Chronicles of a Changed Man 02

Before I was even fully awake that morning, I was aware of the dull ache in my groin, the persistent throbbing in my erect penis and the beguiling echoes reverberating around in my brain. It appeared that Tina had been busy in my subconscious as I slept, corrupting my mind to her own design, enticing me to erection and as I came fully awake, her sultry voice reverberated in my mind.

"Would you like me to spread it for you, Mr Murphy?" I heard her purr.

'Oh God, no.' I thought. 'Don't."

"Would you like me to spread my cunt for you, Mr Murphy?"

I wanted to sit up and slide to my knees by the side of the bed and pray, but how could I kneel before my God with such an offensive appendage as an erect penis?

"I spread myself wide open for you, popped my clit out." I heard her repeat, but not in the accusatory tone of Thursday, but a sultry, suggestive commentary enabling me to vividly relive her actions in the armchair.

Oh Christ, I couldn't bear it, I tried to recite an act of contrition but the words wouldn't come, the only intonation coming to my increasingly aroused mind was Tina's.

"I brought myself off in front of you, Mr Murphy, I made myself come right under your fucking nose."

My erection throbbed painfully, the only release from this terrible discomfort was to grip it in my fist and squeeze, which did ease the pain, but then the sensation pulsing in my engorged penis was... Pleasure.

"Would you like me to fuck you, Mr Murphy?" I heard Tina ask.

'No, please Tina, don't' I pleaded silently to my beautiful sexy tormenter.

"I think you're an arse man, Mr Murphy." she suggested.

'I suppose so.' I heard myself capitulate in silence.

"Would you like to see it, Mr Murpy?"

"Oh God, forgive me, I can't bear it! Just one stroke, only one." I pleaded as I slid my fist reluctantly down my shaft.

"Would you like to see my arsehole?" Tina persisted undaunted. Oh Sweet Jesus! My fist rose involuntarily back up my erect penis, pursing my wrinkled foreskin over my swollen, sensitive glans.

"Oh fuck, that feels good, Mr Murphy, your prick feels so good inside me."

I slid my hand back down to the base of my... Prick! Oh Holy Mother of God, I'm was blaspheming, but it felt so good as my foreskin slid tightly back on my glans, stretching with exquisite pleasure over the blood engorged dome.

"Will you spunk for me, Mr Murphy?"

My fist rose again on my raging prick.

"Will you spunk for me if I let you see my tight little arsehole?"

I abandoned all hope of resisting and began pumping my fist up and down on my hard prick.

"Will you, Mr Murphy?"

"Yes, yes I will, I'll spunk for you Tina." I said to my imaginary lover.

"That's it, Mr Murphy. Look at my tight fucking arsehole while you spunk up my hot cunt."

"I am, I am looking at your tight little arsehole." I assured her.

I was rapidly stroking my prick now, wanking furiously on my erection as I recalled vividly the wondrous sight of Tina's arsehole stretched so wide by her own fingers that I could see the buttonhole entrance to her forbidden rectum.

"Oh yes, Mr Murphy, fill my wet cunt with your hot spunk." I heard her say clearly, her provocative pleas reverberating in my filthy mind, while pumping rapidly on my prick, feeling myself building to a glorious orgasm.

"Oh yes, take it Tina, take my hot spunk up your wet cunt, you fucking slut, spread your arsehole for me while I empty my bollocks up your slimy fuckhole, you filthy bitch."

"Yes, yes, Mr Murphy, I am your bitch, I am your slut, fill me up you dirty bastard, flood my twat with your creamy spunk, empty your balls into me, you dirty old fucker, fill my wet South African cunt with your hot Irish cream." I heard my beautifully vulgar fuck slut encourage me eagerly.

I came violently, my spunk shooting out of my prick in spurts of wondrous pleasure, the warmth of my ejaculation spreading over my belly under the sheet and gluing it to my hot skin as I slowly recovered, my heart rate slowing to a more sedate pace while I lay there, luxuriating in the magnificent release I had just self induced. I lay like that for a long moment, recalling my imaginary filthy conversation with my beloved Tina, not knowing where half the words had come from and it was several moments before the initial pangs of shame and guilt began to slowly seep into my conscience.

It was Sunday and getting to mass was no problem as there were hourly services in any one of several churches within a half hour walk of my apartment. I rose from the bed slowly, sedately, an automaton, un-peeling the sheet from my sticky abdomen where my semen was slowy drying to a hard coating on my skin.

At that moment, I had considered myself beyond redemption, I had no heart for attending mass, but in desperation I was clinging to the hope that I could still turn back, could still redeem myself. I would have to attend a mass for which I felt ultimately unworthy of participating in, but it was my only hope. So, after a morning and afternoon of soul-searching, I forced myself to shower and dress in my Sunday best suit, shirt and tie and went to the evening service.

I sat in my usual spot in the pews, third row from the altar, right on the end by the aisle. Here I could concentrate on the service without distraction as few people sat any closer than the third row from the front. It was where Martha and I had always sat, here we could see the priests clearly, almost hear the rustle of their vestments as they moved about the altar conducting the service.

It was always a source of great wonder to me how Martha's devotion and commitment to the church seemed such as to be instantly recognized and acknowledged by almost every priest who passed through our diocese over the years. Intermittently throughout the services, they would make eye contact with her, give a weak smile or barely perceptible nod and I would sense her respond in kind, her reverence almost palpable in the air.

They reserved a somewhat lesser complimentary exchange for me, however, and seemed to look at me as someone to be merely tolerated within the congregation. It's true I wasn't as devout as Martha, couldn't attend mass daily as she did and wasn't available to go to the chapel house at the drop of a hat as she always was. I clearly didn't measure up to the expectations of our local clergy but, as Martha's husband, I was accepted with an indifferent tolerance bordering on contempt.

I struggled through the service that evening, I just couldn't concentrate, I felt like a hypocrite, so when the bell chimed for communion, normally my cue to arise and be first to the altar, I froze. How could I accept the Body of Christ on my tongue after spilling my seed 'on the ground' and the blasphemy I had uttered during my imaginary tryst with my beloved Tina that morning.

Yes, beloved! I adored her! So young! So exhilaratingly fresh and exciting! So sexy! So downright filthy! So truly adorable. So different to anything I had ever known in my life.

Oh Holy God, just yards from where they were preparing to dish out portions of the body of Christ to his fold, I imagined immersing myself in the folds of the Body of Tina. I struggled to recover my composure, to regain control of my senses, fought to suppress the urges and desires reawakening in my loins. A few people had begun to arrive and file along the front of the altar to the end where the priest waited to commence administering the sacrament of the Eucharist.

I couldn't bring myself to go to the altar and for the first time in nearly thirty years I left the mass without having received holy communion. I spent the evening quietly watching television in the communal room of the retirement home while other residents partook of their respective pastimes, my studio apartment now feeling like a lonely place.

The next morning, after a restless night, I slept late, awoke at about nine thirty and more than two hours later still hadn't returned the unmade bed to its concealed position behind the panel in the wall, although I was dressed in my usual suit trousers and shirt when the nurse knocked on the door. I answered, but didn't admit her to my apartment as I normally did and stood in the doorway while she railed for nearly ten minutes about her miserable lot and how she ought to write to the minister for health to complain about her unfair treatment over the years by the powers that be in his department who had denied her her rightful place as matron of The Coombe, or other such prestigious hospital.

Eventually she left, pushing her laden medical trolley ahead of her and grumbling continuously until she reached the next door, knocked and was admitted by the resident there.

I was about to re-enter my apartment when I heard a sound that set my heart pounding and my penis twitching excitedly. The unmistakable click, clack of stiletto heels on tile flooring!

I turned my head towards the sound and a moment later, around the corner at the end of the corridor, appeared an apparition so wondrous, so beautiful that all my misgivings about missing holy communion the previous day and not attending mass that morning were instantly banished.

The object of my new found devotion was miraculously striding towards me on a pair of red stiletto heeled shoes, a wide, white toothed smile dimpling the cheeks of her beautiful face around which her silky black hair bobbed and weaved with her every step. She was wearing a knee length white summer coat with three big buttons down the front and held at the waist with a wide belt, tied in a loose knot at the front. Her long, shapely legs were clad in dark stockings and she wore a red scarf knotted casually around her neck.

"Tina!" I whispered reverently to myself, my eyes watering emotionally and my penis twitching uncontrollably, expectantly.

"Hello, Mr Murphy." she beamed pleasantly as she approached.

"Tina!" I repeated in greeting, loud enough for her to hear as she leaned in to peck me on the cheek.

No invitation was necessary and Tina stepped past me into my apartment as I stood aside, holding the door open, her perfume wafting through the air behind her and caressing my nostrils with an aroma that was a pure aphrodisiac to my heightened senses.

"Oh, that's clever!" she commented, seeing the extended bed and walking to the side of it.

"Have you been having fun without me, Mr Murphy," she teased me then on seeing the semen stain on the sheet from the previous morning. I blushed hotly with embarrassment, but managed to reply honestly.

"No Tina, it wasn't without you. It was very much with you in mind."

Better than any false utterance issued to a faceless priest in a confessional box, this direct admittance of masturbation to the object of my desire eased my embarrassment and I felt my face cooling as the blood receded from my cheeks.

"Oh, Mr Murphy, have I got you wanking now?" she teased me further before continuing, "Whatever would your Martha have said?"

I felt a momentary stab of guilt, regret and even offense at Tina's reference to my departed wife, but quickly surpressed all three as she turned to face me then, a smoldering look in her eyes and her full lipped mouth tilted in a crooked little impish smile. She undid the loose knot of her belt, letting it fall open and reached for the top of the three large buttons that held her coat fastened.

"How much?" I heard myself ask humorously, and was more than a little pleased that I could master my voice enough to speak under the onslaught of the blood issuing from my pounding heart and coursing through my arteries with the intensity of white water rapids, and humorously to boot!

"Oh, Mr Murphy," she replied, the first button undone and moving on to the middle.

"But this," second button open and continuing to the last.

"Is priceless!" She undid the last button, threw the coat open and flipped it gracefully off her shoulders before letting it slide down her back and collecting it with one hand behind her. She kept her eyes averted from mine while she disrobed and now deliberately turned her head sideways to watch where she was dropping the coat onto the bed.

Tina was stark naked beneath the coat!

Her magnificent body was exposed entirely to my gaze as she allowed me the luxury of admiring it without needing to worry about meeting her eyes looking into mine. Her wonderfully full breasts were even more glorious on second viewing and her nipples were already hard and proud. She wore a thin suspender belt across her narrow waist, the black lace of which was interwoven with filaments of red silk. The stockings were high on her legs, right to the juncture of her thighs and torso and they too had a smattering of red interwoven into the darker lace of her stocking tops.

Her stomach was firm and flat and her pubic mound was.. bald... entirely devoid of hair. Her pubic bone bulged prominently before the top of her slit appeared beneath, dissecting the soft flesh curving under her abdomen between her thighs. There, in the gap between the tops of her stockinged thighs, dangling from her womanly cleft, was her prominent labia, extending below her body. Her entire pubic area glistened and shone with what I could only assume was moisturizer.

Tina turned her head slowly back towards me to look into my eyes again and reached up to remove the scarf from around her neck.

"No!" I forbade her with an authority that surprised, even me.

The scarf emphasized her nakedness so intensely that I was loathe to see it removed. In some indiscernible sense it represented a modesty required for the normal world she inhabited beyond my apartment while her nakedness was reserved for me alone, within it.

"Leave the scarf on!" I instructed her. Tina raised her eyebrows, smiled knowingly and left the scarf in place, dropping her hands to her sides.

"This, Mr Murphy," she said then, making a small presentation gesture with both hands either side of her bald genitalia, directing my attention directly to it,

"Is a Brazilian!"

I'm sure I made some audible sound of appreciation, but my previous control over my voice deserted me and I was speechless as I looked without reservation at her shaved pubes.

Tina took a few steps towards me as I continued to look at her bald mound and took one of my hands in hers, pulled it towards her and turned it palm upwards. Her next gesture was unmistakably deliberate in design and intention as she, rather than pull my hand towards her sex, raised herself up slightly on her toes, tilted her pelvis forward and placed it in my hand.

She gave it to me!

I had no idea what to do with it!

I had never touched a woman's vagina in my life!

How pathetic was that?

I clumsily rolled her soft, velvety labia gently in my fingers, not daring to attempt to find the wet entrance to her vagina, for fear of causing her some discomfort. The moment drew silently on and I felt I needed to say something to divert attention away from my inexperienced fingers kneading her outer vaginal lips inexpertly while I pushed the heel of my palm gently against her impossibly smooth pubic bone. Not a hint of stubble pushed back against my hand, only soft, sensuous womanly flesh now starting to gyrate slowly in my palm.

"But your lad, Eric," I began, stupidly, "He doesn't approve of Brazilians!"

"No," said Tina, a little distractedly, "But I have wanted one for years."

Then something wonderful happened, as Tina continued to press her sex against my hand, her ever moistening vaginal lips parted voluntarily, allowing my fingers to slip inadvertently between them and a gentle probe was all that was required for my longest finger to slide easily up into her vagina. Just to the first knuckle initially and then slowly, gently I pushed further and further up into her warm, wet canal until my finger was entirely embedded in her. Tina moaned her appreciation softly before saying.

"There's something else Eric doesn't approve of that I've wanted for a while now, Mr Murphy." She told me then.

Tina waited for some response from me, a sign that I wished to know, was willing to hear her say what it was she wanted, a commitment to partake of, at the very least, her expression of her deepest desires.

"What's that?" I managed to croak hoarsely after clearing my throat.

She leaned her head closer to me, placing her lips just inches from my ear and, as I heard the Angelus bells chime distantly from the local church, Tina whispered enticingly, hotly, into my auditory canal.

"I've wanted for a while now, Mr Murphy" She paused momentarily for effect, "To be fucked up the arse."

The distant Angelus bells chimed on in the silence that followed Tina's assertion as her breath rasped hotly in my ear and my entire being pulsed with excitement at the close proximity of her magnificent body while she contracted her vaginal muscles around my finger and gyrated her pubic mound in my hand.

I gulped audibly in an attempt to activate my saliva glands and moisten my parched throat. Tina's breasts pressed into my chest through my thin nylon shirt as she leaned against me and continued to breathe provocatively into my ear.

"Will you, Mr Murphy," she asked huskily, "Fuck me up the arse?"

My erect penis throbbed painfully, my trembling knees nearly gave out at the mere thought of what she was asking me to do, I was delirious with lust at the prospect and still the Angelus bells rang distantly in warning at the pitfall I was facing if I succumbed to this ultimate temptation.

To perform an act of sodomy would surely spell spiritual doom for me, the final descent into the immoral abyss, the bottomless pit of self destruction, for such a thing was despicable in the extreme and worthy of the most severe reprehension. I would be cast out, ostracized, forever banished to the immoral wilderness where, left to my own inadequate devices, I would surely perish.

As I contemplated my ultimate demise if I agreed to Tina's hedonistic request the bells rang one last time and fell silent, leaving only her hot breath in my ear, and I was unfathomably torn.

For, if I was to believe that my church and religion were the guardians of my spiritual well being and ultimately represented all that was good and clean in my world, then I had to consider that Tina was their antithesis, that she was Jezebel, evil incarnate, and I could not! For whatever I had considered evil to be, it certainly wasn't this warm, compassionate, beautiful woman whose sex I was holding in my hand, whose hard nipples pressed into my chest and whose hot breath rasped in my ear with such carnal promise.

Thirty long and lonely years I had been doggedly faithful to my religion and all that time I could never raise enthusiasm for anything beyond my work, even to participate in my children's upbringing, no matter how much I prayed, how many Eucrhrists I let dissolve on my tongue.

Yet it was this wonderful young woman I had known only a few weeks and in whose company I had spent a few meagre, but enlightening hours, who made me feel alive, made me want to celebrate life and living in a way I had never done before. She had unwittingly ignited a spark of desire in me to make contact with my long estranged offspring, my dear brave and adventurous Oonagh and poor, troubled Sean. A spark I had already resolved to fan into a flame and build into a fire, a fire to burn in a new hearth, to entice my children home.

"Yes," I answered when I had found my voice, and a relief washed over me as I uttered the word, I was done feeling guilt and shame, finished being pious and sanctimonious. I was going to fuck this magnificent creature up the arse and love it.

"Yes, Tina," I reaffirmend, "I will fuck you up the arse."

"Oh, Mr Murphy," She cooed girlishly, hugging me to her,"I can't wait to feel your prick in my arsehole, oh god, I'm so excited I think I'm going to cream this minute."