tagMatureThe Preacher's Wife

The Preacher's Wife


My name is Ted Ashton and I am twenty-six years old. I am assistant pastor at what some of our detractors have called the richest church in northern Virginia. We are that, of course, but I don't like to describe us that way.

It was a choice job offer that I got right after I received my Doctor of Theology degree. Unlike most assistant positions it paid well and I was looking forward to a good appointment in one of several churches in Virginia or North Carolina where several pastors were well into their sixties.

I had preached sermons by invitation in several of these churches and I thought some were looking me over seriously. In school, Homiletics was my best subject and I took pride in reaching my listeners with a simple, clear message that they understood, remembered, and took to heart.

There was a professor at Chapel Hill who gave a lot of talks about "The Historical Jesus" and every time one of my flock heard him I was faced with questions. I finally developed a sermon titled "The Historical Jesus in a Christian Context" which turned out to be the most popular sermon I had ever given, as well as a popular Sunday school lesson.

I was often asked to give that sermon. Unfortunately it was not popular with some of my friends who were theological scholars. The last time I was in Danville at a theological meeting I took a lot of good-natured kidding from them.

My pastor was Doctor Wade Jiles, from an old southern family. He had been a very successful minister and, like many pastors in our denomination he had received the DD degree, which was an honorary degree. This meant he was addressed as "Doctor."

For reasons lost in the mists of history, our denomination preferred to address their ministers as "Doctor" rather than "Reverend" or "Pastor" like the Lutherans. It was often said, and sometimes it was true, that if a congregation donated enough money to a seminary, their pastor would get a DD.

Dr. Jiles was past his middle fifties and his health was not good. There was talk of his moving to emeritus status. This would open a position for me and I had several enthusiastic supporters in our church.

Dr. Jiles wife, Pam, was a solid rock of support for him and, indeed, she was a key leader in our church. Her education had been in counseling, and she was consulted more often, even, than her husband by parishioners seeking advice. Their daughter, Chris was a senior at Charlottesville, majoring, like her mother, in psychology. She was destined to be a preacher's wife. I had dated Chris on numerous occasions and I think Dr. Jiles saw me as a prospective son-in-law. I agreed.

In short, I felt like I was knowledgeable and on top of things and in control and ready to advance in my chosen profession. Then my safe and cozy world collapsed all around me in an unlikely series of unbelievable events and I found myself in an impossible situation, as difficult to describe, as it is to imagine.

It all began in Dr. Jiles' study just off the sanctuary on a cloudy fall afternoon. Dr. Jiles sat me down in a big, soft leather chair where people consulting him always sat. He was at his desk and he began to speak in a solemn voice.

"Ted, there have been some developments in my medical condition. It's hard for me to discuss this because it is so very personal. Pam and I have talked about it night after night and we have finally reached what we think is a possible solution -- an unusual solution -- you may even think it bizarre. But it all depends upon you. I want you to have a talk with Pam about my condition and then you and I need to talk again."

It was a simple direct statement and when he completed it he rose from his chair and left the room, holding the door open for Pam who entered and sat down. When he was gone and the door was closed, Pam began to talk in the same solemn voice her husband had used.

"It's so painful, that Wade can hardly talk about it, even with me. On his annual physical exam, the blood test for his prostate was elevated. He had a biopsy and they found cancer. After a lot of talk and tests we decided to have surgery. We kept everything very quiet and went to Hopkins where the best guy in the field operates. But even the best guys aren't always perfect. The wrong nerves got cut and he became impotent."

Pam poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the desk and offered me a drink. I declined and she drank half the glass herself. I think she wanted time for me to absorb the gravity of what she had said. I remembered the "vacation" they took six months ago. I had preached a series of sermons on Job while he was gone.

Pam continued. "Our life became a living hell! We have always had a solid sexual relationship and he was frustrated with a desire he couldn't fulfill. I was just as frustrated as he was. And, although I tried to keep that a secret from him, I think he figured it out."

"Then last month his scans and blood tests showed that the tumor had spread. That's when his doctor tried to suppress his male hormones with a drug called leupro-something. I think it might have been leuprolide or leuproside. Anyway he had a very bad allergic reaction -- like a heart attack. They said he couldn't take that drug, or anything like it ever again."

She poured some more water and sipped some before asking me if I understood.

"Do you know what that means? What they have to do now?"

It sounded bad. "Do you mean? He might die?"

"No, not die. There's still a treatment that often controls prostate cancer. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

I shook my head no.

She said it harshly, head down looking at the desk.

"Castration! They're gonna castrate him! If he can't take that drug, that's the only way to shut off the male hormones that are making his cancer grow. "

I didn't know what to say. I sat in silence. Finally Pam looked up at me.

"They said, at least his desire for sex will go away."

I didn't say anything and she continued, again staring at the desk.

"They're gonna cut off his balls. It's actually the best thing for him. He'll be a lot better off with his balls hanging in a bottle of formalin in the hospital path lab than swinging between his legs sending ideas to his head that his dick can't follow up on."

"Jesus!" I said. I was very surprised at her frankness and the language she had used.

Then after a moment of silence she said, "For him, maybe, but not for me! I haven't had sex for six months. It's starting to affect my mind. I told him I couldn't go on like this. I'm fifty-two and a lot of women don't need it at that age but I can't go on this way. I just can't."

She sat there, obviously in severe mental pain. Then she got up without a word and walked out of the room. She held the door open for Dr. Jiles who entered and closed it behind him. He moved to the desk and sat down.

Then began the strangest conversation I had ever engaged in. Sex was not mentioned once. He talked in the most general terms -- almost like a sermon. I tried to ask questions but all I got back were generalities about people and needs and sins and God and right and wrong and casting the first stone. And when he finished he got up and, wordlessly, left me alone in the room.

I felt strange. Very strange. He talked gibberish but somehow I understood. He had not said it! He had never said it! And yet, as I got up and walked out of the church through a silent, empty sanctuary, I knew in my heart what he was asking me to do. He was asking me to fuck his wife!

Alone in my apartment that night I thought again and again about that conversation. I'm a preacher, but not a prude. I'd fucked my share of girls since college. Of course I had to be very careful to avoid even the slightest suspicion. I had always thought of it as a search for "safe pussy." I even had a set of rules: never a gal from the church; never a gal who might get serious; preferably a gal from another town and, best of all, a gal I met while attending a meeting as far away from home as possible.

So far I had a spotless reputation. But fuck the preacher's wife? It was so absurd that no one would ever suspect it, but still? What the hell was I going to do? And Wade, poor Wade! They were gonna castrate Wade Jiles. Castration! What an ugly thing!

I remembered reading about the Barbary pirates capturing Christians from ships in the Mediterranean and holding them for ransom. When they got a young couple they would castrate the husband so he could work in some Algerian brothel where he watched his wife get regularly fucked, her market value declining with each thick Algerian penis she serviced. When she was just a worn-out whore, they would accept the ransom money and send the two back to Europe -- still a couple, but now mismatched -- the wife conditioned for heavy use and the husband without his testicles.

The King James Bible on the table caught my eye. It reminded me that the Barbary pirates were not alone. The English had raised castration to the level of a spectator sport. After capturing the men who conspired to kill King James by blowing up Parliament in 1605, a half-dozen prisoners were led to a scaffold erected in the Old Palace Yard at Westminster.

Before a jeering, laughing crowd of spectators, they were stripped and castrated -- their testicles flung out to the waiting hounds. After this indignity they were executed. It was the women who laughed the loudest and moved up closest for the best view. I could almost hear the shrieks of the struggling prisoners drowned out by the raucous laughter of the street women at the edge of the scaffolding, watching the gleaming little blade do its emasculating work -- again and again and again. Until modern times, Nov 5th has been celebrated as Guy Fawkes Night with bonfires in memory that execution.

My mind recoiled at the thought of castration. The next morning things proceeded apace. Dr. Jiles invited me over to his house that evening for drinks and hors d'œuvres. I had an idea what was supposed to happen. It was a friendly evening, finishing with Dr. Jiles saying he was going to leave to visit a number of sick and home-bound parishioners. When he left there was a prolonged and uncomfortable silence.

Pam and I looked at each other without speaking. I realized I was supposed to fuck her. But, how the hell do you do that to a dignified, middle-aged lady you had always respected as a leader of the church? She was almost thirty years older than I was.

At the moment, however, she was far from dignified. I had seen horny women before and Pam was the perfect image of a horny woman. Her facial expression was slack, her mouth slightly open, and her breathing was heavy. She was almost trembling in anticipation.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, Pam said, "Let's go up to the guest bedroom."

We went upstairs and into the guest room. The house was empty but Pam closed the door anyway. When she turned to face me she was trembling. Clearly she wanted to fuck. She hadn't felt a hard one in six months. She needed to spread her legs and take one deep.

"Do you want the lights on or off?" Pam asked.

"Leave them on," I said.

"I'm fifty-two years old and I'm not skinny," Pam said. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I said. If I was gonna fuck this horny bitch I wanted to see what she looked like. I'd never fucked a gal who was over thirty -- or at least admitted she was over thirty. I had no idea what I was in for with a fifty-two year old. I didn't even know if I could get it up.

Pam reached behind her back, unbuttoned her dress, slipped her arms out and the dress fell to the floor. She stepped out of it. She was wearing a bra and half-slip. She hooked her thumbs in the half-slip and took it off, throwing in on the floor with her dress. She stood before me in bra and panties. She did not have hose on and she was wearing what some gals called "granny-heels" -- the two-inch heels that she usually wore to church.

She was about five-six and must have weighed at least a hundred and forty pounds. Her tits sagged, even in a strong matron's bra. Her thighs were a bit heavy, but not really that bad and her legs actually might have looked pretty good in spike heels. Her belly pooched out a little in her panties.

But the thing that I noticed first was her beaver. It was visible through her white panties and the hair grew down on her inner thighs at least an inch. She could never have worn a regular bathing suit with a beaver like that. It was dark brunet and the curly hair was so thick it grew up on her belly in a point, like a man's pubic hair.

She reached behind her and unhooked her bra and when it came off those big tits sagged down and jiggled with every movement. She had huge nipples and they were erect. She hooked her thumbs in her panties and pulled them down, kicking them off into the pile with her other clothes. Then she just stood there stark naked, trembling in anticipation, and let me look at her. That was the hairiest pussy I had ever seen in my life and this lady was obviously very eager to fuck.

I figured I had better undress and I did so. She watched me hungrily as I stripped. When I was naked she walked over to me rapidly and dropped to her knees on the lush carpet. Grabbing my flaccid cock she took it into her mouth and I felt her tongue start to work on it as she lightly massaged my testicles with her fingers. Gals had sucked my dick before but never as skillfully as this. She had me erect before I even realized it.

Then she reached around me and took my butt in both her hands and pulled me forward so my cock went deep into her mouth -- then deeper -- and finally her lips were in my pubic hair. I had seven inches. Jesus! Deep throat! How the hell did a preacher's wife learn to deep throat? I was turning on.

In a single motion she reached up and grabbed my hands and pulled me down on my knees between her legs. She spread her legs as wide as she could, lifted her knees up in the air, and guided my cock into a big, wet, soft, loose, sloppy pussy. I couldn't help myself -- I started to hump. She was panting with excitement. She matched me hump for hump and laid back. I supported my weight on my hands and looked down at those big breasts rolling back and forth on her chest as we fucked.

"Do it! Yes! Yes! Do it!" Pam cried out.

Her eyes were closed, her back was arched, and her head was thrown back on the rug. Her arms were around me with her hands on my ass pulling me hard against her. She was so horny that in less than a minute her orgasm began and she started to scream. My God! She's a screamer! It was a damn good thing the house was empty. She had an orgasm but her pussy was so loose that I hardly felt any contractions.

I kept on fucking her and she lowered her legs enough to change the way my pubic bone pressed into her beaver. She put her hands on my hips and positioned me in a special way. I wondered what the hell she was doing, but I kept on fucking the horny bitch. And then I felt it!

She had the biggest clitoris I had ever seen. It was rock hard like a little penis and was almost the size of my thumb. I had not seen that huge clitoris when she stripped naked, because it had been hidden by her lush pubic hair. What she had done was to position my pubic bone so it massaged that hard clit when we fucked. She moaned and groaned and rubbed against me as hard as she could, working for another orgasm. When it came, she started to scream again and this time I felt her pussy muscles contract.

She dropped her feet to the floor to get better leverage and kept right on fucking as hard as she could -- grunting like an animal now. She was starting to sweat heavily and I could hear wet squishy sounds as I shoved my cock in and out of that loose, dripping pussy. Finally I pumped my load deep and collapsed on her body panting for air.

We rested.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you very much. I needed that more than you can ever know."

After resting a while she asked softly, "Can you do it to me again?"

"Get me up," I said.

Then that magical mouth went to work on my cock. When I was hard she took me deep-throat for a couple of minutes and I wondered once again how a preacher's wife learned to do this. Then she pulled me on top of her and positioned my pubic bone on her clit, which was as hard as a rock. This time she reached down under her thigh, took hold of my balls, and massaged them while I fucked her. This lady really knew how to fuck!

Pam had two more orgasms -- both after a strong massage of her rock hard clitoris by my pubic bone and both accompanied by loud screams that resonated through the entire house. I showered in the guest bathroom, dressed, and left the house before her husband returned from his rounds.

As I left she thanked me and said, "May I call you when I need it again?"

I told her she could and went on my way. When I got back to my townhouse, I poured a glass of Balvenie and sipped it neat, thinking about that experience.

She had to have the hairiest pussy in all of northern Virginia. I remembered reading somewhere that the hormones that make pussies hairy are the same hormones that are responsible for the female libido. Well, that fits, I thought. This had to be the horniest bitch in northern Virginia as well as the hairiest.

And that clit! It was the biggest clit I had ever seen. And she needed it massaged hard to get her orgasm. I wondered when I would get my next call. This might turn out to be an interesting learning experience.

My next call came three days later. It was much the same experience as the first, except this time we used the bed and the lighting was more subtle. The screams, if anything, were louder than before. Once again I had to work hard on that big clit to bring her off. But I did enjoy her playing with my balls as I fucked her.

I was fucking her twice a week and my relationship with her husband was a bit strained. He was usually there when I arrived and we chatted in a friendly way before he left. I wondered what it must feel like to leave your wife with another man, knowing the guy was gonna fuck her and knowing she wanted to get fucked.

They castrated Wade a month after I started fucking his wife and I agreed with Pam that it was probably for the best. Without sexual desire he would be a lot better off.

The third or fourth week I asked her to blow me. I had never in my life had a deep-throat blowjob. She did it and the sensation of ejaculating deep into her throat was new and a real turn on. She seemed happy that there was something special she could do for me and we changed our routine so that, often, the first thing she did was blow me.

She laughed about me liking it so much and said, "It slows you down! It's like re-setting your thermostat. I like that."

It was not long before I began to enjoy our relationship a lot. It became comfortable and pleasurable. Except, I never let myself forget that I had to be extremely careful. It was good pussy. But it was about as far from "safe pussy" as you could get.

I had never in my life experienced the feeling of my cock in a gal's asshole. I had heard that it was tight -- like a young pussy. One afternoon I asked Pam if I could fuck her in the ass and she laughed. It was a high musical laugh.

"Of course you can fuck me that way," Pam said. "It will be tight -- like a virgin pussy. Wade's never used it. Not even once! So I'm still cherry!"

I took her cherry. She was tight! As tight as any pussy I had ever fucked. I came quickly up her ass. I fucked her missionary and she reached down and fondled my balls as I fucked her. She seemed very happy to be able to provide me with a tight pussy substitute just as she had enjoyed my reaction to the deep throat blowjobs. We were developing a comfortable and mutually rewarding sexual relationship.

After several months, just when I thought my life was settling down a little bit, there came another complication. It involved Pam's daughter Chris. I had been dating Chris when she came home on weekends or short vacations from Charlottesville. She was due to graduate in June and that was six months away and there was a general assumption that Chris and I would be married after she graduated.

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byLynnGKS© 25 comments/ 218099 views/ 90 favorites

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