door down. I followed his voice and found myself in a well-appointed but clearly masculine bedroom, dominated by a black-sheeted king-sized bed. The drapes were drawn but numerous side lights provided ample illumination. He turned to face me as I walked in, his eyes clearly revelling in the fact that I was still dressed in just my jewellery, underwear and high heels, sans panties now, of course.
“I was looking for, umm, something for you to put on…” he explained. Not that he’d put anything on himself. Indeed, somewhere along the line he’d lost his T-shirt. His body was in amazing shape, like a male model.
But I had no time to dwell on that small detail: His old problem had also returned with a vengeance – his cock was pointing straight at me, as full and erect as it had been when I had first seen it, maybe an hour before.
“Again?” I asked, my voice betraying disbelief. Although in reality I must say I was more than a little excited. My husband had never been so turned on by me that he’d had three erections on the same day, far less three raging hard-ons in about an hour. I was pretty sure my juices were starting to flow again, my body desperately wanting this, even if my head said ‘no.’
“Sorry. Looks like we’ll have to try something else,” he replied sheepishly.
“Such as?” I had no idea what to do now. “I thought I’d drained you dry just five minutes ago! I’m married, remember? No way am I…”
“Well, you know the Pledge girls?” He asked, as though he had an idea as to what might work next.
“Hmm?” I confirmed my awareness of the girls who pledged not to have premarital sex.
“Well, apparently a lot of them reckon anal is OK. What about you…?”
“I… I dunno.” I was genuinely at my wits end, way beyond my comfort zone, and a little befuddled on the wine I’d drunk with lunch and ever so slight swept away in the eroticism of the situation. “I’ve never done it before. I guess if it doesn’t count as sexual relations with the Pledge people…?”
“Oh man…” He bounced about with excitement. “Your first time! All the better. You’ll love it. Come over here and kneel on the bed.”
In something of a haze, born of lust, alcohol and just plain being out of my depth, I followed Dick’s instructions, walking up to the edge of the bed and crawling onto it on my hands and knees. I looked up to find myself gazing into a nearby mirror. There was a slightly concerned look on my face and I could see my ample boobs dangling outrageously but still cupped in my silk bra. Further back I could see Dick kneeling behind my obviously stocking clad legs, fiddling with a bottle of something.
I felt a cold wetness on my ass and gasped in shock and surprise.
“Lube, we’ll need it,” Dick explained and I gasped again as what I assumed was his finger, began to slip slowly in and out of my ass.
“I’m just spreading the lube about a bit and opening you up,” he explained in a deeply reassuring voice. “Best not to rush these things.”
Just then a small light, blinking on the table in front of me, suddenly caught my attention.
“What’s that little light?” I asked, instantly curious.
“Video camera. Don’t worry about it and keep looking into the mirror. I want to see your expression when I enter you. You’ll enjoy it too.”
“Don’t worry!?” I exclaimed, suddenly wondering why he was recording this. But I had no time to pursue my line of questioning because at that moment an explosion of sensations gripped my virgin ass. It felt like something enormous had just pushed past my sphincter and, lube or not, a jolt of pain shot through me at the unfamiliar sensations. In the mirror I could see my eyes widening, my mouth opening to an O to exhale my long, loud gasp. I also caught sight of my stocking and stiletto clad feet lifting involuntarily from the bed as my body responded, arching and tensing to and try to accommodate his cock. My hand briefly went back to the source of the pain, but the discomfort was already fading, to be replaced by a strange, exquisite pleasure like nothing else I had ever felt before.
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