Church Lady

She paused, squirmed around, made a face, and seemed to be thinking. "OK, I can do without your bare chest, but I haven't seen your balls. So I interrupt what I'm doing and tell you, 'I need to touch your balls.' You don't have any objection. I slide your boxers down, and again. . . hell, I just realized, I need to get your ankles free. So step out of your pants, and then your boxers. Now, below your waist, you've got only socks on. A man looks ridiculous like that. I want you to feel ridiculous, standing there in your shirt and socks, with your pecker sticking out a mile—and I want you to decide that it doesn't matter—no matter what, this can't possibly stop until you come in my mouth! Look at me, kneeling here hanging off your sex organ! I want you to feel just as needy for this as I am! Sex is like that—no dignity allowed!

"I look up at you again. I always want eye contact before going to a new level. It's partly to be sure you're comfortable. But it's also like I'm asking for your permission to service you in a new way. Admit it, that turns you on. OK, look right at me now, and tell me with your eyes that you're giving me permission to lick your balls."

I swallowed, stared, fascinated, into her eyes, and faintly nodded. Her gaze dropped for a second as she fumbled a little frantically between her legs. Then she looked up at me, seeming almost disconcerted. For a second I thought she was losing her nerve, but then she seemed to settle in to a soft, steady rhythm, rocking a little back and forth. Again there was a little wait while we both just stroked and breathed.

"Your balls amaze me just like your cock. They're so swollen. I cup them with my hands and stroke them softly, feeling their tightness and heaviness. I slide my finger all the way up in back, tickling you right under your asshole with my fingernail. Gently, of course. Then I bring it slowly back, and look up for permission again. Then, I slowly bend my head forward, and very slowly, deliberately, I start licking your big scrotum. I'm not just saying it's big. I'm, like, God, how could he have all this stuff!—just like you think my hair is so unreal. Anyway, I love you watching me humbly wash your thick, wrinkled ball skin and its scraggly tough little hairs. I also tongue the base of your cock, where it comes up out of the scrotum. While I do this, my cheeks keep brushing your cock. I act like there's all the time in the world. I love thinking, 'God, I'm actually kneeling here licking this man's balls! And I can do it all night if I want!'

"The next thing I do is, I ask you to put your foot up on something—like the toilet, if we're in the men's room—and spread your legs a little so I can scrunch down lower, get my face between your legs, and softly lick the bottom and back of your scrotum. It always surprises guys that I want to service them that way. But I haven't had one complain yet."

She paused to think again. "You'll probably be shocked by this, but when I lick you there, I catch a very faint whiff of your sweaty backside smell. It doesn't mean you're not clean. Assholes just have their own smell. Mine, too, I'm told. I've got very a very sensitive nose and I get turned on by all your body's tastes and odors, including that one. Well, up to a point. But, no, I'm not going to lick your anus the first time out." She smirked. "I'do it if I knew you better, though." She was rubbing herself faster now. When she resumed her concentration seemed to wander a bit.

"OK, I've licked your balls all over . . . and I'm back to your cock. I'm thinking we need to wrap up this stage so I can get on my back, grab my ankles, and expose everything so you can start ripping me open. God, your cock is going to feel so good inside!" She practically cried those last words as she rubbed hard, closing her eyes. She had to swallow a couple times, and her voice seemed shaky as she continued.

"But first, before you leave my mouth, here's a little treat. No, sorry, I'm not a deep-throater. What I'll do is, I'll wrap my fingers around your base, hold you in my mouth, and then I want you use your hips, kinda gently. Yeah, face-fuck me. Don't worry, I want it, just don't be too rough. Put your hands on my head. Tangle your fingers in my hair, it's there for you to enjoy. But use me like your lady-friend, don't force me. Encourage me, tell me what you like."

"Oh, God," I gasped, "I need to come in your mouth."

"Really? Well, it's OK. I'm real close, too! Go on, do it to me. Kivvy's kneeling here for you. Fill her mouth up with it."

"You are so wet, so soft. The best I've ever fucked!"

"Oh, I'd glad, I'm glad! God, I'll bet you come like a bull. I'm waiting to feel it splash in my throat. I'm going to love your salty male taste. I promise to swallow every . . . sticky . . . bit. When . . . you're finished . . . I'll . . . clean . . . your cock . . ." By now, she was biting the words out with little gasps, her eyes shut tight. "If any . . . falls on the floor . . . oh, shit, oh shit, I'll even lick that up! Oh! Oh!"

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" I cried.

"I'm reaching between your legs now," she gasped. "I, ah . . . that sensitive spot up behind your balls, right under your asshole, that I . . . touched before . . . now I'm going to press it . . . yeah, that's it, I'm going to wiggle my finger on it, hard, like that, yeah, like that, like that . . . I'm . . . tightening . . . my lips. . . I want . . . you to have . . . the sweetest . . . softest . . . wettest . . . suck . . .now . . . watch my face while . . . you . . . AGHHHHHHH . . .!" She doubled over violently, going "ahh-ahh-ahh" in long, deep, soft sighs.

I'm glad she couldn't see my face. It must have been frightful. The sound I made was like a death-rattle. Of course I had come before, but never with this kind of buildup. I felt like I had turned into a volcano. Fortunately my desk was full-fronted. It kept my cum from shooting out onto her shoes. As it was, it got all over the place. I remember wiping it up with Kleenex later, off the desk, the floor, my pants, even my socks. Even after I was empty, I kept spasming and twitching with pleasure. Finally, panting, I leaned weakly on my left forearm. My right hand had to stay under the desk.

Kivvy remained doubled over. She was quiet now. I couldn't see her face. I was having trouble finding my voice. Finally, I croaked, "Kivvy? Are you OK?"

She raised up and fell back in her chair. Never having been with a post-orgasmic woman before, I was shocked at her transformation. She looked both younger and older. There were new deep lines in her face, but her blue eyes were misty pools of tranquility. Her mouth hung slightly open. She looked at me in an affectionate but unfocused way, as if I were a vaguely pleasant but unimportant object. "Oh, wow," she breathed. "I sure didn't think counseling would turn out to be this much fun!"

Now I felt sudden consternation. What had I done? I could be fired for this! I didn't know whether to apologize or what. I groped for words that would somehow let me feel I was back in control. But Kivvy, her strength returning, cut me off.

"Pastor, it was really, really sweet of you to do that with me. I had a good time. I don't do it with boys I don't like. I like you." She paused. "Actually, we should probably talk at least at little about me. My parents are going to ask. Well, I have taken some risks that I shouldn't have. But I survived and, as you can see, I've learned a lot about people." She paused and looked meaningfully at me. "One thing I've learned is not to make enemies unnecessarily. You don't have to worry about me saying anything. But I'm wondering: what are you planning to tell my parents?"

"Just," I stammered, "uh . . . that you were open with me. We talked about . . . various risks, and I got the impression you were very mature and could make good judgments." I was ashamed of the inanity of this. Her parents had sent her to me for counseling, and I completely lost control of the situation. I hadn't changed her at all, hadn't even tried to. I'd just enabled her, in a way that was completely unethical, if not legally chargeable. For a moment, I felt awful, helpless.

She said thoughtfully, "Yeah, that sounds OK. Don't promise them anything, please. I'll try to drop a few hints that you made me think. Maybe that will calm them down."

She paused. "You did. Make me think. Not the way you were planning to, but surprise can sometimes be a neat thing, huh?"

There was a silence. I was exhausted. Now I just wanted her to leave. The whole thing was messy, in more ways than one. I needed to be alone and think.

"Pastor," she said. "I've gotta go. Yeah, I mean take a leak, too. I need a cigarette. Also, fresh panties. You don't have to show me out." She paused. "I'm sure you know we aren't going to see each other again. But before I go, can I ask you something? Do you know what you're looking for?"

"Yes," I mumbled. And then I blurted out, one last time that day without thinking "But I don't know where I'm going to find her."

"Can't help you there, pastor." She left quickly and quietly.

We were both wrong. Although we didn't see each other again for over a year, and then only through the sheerest coincidence, Kivvy and I were married a little more than three years after that fateful day. (What did I say about "heaven-sent"?) I was no longer working as a minister, which was good because it was never right for me. But don't ever try to tell me miracles don't happen: my Kivvy is now a church lady herself. We go to that same church, along with our two young children. Afterward, we usually go over to her parents' place for brunch. They have no idea what happened when they sent her to me for counseling, and they never will. But, without it, they wouldn't have the son-in-law or grandchildren they do. And, to this day, the phrase "counseling session" has a special meaning for Kivvy and me.