The Preacher's Wife

I love watching Althea sing. It's the main reason I've stuck with this shitty job.

I play the organ during choir practice at the local church. It's a steady paycheck and the music is transcendent, but I can't stand the pastor. The things he says about women and gay people makes my skin crawl. His wife is something else entirely.

Althea is sweet and kind and wise and everything her husband is not. I don't understand what she sees in him. He's not even attractive.

I noticed that Althea ate lunch in the garden every day before rehearsal so I started bringing my lunch in too. We talk about trashy reality television shows and what's happening in our lives and even the big, philosophical stuff. She respects my atheism. She kissed a girl in college. I daydream about her at the keys.

I eat my sandwich and wait for Althea. She's late. She's never late. I bounce my leg and watch the church staff set up the risers.

She arrives twenty minutes before we're supposed to start and drops her heavy purse with a thud. Her curly hair cascades down the side of her face. She looks tired.

"I know, I'm late. Bobby had a case of the pukes."

"Happens to the best of us." I break off half my brownie and hand it to her. "Here, made it myself."

"Mmm, amazing. Thank you."

I notice a fresh bruise encircling her upper arm. It's faint but I can make out finger marks.

"What happened? Does it hurt?"

She pulls her sleeve down and smiles.

"Oh, it's fine. I hurt myself during yard work."

"It's not fine."

"Jaelyn, stop. I don't want to hear another word."

Althea looks down at her lap. I touch her face delicately.

"I love you. Not him."

I softly brush my lips against hers. She puts her hand on top of mine and I can feel her breath on my skin. I slip my tongue inside her mouth. She kisses me back. I push her hair out of her eyes.

"They'll see us," she whispers. "I have keys to the van."

We nervously walk to the parking lot and duck in while no one's looking. The van is windowless, and it's almost completely empty. I close the door and marvel at Althea. She slowly unbuttons her sweater. There's another bruise on her stomach.

Althea lies down and rests her head on a stack of moving blankets. I put my hands on her waist. I kiss her stomach. I pull down her bra and expose her breasts. I gently suck her nipples. She runs her fingers through my hair.

I lift her skirt and kiss her vulva through the fabric of her pink cotton underwear. I kiss the inside of her knees, her thighs. I slip off her underwear. She's trembling.

I lightly gnaw her outer labia with my lip-covered teeth. I lick her deep and hard and flick her clitoris with my tongue. She puts her legs over my shoulders. I grasp her hands tightly and go down on her with everything I have. I accidentally touch her wedding ring and move my fingers away.

I stop just as she's on the brink. I lie next to Althea and gaze into her eyes. I stroke her face with my thumb and manually pleasure her. She whimpers and breathes heavy and squirms in my arms. I don't let her look away. She whispers my name. I hold her against me as she cums.

Delicate tendrils of hair stick to her forehead with sweat. I kiss her sweetly. She eagerly pushes her hips into me.

"We gotta go, babe." I kiss her nose. "Rehearsal is starting."

"I don't want to leave this van."

"Me neither, but we're late." I squeeze and kiss her breasts. "Come earlier tomorrow."

She brings my face to hers and kisses me deeply.

"Come back tonight. The pastor's out."

*

Originally published in "Stories To Bang By, Vol. 30: Pussy"