The Preacher's Wife

Chris was, to say the least, a very outspoken young woman. She'd spent a lot of time studying marriage counseling and we talked about it a lot. Her ideas about a happy marriage seemed to revolve around sex. She summed up her philosophy this way:

"Ninety-nine percent of marriage problems will never arise if hubby comes home from work looking for a user-friendly piece of ass and his wife helps him find it."

One weekend that Chris was in town we had our usual dinner date set for Saturday night. But Chris was acting strangely. I couldn't put my finger on it but she was different. I had a sudden fear that somehow she had discovered that I was fucking her mother.

Chris and I had never slept together. She always stayed with her folks. It would have been dangerous in our small community for us to sleep together. This time when I picked her up at her folks' house she wanted to go back to my townhouse, not to the restaurant where I had made reservations. Something was clearly wrong.

"Have a drink," Chris said when we sat down in my living room. "A big one. I have something important to talk about."

I couldn't think about anything except fucking her mother and I was starting to sweat. We sat in silence for a few minutes sipping our Balvenie before she began to talk.

"We're getting married in June, right?" Chris began.

We had never talked about a specific date, but that had always been what I thought we would do.

I nodded, "Yeah, that's what I thought the plan was."

"You need to know something," she said in a determined tone of voice.

"What do I need to know?" I asked.

There was a long pause. Chris looked at the ceiling, then at the floor, and finally directly at me.

"I'm frigid," she said with determination in her voice. "Ice cold frigid!"

What the hell was this all about I wondered? She's obviously worried about this. I'd better take it seriously.

"In the first place," I began, "I never use the term frigid. It's an old-fashioned and outmoded term. And the concept is outmoded as well. What the hell are they teaching you in those psychology courses?"

"I know as much as you do about that word and I agree it is outmoded. But, that's the only way I can explain my problem to you. You know how important I think sex is in a marriage. Our marriage will need it just like any other. And ... well ... you see I just can't ... well ... I ... "

Chris stopped talking and stared at the floor.

"Say it Chris! What the hell are you trying to tell me?"

There was a long pause. Chris seemed to be gathering up her courage. Finally, with tears in her eyes and determination in her voice she almost shouted at me.

"I can't come! I can't have orgasms! No man wants a woman who can't come! No marriage will work that way!"

I thought about what she had said. She was obviously unhappy and scared. This was serious.

Slowly and softly I asked, "You mean you've never had an orgasm?"

She looked at me in surprise. "You're not making this easy for me."

I repeated my question.

It was almost as if she got angry. She was shouting again. "Of course I've had orgasms with a vibrator or with my fingers, but never ... I mean ... never ... "

"Never with a man?" I completed the sentence for her.

She nodded, then, shook her head in frustration. "Shit! How do you talk to the guy you're gonna marry about fucking other guys?"

"Well, I guess you'd better if you still plan to marry me," I said. "Have you fucked other guys?"

She looked at the floor, then up at me, and nodded. "Several," she said.

"And you've never come?"

"No. Not once!"

"Several?" I asked.

Chris nodded.

"How many is several?"

Chris looked at the floor again and barely audibly she said "Eight."

I was, to say the least, surprised. "You fucked eight guys?"

She just nodded and stared at the floor.

"How many times each?"

"Several times each," Chris mumbled.

"Several as in eight times each?" I was shocked.

Still staring at the floor Chris nodded again. "More or less."

"What the hell were you thinking?" I was starting to shout now.

"I was thinking about you. I had to keep trying for you."

"For me? You were fucking all those guys for me?"

"I didn't want to be frigid when we got married."

"So what do you plan to do? Just keep on fucking till you've done every guy in Charlottesville?"

"No! You and I need to fuck. If I can't come with you then we can't get married."

At least my prospective bride had been well broken in, I thought. But she was right. We did need to fuck. She had a bad problem. It wasn't "frigidity" as she called it but it was in her head and somehow I had to help her get it out.

"Have another Balvenie," I said. "Then we'll go to bed."

"You're not mad at me are you?" Chris asked in a timid voice.

"I'm not mad at you," I said.

I really wasn't mad. I was scared. These kinds of hang-ups could sometimes be very serious. The longer they lasted, the worse they got. Many women had long-term problems due to psychological difficulties such as this. Most people would be surprised at how often women went to their preacher rather than their doctor with this kind of problem. I wasn't sure how serious Chris' problem was but if she was fucking half the male population of Charlottesville it might be very serious.

There was no way to be certain that a roll in the hay would solve her problem or answer any questions -- in fact the odds were that it would take a hell of a lot more than that. In the end, however, the problem turned out to be a lot more easily solved than I had thought it would be when she told me about it.

I had the solution in hand -- literally in my hand -- minutes after I got her naked in bed. The room was dark but as I rubbed her luxuriously thick, hairy beaver I thought of her mother. Like mother like daughter! This was the second hairiest beaver in northern Virginia and as I rubbed it I felt a clit almost as large as her mother's. When it got hard it was bigger than my little finger and felt like a rock.

As I entered her, I positioned myself exactly as her mother had shown me, in order to massage that hard clit with my pubic bone. Then I started to fuck her and in moments she was grunting like an animal. I knew her orgasm was on the way when she started to scream, just like her mother always did. I was glad my townhouse had thick walls.

When I took her home, after several hours (and several fucks), she was a very happy young lady. As we sat in the car in her driveway, before I escorted her to the door, she started to talk about what her Mom had said and what the girls in her sorority had said about fucking.

"Most guys don't know how to fuck! I should have listened to what Mama said. I should have listened to what the gals in my sorority told me. For most guys, fucking is just vaginal masturbation. They're just using a pussy instead of their hand. They couldn't care less about trying to please a girl."

I put my arm around her. "Not all guys are like that."

"You're sure not like that!" She said emphatically. "You knew exactly how to please me. How did you know?"

I certainly wasn't gonna tell her how I learned to fuck a gal with a big clitoris.

"I care about you. I want to please you," I said.

"Yeah, I know, but ... I mean ... do other girls have orgasms with you?"

"Yes they do."

"You're one of those guys!" She said it with emphasis. "The gals talk about those rare guys all the time at the Chi-O house. They're hard as hell to find. I mean, our college class is sixty-forty female, so guys are scarce to start with. And then the number of gay guys you simply would not believe. And most of the few left over, don't know how to fuck! Or don't care! Shit, no wonder the guys who do know how are getting calls from girls all the time. They got first-date pussy standing in line!"

I chuckled. "Do your sorority sisters ever talk about anything except getting laid?"

Chris laughed. She was feeling a lot better than when the night began. "Not very often. But at least I know now what they're talking about. Jesus! It feels good to come with a guy inside you. Really good! Do you get many calls?"

"Calls? What do you mean?"

"Calls from gals who want to fuck," she said.

I thought immediately of her mother who called me a couple of times a week.

"I'm a preacher," I said.

"And I'm gonna be a preacher's wife!"

I kissed her.

Two months later on a Sunday morning I sat with Chris and her mother in church in our regular pew and listened to her father deliver a sermon in his usual, careful, somber manner - good, steady, and not boring. Things had settled down to a routine by now, although in just four months Chris would graduate and then my life would become very complicated, indeed. We were in the process of making wedding plans.

I looked at Dr. Jiles as he delivered his sermon. Cutting off his balls had greatly improved his personality as well as making his cancer better. It was far better for his testicles to be in a bottle in the lab, than swinging between his legs sending naughty thoughts to his head. He was quite comfortable now with me fucking his wife -- he had even thanked me for fucking her on more than one occasion.

The preacher's balls may have been in a bottle, but mine were doing double duty. Chris was coming home every weekend now, expecting to be thoroughly fucked -- Friday night when she got in town, Saturday night, and Sunday afternoon before she drove back to Charlottesville. I had to fuck her mother on weekdays, at least twice a week. I was holding up reasonably well but sometimes Mondays could be difficult if Pam got horny.

I looked over at Pam's face as she sat there, a dignified matron, as befitted a preacher's wife. Since Chris was in town she would not invite me over to fuck her that afternoon, as she used to do every Sunday when Wade made rounds to pray with the sick. But I knew Chris was expecting big league attention before she went back to school.

Sitting there in church I lost the sound of Wade's sermon and, instead, pictured in my head Pam's face as she laid under me grunting obscenely and humping for her orgasm. It played like a porn video in my head. I saw her huge breasts moving around on her chest like two water-filled balloons as she arched her back and her face became a mask of pleasure and lust. The sound of Wade's sermon faded and I heard those wet, squishy sounds that big, loose pussy made as her copious juices flowed out and dripped down on my balls.

Fantasizing about pussy, I realized that I was in the craziest situation you could ever imagine. I was fuckin the preacher's wife as often as she needed it on weekdays. And I was fuckin her daughter when she came home from Charlottesville every weekend. Chris was a screamer just like her mother and enjoyed fuckin just as much. They both had big clits and if you knew how to fuck one you could fuck the other. Except that Chris had a tight, young pussy that grabbed my dick like a strong hand every time she had an orgasm, while her mother's pussy was big and loose and sloppy.

Mom knew I was fuckin her daughter but her daughter sure didn't know I was fuckin her Mom. The preacher knew I was fuckin his wife and suspected I was fuckin his daughter as well. This was big league fuckin, and if any one of several hundred people in this congregation found out about even one tiny, little piece of ass, my career was toast.

Chris and I were gonna get married in June. I was gonna be preaching more and more sermons if Dr. Jiles' health got worse, as it might. He would probably go emeritus in a year or so. If nobody caught me fuckin the two hairiest, horniest women in northern Virginia I would probably become the regular minister.

But how could I get married and still fuck her mother without Chris finding out. There had to be some way out of this. For years I had always looked around for "safe pussy" but there was absolutely nothing safe about either one of these pussies. I still had a few months to figure out something to do but I had not the slightest idea what it would be.

Jesus! What a situation I had gotten myself into! Well, just keep plugging away I told myself.

I had a seminar to attend in Danville the next weekend, and Chris was unable to get away the weekend after that, because of some work with the Chi-O pledges. I talked to Pam about not seeing Chris two weekends in a row.

"Make it three!" Pam said.

"Three?" I asked in surprise.

"Yeah! Schedule something for the third weekend," said Pam.

"What's the deal?" I asked.

Pam explained. "Look, that daughter of mine is getting spoiled. She's getting fucked regularly by a guy who gives her great orgasms, but she's still complaining to me about you wanting blowjobs. I told her that's in her job description, but she says she doesn't come that way and doesn't want to do it. She's acting like a spoiled little bitch. Let her get horny. Let her get so horny she begs for it. It's good for a woman's attitude to beg now and then."

I did what Pam suggested and I was gone the third weekend. When Chris came back from school without us seeing each other for three weeks, I picked her up and took her to a movie. Before we got out of the car in the lot at the theatre complex, Chris reached over and put her hand on my arm.

"I don't want to be in a theatre watching some damn movie," she said. "I want to be back at your townhouse with you."

"It's supposed to be a great film," I said.

Chris looked up at me. "Please. Let's go to your place. I want to be with you now! Please!"

I did what she wanted. Her Mama was right! Her attitude improved a lot when I let that pussy get a little peter-hungry.

Late Monday morning after that wonderful weekend with Chris, Pam invited me over to the preacher's house and fixed me a light breakfast. We had a couple of bloody Marys and Pam was so horny that around noon we went upstairs and had a long and leisurely fuck.

After her second orgasm, we lay in bed naked and I played with those big soft tits and ran my hand down her stomach to thread my fingers through that thick curly haired beaver, occasionally rubbing her flaccid clit. In moments like this I loved her fifty-two year old body.

We talked about our situation. Pam had had a long talk with Chris before Chris left to go back to Charlottesville.

"Chris said her asshole was sore as hell," said Pam, laughing. "I told her you'd loosen it up for her in a month or two."

"Well, she was very cooperative," I said. "Giving her three weeks to get horny had a salutary effect on her attitude."

"You've learned an important lesson about a happy marriage, Ted. Even the most loving wife can get complacent now and then, if her pussy is being properly serviced. But remember, if you let that hairy little thing get so peter-hungry it starts to quiver, she'll be going down on you again like a proper wife - even lick the sweat off your balls if you tell her to."

"Good advice," I chuckled. "Chris was very loving."

"She said you got that blowjob she's been promising but never delivering," said Pam. "Was she any good?"

"Well, she sucked me off, but it took a while. She doesn't deep throat, but I got back almost to her tonsils."

Pam laughed again. "She'll learn. It takes practice. She complained to me about what you made her do. I told her that blowjobs and butt fucking were high on the list in any wife's job description. If she had any doubt, I told her, just think about those great orgasms she was getting. I told her that she had fucked half the guys in Charlottesville and not one was a decent fuck. I told her she was lucky to have you, and she needed to do what you liked if she wanted to keep you."

"Well, I'm not so happy about all those guys she fucked," I said.

"You should be! Now she'll never wonder about other guys and she'll never go off looking. She's found out how bad most guys fuck! That's good for her to know."

"Besides," Pam continued, "I told her she was gonna be a preacher's wife and she'd be the only person a lot of shy wives in the church were gonna feel comfortable talking to. They were gonna have questions about what happened in bed with their husbands and they were gonna think some things they did were sinful. She was gonna have to reassure them that wives making sure husbands got what they needed was not sinful -- and vice versa -- whatever they had to do."

"That's what you meant by a wife's job description," I said.

"Exactly! And a husband's too. Look, you never give me less than four orgasms in an afternoon and sometimes five. I never let you out of bed till those big, low-hanging balls of yours are empty. I just dry 'em out! Wade fucked me like that when he had his balls and I gave him all the pussy he needed for over thirty years. When he couldn't give me what I needed he made sure I got it from you. I learned deep throat for him. I used to watch his face when he tit-fucked me and I took pleasure in his pleasure. That's what wives and husbands do."

"I want Chris and you to be like that," Pam continued. "I didn't raise her to be a selfish little bitch. Use her hard! She'll learn to love it just like I did with Wade. Shove that big dick a little deeper every time she blows you, just like Wade did me. She'll learn to like it before long. I want her to enjoy blowing you. I want her to take pleasure watching your face when you butt fuck her, just like I do. I want you two to be just like me and her father were when he still had his balls."

"Wade is doing a lot better," I said. "He feels good and his cancer is better."

Pam nodded. "Yeah, cutting off his balls helped both his cancer and his attitude. He feels a lot better with no hormones stirring him up."

"He feels a lot better about us too," I added.

"That's for sure. Me fucking you really got to him before he was castrated. He pretended it didn't, but I could tell. But, with no hormones, his jealousy just went away. He's comfortable with it now. Did he thank you? I told him he ought to. I told him you could be fuckin gals your own age, instead of servicing an old broad."

"Yes he thanked me. Several times. And you're not an old broad. You're a really great fuck. And those deep-throats! Jesus!"

"I like pleasing you. I like to look at your face when you're enjoying the tight hole. I like to play with those big, heavy balls of yours as you fuck my butt. They get hard as rocks and lift up high in your scrotum just before you pump your load. Seeing the pleasure on your face gives me pleasure. I don't come that way, but I get pleasure watching you come. I wanted to explain that to Chris ... but ... well ... how could I ... you know."

"Yeah! I know!" I groaned. "What happens after Chris and I get married?"

"I've thought about that a lot," Pam said. "I think I know what we can do."

"All day every Thursday Chris will be at the church for the regular Christian education forum. Thursday is the day that Wade is home writing his sermons. You always help him plan the Sunday service, so you can come over most of the day, and no one will think a thing about it. Wade is comfortable with us fucking upstairs when he's here. We've done it several times now, and it doesn't bother him at all."

"Not even when you scream?" I chuckled.

"You won't believe this, but the first time he heard me have an orgasm I was worried enough to ask him whether us fucking upstairs bothered him. He actually laughed and said he was glad to know I was getting what I needed - glad you were taking care of what he called his 'husbandly chores' for him. No, Wade will be okay with it. The big problem is me."

"You?" I asked. "Why you?"

"One day a week may not be enough for me. I'm gonna be horny as a mountain goat and working you hard. You won't be worth a damn to Chris on Thursday nights."