The Meek Shall Pt. 02

Pt 2 Carol speaks

Carol

This story makes more sense if you read the parts in order. You can find part one here.

A reader seemed upset that Frank was a wimp and should exact revenge. If anyone wants a revenge story, this is not it, so look elsewhere. Real life rarely supplies vicarious satisfaction.

The seduction here is of a partner betraying their faithfulness by being seduced into religious faith. After a marriage based on other values, this is more stressful than an affair. How does one get angry? A real-life story has inspired this series, and my observation is that this situation is common with mostly the wife being the one who gets religion.

There is usually an underlying cause that makes one vulnerable to the hope that faith provides. Perhaps it is abuse as a child or other things that make someone feel inadequate or dependent. It is also that the brainwashing of a child, abuse in itself, can plant deep seated belief that eventually rises to the surface, and that is Carol's case. The sex inside the church is an allegory of that seduction to show it is as deep a betrayal as a physical lover. Of course, sexual misconduct by religious leaders is common and well documented. The cult aspect of the hedonist church betrays my opinion that all religions are cults, but the reader can make of that what they will.

The resolution of Frank and Carol's relationship may take several parts to the story. Whether they go their separate ways of heal together is the story. I hope it is engaging.

Carol

Our living room, that is my, and it seems formerly Frank's living room, is dark except for the street lights in the window. I stare through the window at the night. It is blank, dark, and reflected my mind.

How could Frank reject a God fearing wife such as me? He rejects God, and that's the same thing. If he loves not God, he loves not me.

I had prayed and performed God's will with his holy angels on Earth. If Frank could only understand, if Frank would only embrace the love of the Lord, all would be well. He would be worthy of the sacred sacraments that Pastor leads. He would partake of the joy. We gave him every chance.

"I and the Lord forgive you" I replied to Frank's last text: "thanks for noticing after four days". He insinuated I did not care for him because I had been in holy worship for several days, and working hard for my home-decorating customers, and I had just gotten home as the sun set. Had I not prayed for his soul every day, and prayed for Frank all during the holy rituals while being anointed with God's holy seed? Of course I did. He does not understand or know the depth of my love for him. He can only realize my love through God, through the partaking of the sacraments. It seems he has rejected me and, more importantly, rejected God's will.

I did not cheat on Frank. Why he is not here as a faithful husband should be. I must pray for the answer.

Being saved has made sex a sin, except between those who God has saved. Frank refuses to accept that. Pastor preaches almost every week about the sins of the flesh. I regret my wanton sex life before I met Frank and the sinful lust in our marriage, but I had never been unfaithful. Sharing god's love with other men and women of the Lord is not cheating. My loving the Lord above Frank is not being unfaithful to Frank, whom I love in the flesh. I struggled every day not to betray my holy love of God by having sexual intercourse with Frank.

Pastor instructed me to satisfy Frank once a month to show my love. It required me, as a faithful disciple, but I found it to be an ordeal, knowing that Frank had not accepted salvation. I would lie on the bed, pull up my nightdress and allow him to have his way while my nakedness remained hidden. I would not actively partake, but how could he not feel my love? Every time he defiled me with his devil's rod, I prayed for forgiveness and for Frank's soul.

God knows, thanks be to God. I tried to save Frank's soul. I dressed modestly so not to tempt him and me into sin and encouraged him to come to services. He came for a while and then left. He suddenly came back over a month ago. That's when I insisted on a plan to draw him in once more. We thought it worked. That we had seduced him into the Lord's fold, but now he's gone. I must ask Francis why he left. I really thought we would have him this time and he would take part in the special sacraments. I love him so much. God forgive me, but I miss his cock. If only it were the staff of the Lord. If only he had sanctified seed, I could lust for it in a holy way.

The thought of Frank's cock gave me impure thoughts. It seemed worse sitting in the dark, so I turned on the patio lights and went onto the pool deck. That made it worse and I will have to beg the Lord's mercy and grace tomorrow. When I looked into the pool, I remembered the sinning we did there. I sat on the lounger, our double lounger, and remembered.

"Get in the water, sexy. Come get your little mermaid."

I swam away to the deep end as Frank canon-balled into the water.

"Here I come,"

Frank wasn't an athlete, but he could move fast if there was a reward. My eager cunt did it for him.

He reached me and spun me around with my back to him. His hands cupped my tits, and I shoved my bikini covered ass against his hard cock. His tool wasn't the biggest I had ever had. That guy in college had a monster and pastor Gord is about Frank's size, but Frank's was above average and he could use it. He humped against my ass as one hand slide into my bottoms. His fingers found my clit, and he teased it. I loved that. It drove me mad. He never hurried. He told me once that if he didn't pleasure me, he would never find satisfaction. His finger slid to my slit so that it parted slightly as the palm of his hand pressured my clit. I parted my legs and his cock pressed.

I wore a string tied bikini. My hand untied the knot and my bottoms slid away. Frank adjusted, and I thought his cock would find one of my holes, hopefully my cunt, because there was no lube. Instead, this night, he surprised me. After ten years, surprises in fucking were rare. He slipped his cock between my legs so that my thighs sandwiched it and the head just poked through at the bottom of my cunt lips. I had one hand on the pool edge and I used the other to edge the tip of his cock with my fingers. His fingers curled into my cunt and soon found my spot. He nibbled on one ear.

"Oh, fuck, baby," I cried, "oh fuck me with that finger, oh God."

He pinched my nipple hard, just the way I love it. I worked on his cock head and he gently thrust it against my fingers. When I erupted in a shattering orgasm, it sent him over and cum shot into my hand and then floated to the surface. If it hadn't been for the chlorine, I would have gulped it down. As it was, it floated in front of my face and sent me into another orgasm.

"Oh, God, Frank, oh God..."

We slumped against the pool wall, but then he swam backwards, his hand firmly on my tit and his fingers still in my cunt. Fucking in the water was out. I did not want chlorine in my cunt and I had read that water fucking could damage my cunt. Without lube, my ass was off limits.

We reached the steps, and he eased me from the water. I had to hang onto him, as my legs didn't seem to want to work. We curled up, naked, on the double recliner and slept in the warm Texas night. There would be plenty of time for more fucking later. I loved to fuck on the lounger.

I must have spaced out. Suddenly, I'm awake, sitting on the lounger and feeling the other side of the cushion. Frank isn't there. I'm disappointed, but the blessing of the Lord swept over me and I prayed for forgiveness for my sinful memory.

After praying, I remained on the lounger. I think about my life, and why Frank would leave me. He hadn't even left a note as if I didn't care. I pray for him every day.

Frank and I make about the same income. The difference is that his consulting work leads to ongoing support contracts, as well as new business and a stable income. He's a good man and earns his clients' trust. My business income matches Frank's, but is variable and is mostly one-off contracts for a house or other space. I have plenty of return clients and a good number of referrals. It was one of those referrals that opened my door to God's love.

I stood in front of that mansion for the first time. Its scale and design overpowered. The cut stone façade, with metal antique style window and door frames, shone in the Texas sun. The entranceway has a huge portico of square stone pillars and a gable roof. Marble steps rise from the sweeping circular drive of landscape stone pavement. Well clipped lawns and shrubs filled several acres. I love the place. I love luxury.

I tapped with the cast metal knocker. A man in his sixties who wore a black suit and a stiff cleric's collar opened the door. He had a clean-shaven face and close cropped hair. He appeared to be in good shape, as if he worked out. I later saw the fitness room in the basement.

"Come in, my child," he said.

"Thank you for coming, Mrs. Connor. I thought your husband would be with you. It is unseemly for a woman to be about un-escorted."

"It's Ms. Connor and my husband has his business and I mine."

I controlled my temper. This was a potentially big client. Later, I had to pray for forgiveness at the memory of my anger at not accepting my role as a woman subservient to the Lord's disciple.

He frowned.

He swung the door wide and took my elbow to guide me inside.

"Quite so," he said. "Come this way. My servant will bring us beverages."

He offered tea, but in my then ignorance I would have preferred something stronger.

I looked around the great room. They had decorated it in pretentious luxury. I doubted he wanted me to improve this space. One thing that puzzled me then was the number of soft couches with no arms and even a few padded benches, tastefully upholstered and arranged, but they seemed out of place in what I assumed was a living room. It reminded me of a picture I once saw of a Roman spa, what they called "orgia praetorium".There was a massive, well-stocked bar at the far end. He saw me looking.

"I see you are working already," he said. His smile drew me in. Despite his dress, he exuded manliness and a certain sex appeal. I would only learn later and partake of the wonders of that. It reflected God's grace on his servant, as he put it.

That was my first impression of Pastor Gerald Donald Moore. Later, when I returned to the Lord, Frank yelled, in one of our angry disputes about my not loving him, that the Lord's servant had forgotten two vowels in his initials. Frank blasphemed that Pastor needed an O and A so his initials would be GODAM. If he ever finds God, he will need to repent of that evil thought.

"It is not this room that requires your services. We have made this the way we need it. I did not notice the difference then between needs and wants for the function of this space."

"We want you to redo the private chambers. Let me show you the master-suite."

He took my hand and gripped it as he guided me to the back and then upstairs to the house. There was money and luxury in everything I saw.

In the way an old English manor house might be, the private quarters seemed separate from the formal dining and living rooms. Both were grand halls, but the living space has a more comfortable human scale.

"We want it all redone," Pastor said. "This is over ten years old and is dated. Replace it all."

My professional eye took in the luxurious fixtures, wall hangings, and paintings and furniture from the small dining table to the seven bedrooms fully furnished. I noted it all. It looked fine to me, but the customer is always right.

"Everything?" I asked.

"Except the art, but I want the walls painted to coordinate with that."

My cell recorded photos from every angle. I could fine tune my estimate from them. The master-bedroom had a massive four-poster bed and mirrors everywhere. The bed posts showed signs of wear, as if something had rubbed against them at mattress level.

"Do you want this bed kept?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, keep that. If you tried it, you would love it."

"You have a nice little camera," Pastor said. "Do you ever take nude photos of people, like yourself, for instance, spread out on this bed?" He laughed at my shocked look and blush.

"Oh, I'm sorry. It was a poor joke." He said.

It embarrasses me to say that my pussy tingled at the idea. I would later be eager for such things, in the service of the Lord, of course, and he would have all the naked pictures of me he wanted. Those bedposts would come in handy. I kept a careful eye on him, but his comport said safety and trust. I put it down to an old man getting his jollies.

After two hours of touring and making notes and photos, Pastor escorted me, his hand on the small of my back, to my car. I had seen no one else, but I didn't think it was strange.

"It will take a few days for me to get an estimate," I said through my open window.

"Friday," He asked.

"Friday," I said.

"That's great," Pastor patted my shoulder through the car window. His hand came close to my breast. It felt nice. "Come to the church office at ten in the morning," he said. I drove to my office to work on the quote. It would be massive. I looked forward to telling Frank and warning him that Friday night, we would need lots of wine when I got home.

The church building is as impressive as Pastor's home, with a sanctuary that holds at least a thousand souls, and a banquet room on the ground floor with the offices. The basement had a gym and many rooms for Sunday school and prayer. Pastor Gord ushered me into his private office. We passed through the working office and I noted several computer work stations. Frank would be interested in that.

I presented a detailed quote for material and hours.

"The material quote is only an estimate," I said. "It may change if you want more furniture replaced than I expected."

Pastor Gerald, "call me Gary", examined the package. Spread sheets of detail and paint patches and curtain samples completed it. He smiled.

"This looks wonderful, my dear," he laid a hand on my arm. "How would you like a ten percent bonus?"

I almost choked. He offered me another $50,000 dollars, at least. This was the largest job I had ever quoted.

"What," I stammered. "Why is that?"

I moved my arm away. At that point, I was afraid he wanted to treat me as a common whore. I did not then know he had offered me a path to salvation.

"How do I earn that?" I feared the answer.

"You simply have to attend my Sunday service for the duration of the work."

I did a calculation. It would at least be three months. For that money, twelve days in church seemed to be a good rate of pay. I did not then know that the true payment would be God's love and the wonderful sacraments of pleasure worship the church would offer.

"Yes," I said.

"Wonderful, my child. We will see you this Sunday."

He lifted me from my chair and hugged me, pressing my breasts tight to his chest. I have asked God's forgiveness at my lustful thought, then.

I called Frank.

"Be ready," I said.

It is embarrassing to remember that sinning, but that evening I raced home, slammed the front door and attacked Frank with my sinful, lusting body.

"Come here, lover. Fuck me. Fuck the best looking, smartest, richest curtain hanger in Texas." I cried, undoing my top as I walked to him.

I was the aggressor, the powerful business woman. I would ravage my man.

"Get your clothes off, you man whore."

I yanked his shorts down and his hard cock sprang out. I was hungry and gulped it. This was about my pleasure, not my man slut's. His shirt flew away as I stripped.

My finger massaged his asshole as I sucked him deep. I wanted a mouth full of cum before I would release Frank's cock.

"It's yours, sweet mistress. It is your cock."

He shoved into my mouth as my lips, tongue, and teeth pleasured him. I needed. My cunt was dripping, and I finger fucked myself as I finger fucked his ass and sucked that wonderful cock. I felt him nearing.

"Oh, I'm going to cum, mistress."

I sucked harder. I was close. He erupted into my mouth as I orgasm, a huge gush of my cunt juices splashed on the hallway floor. I made sure his cum was in my mouth. I wanted the taste, and to share the taste with Frank. I rose and French kissed him. His still hard, now slippery cock rubbed my cunt lips. I came again in a squirt that washed his balls. We sloshed his cum into our mouths until we both swallowed.

He led me to the couch, and we washed the cum down with cool wine. And then we fucked.

I stirred on the lounger. Lord, forgive my evil memories.

I had not attended church services since the day I had screamed at my mother for calling me a slut and a sinner. She had caught a boyfriend fondling my tits on the porch and I was gone, a hopeless whore in mother's eyes. She forgave me enough to come to our wedding, but she resented it was in city hall and not her church and she had not helped to plan it. I have forgiven her and hope she will attend services with me soon.

I wore something simple and hoped I would avoid notice. I had no use for the crap that my mother and her narrow believers had inflicted on me, especially in the brainwashing of Sunday school. There were wonderful memories of that too, the other kids and Mrs. J who loved everyone. Still, the message from all was that we should separate believers and sinners, but that the believers should try to save the sinners, the lost lambs of God.

It gives me a warm feeling, thinking of how hard I worked to save my sinner, Frank, but it now seems like he is lost and condemned to hell. Luckily I escaped that eternal suffering.

I sit on the lounger, watching the little ripples in the pool lit by the wall lights.

I became one of those lost lambs when I went through puberty. Maybe I felt abandoned in my mother's lack of genuine affection when I was young. She spent most of her time scolding me for any error and being out a lot doing the work of the Lord, as she put it. Perhaps, too, I was just a too horny teen, but I never fucked a guy until I was 18. I did a lot of tongue sucking and reached "short-stop" with lots of guys. Fortunately, the sex education classes in Grade 6 warned me about pregnancy. Mom would have sued the school board if she had known about those classes. Campaigning to ban books diverted her interests, I guess.

"Get out of my house, you harlot, sinner. You are no longer my daughter." Mother shrieked.

I remember thinking, as I dragged my case with all of my worldly possessions, "Fuck you..." Lord forgive me, at my mother.

I did not see Mother again for many years, her decision and mine. When a kid is kicked out, there are lots of outcomes. The most probable is the street and a life of crime, drugs and sex. Pastor Gord told me my sweet friend Francis suffered that until Gord rescued her. They are such a loving couple and he said Fran was eager to share his pleasures with me. It was her sacrifice for her old life of sin.

Fortunately, I fared better. My girlfriend's family took me in and gave me safety and care. The only negative, Lord forgive them, were the blasphemous and vulgar words spoken whenever the subject of my mother and father arose. Their other sin was giving me birth control pills and condoms. That allowed me to engage in wanton sin for years and opened the door to the devil's work. It also allowed me to finish school and take college interior decorating. I think my interest came from my mother's fetish for her house and the constant binge watching of Martha Stewart. Of course, that was for the grovelling masses and I knew I could find the real money in wealthier customers. I interned with one of the best interior designers in El Paso, and soon her clients sought me out. Of course, my occasional offering of discreet fringe benefits to both men and women helped my popularity. In the end, my great work made my reputation and career.