The Pleasure Toy Ch. 04

Lewis Carter's heart raced as he stood outside his parents' house wondering where he was really going to be taken, and what he'd have to when he got there. As far as they knew, one of his mother's friends was going to pick him up so that he could help move some furniture in the local church prior to a wedding, but he didn't believe that had been the real reason for Claire Harrison's call ten minutes earlier.

"Hello lover", grinned Claire through the open car window when she pulled up next to him, "Have you missed me?" Lewis Carter didn't reply. He'd spent two weeks hoping that the last time they'd met had been a one-off and she'd changed her mind about using him as her pleasure toy.

He walked round the front of the black BMW, opened the passenger door, got in, and glanced at the fifty-three-year-old woman practically salivating next to him. She was without any make-up, wearing a pair of large thick framed glasses, a plain brown casual jacket over a white blouse, matching knee-length pleated skirt, calf-high tan-coloured boots with zips up the side, and had fading mousey brown hair which hung loosely to her shoulders. To all intents and purposes Claire Harrison couldn't have looked more like most people's idea of a respectable, church-going middle-aged woman about to attend some sort of Sunday service, but Lewis Carter was under no such illusion. He was very well aware that it was an act which had been put on the benefit of his watching mother.

It took less than five minutes to drive to the Baptist church, which Claire spent telling Lewis how she'd spent two weeks thinking about him and little else except trying to come up with a way for them to have an hour or so together without anyone suspecting that they were now in a "relationship". She parked the car, told Lewis to follow, unlocked a door at the rear of the building, gestured for him to join her inside, and locked it behind them.

"There isn't really any furniture which needs moving," she sniggered, "But there really is a wedding in an hour, so we don't have long."

"For what?" he asked, puzzled as to why she'd brought him to a dusty old church at 9 o'clock on a Sunday morning.

Claire Harrison walked over to the front pew, lay down on her back, put her right foot on the floor, and lifted her left leg over the wooden seating so that her skirt rode up to her waist. "For you to get that pretty face of yours right here."

He stared down open-mouthed at the semi-naked 53-year-old woman in front of him. Claire Harrison wasn't wearing any underwear and had spread her legs so far apart that he could do nothing except fixate on the large pink gash below her navel. It glistened in the half-light streaming through the stained-glass windows and looked to Lewis like a watermelon that had been split in half with the seeds very messily removed by hand. "H, h here?" he stammered nervously, "i, i, in a church?"

Her smirk turned to a grin: "Well I've spent the last fifteen years praying for a toy boy to put his face between my legs whenever I tell him to, so it's sort of appropriate really. Now get on your knees and crawl over here over or I start thinking of what damage I can do to your reputation with those pictures I have of you wearing my underwear."

He nodded reluctantly. Claire Harrison had clicked away with her phone after making him put on some of her panties two weeks previously, and he'd known within minutes that she'd intended to blackmail him, he just hadn't known to do what. But now he did, and she was so obviously excited at the prospect of him going down on her that for a very brief second or two Lewis Carter actually wondered if his services would even be required.

"Now", she repeated coldly, "Or I send those pictures to a friend, and you'll have two of us to keep happy."

Lewis Carter nodded, took a step closer, knelt down, and leant forwards as she lifted her leg from the back of the seat, flopped it over his shoulder, grabbed his hair, pulled him tightly into her and laughed: "For what I am about to receive, may the Lord make me truly thankful!"

His first instincts about how necessary he was for Claire to climax were proven true within seconds. Her sodden pink crevice gushed like a burst pipe before his tongue had even started to explore, but that just made her grab his head with both hands and pull him even tighter as she screamed with ecstasy.

Claire Harrison kept his face pulled tightly into her as she shuddered repeatedly while he struggled to breathe and let go only when she couldn't cope any longer. She'd spent two weeks thinking about what had at the time been the best two minutes of her life, but this had been so much better: she'd managed to come many times in the ten minutes his pretty face had been between her thighs, and every single orgasm had moved her like a tsunami.

"That'll do me for a week," she half-whispered with a grin on her face that resembled a cleaved melon, and her lower body dripping what he knew would be stains on the wooden pew, "and if you're here every Sunday at the same time to keep me happy, nobody will ever know what a pervert you are. Now, let yourself out of the back door before any wedding guests turn up, run home so your mother won't wonder why you're such a mess, and tell her that I said thanks for letting me have you for ten minutes."

Clair Harrison started laughing hysterically as he staggered to his feet, decided against saying goodbye, and left the 53-year-old woman who'd just used him as her pleasure toy in such a state that she spent ten more very happy minutes lying on the front row pew of the little church before even attempting to stand.

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