The Reverend’s Wife

Author: Michael O’Connor

“Pornography, promiscuity, sodomy! Three of the greatest evils of our time,” declared the Reverend Sidney Godstone, in a voice that was close to his finest boom. “My book, Crusade Under New Troops, is a blueprint for a renewed, moral society. Lock up the adulterers for their sins. Castrate the filthy sodomites. Let those who engage in the vile trade in pornography pay with their wretched lives.”

“How about that then?” gasped the muscular, sweating and naked young man.

“Harder, fuck you!” replied the woman at the receiving end of his thrusting rod.

The stud duly obliged, his balls slapping her pale rear cheeks, at the end of each stroke. The woman had her long legs wrapped around his back and was gripping the head of the brass bed with both hands. The blonde Adonis buried his face between her ample breasts and moaned loudly as he climaxed deep inside her. Her legs held him in place until her well-honed cunt muscles had milked every last drop from his long, thick cock. Afterwards, he rolled breathlessly off her and reached for his cigarettes on the bedside table.

“Society can no longer afford to tolerate – much less condone – any form of behavior that is abhorrent to the Lord,” boomed the Reverend’s voice, from the portable TV in the far corner of the motel room.

“Has that fucking presenter lost his tongue or what?” the young stud demanded. “That religious maniac is getting an easy ride.”

“So are you,” replied Mrs. Chelsea Godstone. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Steve. What’s yours?”

“Just call me Lady Sin.”

Steve smiled. “I like that. Tell me, Lady Sin, are you in the habit of picking up strange guys at gas stations?”

She took a drag on his cigarette. “Not really. Gas stations are not generally fertile hunting grounds. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Now, how would you like a blowjob that will make your balls pop?”

In reply, his damp cock stiffened against her right hip.

“I’ll just switch off that fucking TV, ” he said.

“Leave it,” she drawled, reaching for his cock. “You just concentrate on satisfying Lady Sin, honey.”

As Steve’s tongue found her clitoris, she moaned through a mouthful of manmeat. Her husband’s face was turning crimson as he thundered the sales pitch for his book. His interviewer was either too terrified or mesmerized to interrupt. Sinning while he sermonized was Chelsea’s greatest turn-on. Should he ever find out, the shock would probably kill him.

At forty, she was still an incredibly attractive woman. Her spectacular figure was maintained by careful dieting and regular exercise, of the sort she was now enjoying. Twelve years of marriage to the right wing Reverend had failed to take their toll on either her looks or her voracious sexual appetite. As far as he was concerned, she lived in contented chastity. He had long ago interpreted his inability to maintain an erection for more than a few seconds as a signal from God to desist completely from the filthy practice of fornication. Prayer and charitable works were deemed satisfactory substitutes for his wife’s carnal desires.

“You look radiant with pride,” he observed, upon his arrival home that night. “Was it really such a good performance?”

Chelsea smiled. “It was a perfect performance. But how come you’re back so late?”

“I was overwhelmed by the number of people who wanted me to sign copies of Crusade Under New Troops, after the show,” he replied. “This night has given my faith a new lease of life. The message is finally getting through. People are crying out for a new moral order and we cannot let them down. I realize now that the wishes of the Lord are too great for me to carry out alone. Which is why I have chosen you to be the right hand of my new moral crusade.”

Chelsea smiled, as though honored. With her black hair tied up in a bun and wearing her customary horn rimmed round spectacles, she appeared the total opposite of the woman who had, only a few hours earlier, drained a young man’s balls dry and left him blissfully exhausted. A long sleeved ankle length black dress, buttoned to her throat, concealed all evidence of her sensual, adulterous curves. Though Sidney was only ten years her senior, time had not treated him as kindly. With her hair down and dressed to sin, Chelsea could have been mistaken for his daughter. No more damning an indictment of the state of celibacy existed.

At first, her role in his moral crusade was unclear. As usual, he adopted the role of organizer, consigning her to the familiar role of supportive spouse. Then, the brown paper packets began arriving by post. Within a fortnight, they practically filled a spare room. Only then did Sidney reveal what he had in mind for her.

One Sunday night, a troop of volunteers of the crusade arrived at the house and busied themselves with emptying the packets and depositing their contents on the front lawn. By the time the last one was opened, an audience of several dozen had arrived. Reverend Godstone mounted his makeshift podium. With a voice like thunder, he addressed the assembled onlookers, who included a specially invited journalist from a tabloid newspaper.

“Brothers and sisters, what you see before you is a mountain of filth.” He indicated the pile with a grand gesture. “This unspeakable pornography has been sent to me by sinners who wish to repent. By people like you, who have heard the word of God and seek forgiveness for the evil they have been nurturing. My good wife, who stands shoulder to shoulder with me in the battle against this depraved exploitation of the human body, shall now demonstrate the fate, not only of the filth, but of the souls of all who perpetrate it.”

Looking suitably solemn and wearing a flowing dress of virginal white, Chelsea stepped forward, holding aloft a blazing torch. She splashed a small drum of gasoline over the pile of magazines and books, then tossed the torch onto them. As they began to burn, her husband led the eruption of applause and cheering.

The photograph that appeared in the newspapers, the following morning, turned her into a star. A lady warrior in pure white, battling the forces of wickedness. Letters of support poured into the crusade, as did pornographic magazines, books and videotapes. Chelsea found these most enlightening. The lethal cocktail of zealotry and filth was having an intense effect on her libido. A stolen session in the bathroom, with her vibrator and an explicit bondage magazine, did little to ease her craving. Fortunately, Sidney was too busy to notice her sneak away for a few hours, one evening.

Wearing a tiny rubber dress of scarlet, with matching high heels and nothing else, she strolled into a bar favored by construction workers from a nearby office block. Twenty minutes later, she left in the company of a shaven headed black giant, who looked as though he had just won the lottery.

In the sleazy hotel room she had rented for the evening, he treated her to a fucking she would not quickly forget. Not only did he have a cock like a bargepole, he also knew how to use it. Lady Sin was treated like a cheap slut and pumped so full of cum, she thought it would leak through her ears. To add insult to injury, when the stud was finally finished with her, he tossed a grubby ten-dollar bill onto the bed. She awarded him full marks for knowing how to give a lady exactly what she wanted.   

Her position as head of the moral crusade opened up a wealth of sexual avenues for Chelsea. Men who disapproved of her work sent letters detailing what they would like to do to her. Many of their ideas were very exciting, if utterly depraved. She also came into contact with men who found her crusade to censor anything even remotely sexual a real turn-on. These were mostly small businessmen and town councilors, with first-class degrees in hypocrisy. When it came to researching the sins of the flesh, they found Chelsea most helpful.

One afternoon, she was invited to lunch by a well-known Alabama senator – a man with impeccable credentials in bigotry. He was eager to lend his public support to the crusade and wished to discuss in greater detail the subject of pornography. By the time they had finished dessert, Chelsea’s detailed descriptions of things she had seen in magazines and videos had reduced him to a slavering beast. He was almost ready to ravage her in the restaurant. Luckily, there was a hotel nearby.

“A woman about my age having three men simultaneously cum over her face, while a fourth anally penetrates her,” she said, as they ascended in the elevator.

“Oh Christ!” the politician gasped, unzipping his trousers.

Chelsea gripped his erection in her right hand.

“There’s worse,” she purred. “I saw a young girl with huge breasts performing oral sex on two men together, while a woman in leather penetrated her from behind with a strap-on latex penis. Isn’t that disgusting?”

“Vile!” croaked the politician, pulling up her skirt and clawing at her panties.

Once inside the hotel room, the last vestiges of respectability were flung aside. The politician pinned Chelsea against the nearest wall and thrust savagely up into her hot, soaking slit, without even removing his trousers. She continued to gasp details of the shocking filth she had seen, her every word increasing his excitement. Only her damp red silk panties stuffed into his mouth prevented him giving full voice to his pleasure.

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