The Temptress

As I sucked the air from his mouth, I grabbed his hand and, with it, spanked me again. He got the message, and from then on, there would be no more hesitation as his arousal obliterated familial thoughts from his mind.

He grabbed my arse with both hands and vigorously pulled me into him. Our slick bodies slid against each other in a tempest of foam; my breasts squashed against his strong chest, while his rock-hard cock felt like a rod against my stomach.

I removed his hands from me and took a step back, slowing things down again. Taunting. Teasing. His erection pointed straight at me, perpendicular to his body. I approached him again, stepping through the stream of the shower to leave my hair dripping. I lightly kissed his lips, his chin, then lowered myself as I proceeded down his torso: collarbone, pecs, abs, and pelvis. I stopped when I was level with his cock.

The beautiful instrument twitched with anticipation, and I felt a rush as a pearl of pre-cum formed on his glans before falling to the floor to be washed away. I reached up and lathered my hand with body wash, then touched his cock for the first time. I stroked him slowly up and down, almost losing sight of his length in a foamy cloud as the soap did its thing. I glanced up to see his head tilted back, savouring the first new hand in decades. I pleasured him with long, exaggerated strokes, retracting his foreskin down his shaft and guiding it back to satisfied groans.

He looked down, willing me to go further. Raising my hand, I diverted the shower stream to clear his cock of foam. Grinning up at him, I had an urge to be playful.

'Does your wife still suck you off?'

'I—'

I stifled his response by enveloping his cock. The question caught him off-guard and brought some of his guilt back to the surface. But with my lips wrapped around his meat, it was quickly reburied. He tasted incredible, and I don't mean because of the body wash. Maybe it's just me, but there is something about the flavour of a man at the height of arousal that is just so... decadent. I made sure to pleasure every inch of him before he pulled me to my feet and pushed me against the cold tiles.

At first, I was taken aback, as he did it with some force. But when he confidently reached down with his left hand and slipped a finger into my sodden cunt, I pledged to surrender to all that would follow. Exhilaration hit me as he found my g-spot, and not just at the sensation—the fact that he was left-handed gave me the rare opportunity to indulge a very specific turn-on.

'Put another one in,' I breathed.

With the intense lubrication of my pussy, he had no trouble sliding a second finger inside me.

'One more,' I said.

He looked surprised, but complied, stretching my walls with his ring finger. When I felt the gold band enter me, I threw my head back as my first climax approached. He took it as a signal to increase his speed, and I came all over his powerful fingers, soaking his wedding ring with my arousal. Just knowing the symbol of his matrimonial vows had been forever tainted by my pussy brought an intense follow-up orgasm right after the first.

He withdrew, and we embraced in a passionate kiss, coating each other with new sweat of passion. His hardness pressed forthrightly against my stomach, and I knew he was ready to cross the final, unforgivable line. I broke from our kiss.

'I want you to fuck me,' I whispered.

His eyes brightened with desire, and after locking in another long kiss, I stepped back into the shower stream and waited for him to take me. I let him lead the way; I wanted his moment of betrayal to purely reflect his fantasy. He could have me however he wanted.

He turned me to face the back wall, which I placed my palms against, causing my bum to stick out. I jumped in delight as he spanked my peachy flesh hard enough, I imagined, to leave a naughty red mark.

I was happy that he drew out my anticipation, taunting my opening with his thick head as my mind cried out for him to enter. After a little more teasing he answered my plea, and his married cock was deep inside me.

Waves of ecstasy surged through me as he drove faster and faster, unleashing all the repressed fantasies since first meeting me in the supermarket. The memory of helping him pick a magazine brought his family back to mind, and the thought of his wife and daughter sat at home, oblivious that the man they worshipped was railing a horny gym slut, drove my arousal to unquenchable levels.

I had completed my conquest. I had seduced this seemingly irreproachable man, and my phone had recorded the evidence that would soon be used to shatter his world. But that didn't mean I wasn't going to enjoy what remained, and there was still one more thing to consider. He'd given me his integrity, but there was something else I wanted; the cherry on top of this sinful cake would be for him to fill me with his treacherous load.

I did all I could to make it happen. I twerked on his cock, splashing water everywhere while cumming amply over it several times, trying to trigger his explosion. I wasn't sure if he'd finish inside me; not doing so is often the last bastion a cheater's conscience can hide behind. Nonetheless, I hoped.

'I want you to cum inside me,' I begged over the wet slapping of flesh, heightening my voice an octave to that of a teenage girl.

He withdrew as soon as I said it, and I a felt a stab of disappointment. It wouldn't last long. Instead of the splatter of semen over my arse as I expected, he grabbed my arms and spun me around. My eyes were drawn down immediately; his thick dick literally pulsed as though it might burst with the amount of blood surging through it. I met his gaze briefly, then he pulled me towards him, lifted my leg and thrust his cock right back into my torrential hole.

I was right under the shower head, disorientated by the hot curtain of water rushing in front of my face and obscuring my view. Eyesight, however, was not my main sensory concern, and the heat of the water was nothing compared to the inferno between my legs as he speared in and out of my trembling pussy.

I felt his developed muscles go taught against my body as he pounded me with the primal ferocity of a pride male. My knee buckled with the powerful orgasms that thundered through me, but his strong grip held me upright, and after a few more hot strokes, he gifted me the cherry for the top of my cake. His unfaithful cock erupted into my pussy, his bulbous head expelling shot after treacherous shot into my young womb.

'Oh fuck,' I cried. 'Fill me like you fill your wife.'

His groaning trailed off as his balls emptied, and he slipped out of me in a flurry of white cream. Post-orgasm, his expression changed, the implications of his actions dawning on him. He was not a serial cheater, so it would be hard for him to come to terms with what he had done.

'I have to go,' he said.

I stood there, red chested and panting as he towelled himself dry and scrambled into his shirt and shorts and hurried out of the changing room. I looked down at my ravished pussy, contented as I spread my sensitive lips and more thick semen dripped out. I took a pearl of it on my finger and dabbed it on my tongue, triggering a light orgasm as I savoured the sweet taste of betrayal. I then stopped the recording and showered myself clean.

He would never see me again. He appeared at the gym the following Sunday, and I wondered whether he wanted to turn our one-off tryst into a full-blown affair. Because he was there at our usual time, I suspected he might. Not that it mattered; he had given me what I wanted, and it was time to move on.

I wasn't there to exercise, so I waited in my car until he finished his workout. I followed him home, then returned to his house the next day while he was at work. I picked up an envelope from the passenger seat containing a flash drive. Merely holding it caused my pussy to become aroused, and I felt my underwear dampen as I wrote on the front:Your husband is not the man you think he is.

I posted the envelope through his letterbox. Unfortunately, I wouldn't be there to see the fallout, and I still don't know what happened to this day. She may have forgiven him for the sake of their daughter, but the video would have made that hard. Most cheated-on spouses don't have to confront the more sordid details of their partner's betrayal, but for his wife to have seen him surrender to me, the vigour with which he fucked my pussy, and her husband's cum dripping out of a hottie half her age, would have made it all the more devastating.

Whatever she ended up doing, the fact that he jeopardised his marriage for a shower fuck with me remains a fond memory.

The Priest

You might find this one a little bit strange, but priests, supposedly paragons of virtue, representatives of God on Earth, remain as fallible as the rest of us. This particular man of God was catholic, which throws up the problem that they aren't allowed to marry—or even have sex at all.

The truth is, I had always wanted to add a catholic priest to my list. You may be wondering what the payoff is for me, with no family to betray. But I never said I required an earthly betrayal, and these noble men have made their vows with God. Stealing a man away from his betrothed is one thing, but to make him turn his back on his creator, to make him condemn himself to eternal torture for a fleeting moment with me, is the Holy Grail, so to speak.

There's a church in the next town over from where I live, and when I woke up one Sunday in the mood for a conquest, I threw on a modest blouse and a pair of jeans—not too tight—and decided to see if I could find any forbidden fruit.

I arrived five minutes after the service started. The creaky opening of the old wooden door echoed through the nave and, almost in unison, every member of the congregation turned in my direction.

'Welcome,' the priest said from his pulpit.

I received a few eye rolls from the parishioners as I hurried to take a seat in the rear-most pew. I smiled to myself. My tardiness had been intentional; it forced the priest to notice my arrival, and it put me in his mind.

I hadn't been to church since I was a girl, and I thought myself grown out of such beliefs. There was something endearing about the ritual of it all, though, and I made sure to pay close attention to the priest's words. He was younger than I had expected—mid-thirties—and he preached with the enthusiasm of being in the prime of life. Looks-wise, he wasn't too bad, possessing a gentle face and an average body for his age. The whole package was a well-put-together man who had direction in his life—an underrated but supremely attractive quality.

Strangely, I enjoyed myself; the hymns were uplifting, and the priest's sermon contained a positive message. When the service was over, the priest stood outside, chatting to the parishioners as they passed. I made sure to be the last out, guaranteeing myself more of his attention.

'Hello,' he said in a warm voice. 'I don't think I've seen you here before, I'm Father Michael.'

I smiled back at him and shook his offered hand. 'You haven't. It's the first time I've set foot in a church in a long time, if I'm honest.'

'Well, God has limitless patience. However long it's been, He will be glad to see you back.'

'Thank you, father.'

'Are you local?'

I feigned a look of discomfort, as though I had secrets that I was reluctant to reveal. 'Sort of. I live in the next town. There are churches there but... I felt more comfortable coming here.'

'I understand. Whatever we have done in our past, Jesus always provides a path to redemption. I'm sure in time you will find peace.'

'I hope so.'

He smiled again. 'Will I be seeing you again next Sunday?'

'Yes, Father, I think so.'

*

I saw him before that. Father Michael held confession every Wednesday night, and I wanted to make use of what I saw as the most interesting part of the catholic faith. I wondered about all the sordid sexual details he'd heard in his time: the naughty premarital fucks, the affairs, and all manner of other ungodly fantasies his congregation had indulged in. The thought got me excited as I drove to the church.

'Oh, hi,' he said when he saw me walking gingerly up the aisle.

'Hello, Father,' I said shyly. I wore the same jumper from Sunday, only with a slightly tighter pair of jeans this time, and a tad more make-up. The change was sufficiently subtle that he wouldn't think anything of it, but his subconscious would take note, and would so each time he saw me looking a little bit sexier.

'You were the last person I'd have expected to see here today.'

'Maybe Jesus has a plan for me,' I offered.

'He does, and I'm happy you're aware of it. Are you here for confession?'

I nodded

'Please, this way.'

My pulse raced as I followed him to the confessional. It wasn't an ornate piece like those in cathedrals, just simple wood with a pair of red curtains. We took our seats, and as I shifted on the wooden seat, I let out a slight gasp at how wet the front of my underwear was against my skin.

'Are you ok?' the priest asked gently through the latticed parting.

'Yes, Father, this is just so new to me; it's a bit overwhelming.' I tried to stay calm, but my heart was pounding. There was something so sexy about sitting in a confessional with a drenched, horny pussy.

'I understand, but you don't need to worry. Nothing you say in here will be repeated, you have my word.'

'Thanks. I... I don't really know how to do this.'

'That's okay. Just repeat after me: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.'

I repeated the words.

'Good,' he said. 'Now: Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been however long since my last confession.'

'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,' I said. 'This is my first confession.'

'Very good. Now, in your own time.'

I was so turned on I could have fingered myself to orgasm right then and there. Composing myself with a breath, I said, 'I had sex with a married man.'

'I see, and does this man have children?'

'Yes, two.'

'Then I would advise for the sakes of all involved that you don't see this man again. For your penance, pray ten Hail Marys.'

'I will, Father.'

'Now repeat the act of contrition after me.'

I did. 'My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Saviour Jesus Christ suffered and died for us. In His name, my God, have mercy. Amen.'

I said my penance in front of the altar—the Hail Mary being one of the few things that suck with me from my religious childhood—before driving home and fingering my horny hole late into the night, eliciting some of the most potent self-induced orgasms of my life.

Sunday came, and I never thought I'd be so excited about going to church. I made more of an effort this time, applying alluring yet tasteful makeup, and putting on a light floral dress that fell to just below the knee. It was church-appropriate, but it would let Father Michael know I had skin, and perhaps leave him wondering how God had made the rest of me.

I arrived on time, and the priest gave me a smile as he greeted the parishioners by the door. He smiled at everyone, but I detected something else in mine—a subtle raising of the eyebrows that said more than words could. As I strode inside, my heels clicking optimistically on the stone floor, I imparted an extra sway in my hips. I'll never know if he glanced after me, but a tut from an older woman behind intimated he had good reason.

During the service, I realised I was quite attracted to the man. The way he commanded authority and the confidence with which he delivered his message was a frustrating turn-on when you have to sit quietly for an hour. I joined in with the hymns and prayers, all the while feeling my underwear moisten under my dress.

When the service ended, I once again made sure I was the last to leave. During my chat with Father Michael, I told him that the confession mid-week had helped me come to terms with my sin, and that I had told the married man it was over. A look of genuine happiness brightened his face, and I gave his forearm a gentle squeeze as I thanked him for his counsel. I then breezed off to my car, turning to give him a beaming wave as I went through the gate.

On my way home, I wondered whether the seed of impure thoughts had sprouted in his mind. I imagined him going back into the church, kneeling at the altar and seeking guidance from the almighty about how to deal with the new woman in his flock—the new, hot woman with a history of sinful sex.

On Wednesday I decided to go back to confession. It was time to up the ante, to ramp up his conception of me as a sexual being. I put on my tightest jeans which—although technically covered me up—displayed the contours of my legs and bum in sumptuous detail, and paired them with a risky-for-church low-cut top.

When I arrived, I saw his eyes pop. Just a little, but enough. Perhaps he was a boob guy; my top left little to the imagination

'It's good to see you again,' he said, 'but twice in two weeks, is everything okay?'

'Yes, Father. I got so much out of confession last time, I thought I'd make it a regular thing.'

'Okay,' he said, 'but don't feel like you have to confess weekly. You should only do it when it's right for you.' He gestured to the confessional. 'Are you ready?'

'Before we go, father, there's something I'd like to talk to you about.'

'Of course,' he said.

We sat down on the front pew. I positioned myself a little closer to him than appropriate. The feminine scent I'd applied hung delicately in the air. I looked down at my feet, hunching my shoulders to make myself small.

'Men have always been my vice,' I said. 'I love them—the way they look, the way they smell, the way they feel, the way they act. I love sex, and I love that men want to have sex with me.' I paused, sensing him shifting next to me. 'I'm sorry, father, am I making you uncomfortable?'

'No, it's quite alright, just not my area of expertise,' he said with a wry smile.

I continued. 'Well, I've just... always invited it, gone looking for it. The more unattainable it is, the more wrong it is, the better. That's why I got involved with that married man.' I put my head in my hands and wept—a useful thing to know how to do on cue.

I was surprised when he placed a hand on my back and circled it in a gentle motion. Although slightly awkward, the sensation of his touch was exhilarating. I shuddered slightly, and he withdrew his hand.

'I'm sorry,' he said, I was only trying to comfort you.'

I was genuinely moved by his kindness, but he was still a conquest, and I was still determined to corrupt him. I threw my arms around his neck in a breezy hug. 'That's ok, father, thank you.'

He tentatively reciprocated my embrace, and, when we parted, said, 'Look, I don't have all the answers, but I know you're here because you want to make a change, and now that you've accepted God into your life, He will be there to guide you through it. It won't be easy, but I know you're a good person, and I'll always be here if you want to talk.'

I thanked him for his kind words, then we took out seats in the confessional. I recited the standard introduction—having memorised the words since the previous week—and Father Michael said, 'What are your sins?'

I stayed silent for a while, building the tension. I wanted my words to hit him hard. Taking a breath, I said, 'The night after my last confession, I masturbated to thoughts of my priest.'

The silence that followed was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. This was the defining moment. If he wanted to end things, it had to be then; he had to banish this demon from his life.