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Thank you to Jennifer M. for you decidedly wicked thoughts.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are 18 years or older when in sexual situations.
*****
Everyone has a vice. It’s that extra glass of wine in the evening, the cigarette you sneak at night, the Irish whiskey in your coffee, or the joint to make you relax. For me, that vice is sex. And not just conventional “my husband’s going to fuck me in the missionary position again” kind of sex. It’s the “if I get caught then my life is going to be ruined” kind of sex. I’m convinced I’m just hard wired that way.
And my thoughts aren’t in the direction you might think.
I crave women. And the more forbidden, the hotter the sex.
I’m in my late 30’s now, and wasn’t always so sex crazed. I had a pretty unremarkable upbringing in western Pennsylvania and a married life to match. I thought I was happy, raising two young boys in a cookie cutter ranch house in eastern Massachusetts. My husband, a journeyman carpenter, was attentive and loving. It just always seemed like something was missing. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew my life wasn’t complete.
My first glimpse into my dark side happened about three years ago, when my next door neighbor’s ex-husband took their son, my husband, and our two boys on a camping trip in the mountains of western Massachusetts. My next door neighbor, Eva, was a 30 something divorcee who was often over at my house sharing a morning cup of coffee or an evening glass of wine.
I don’t think of myself as someone exceptional in appearance but I’m told I’m attractive. I’m about 5’4″, 110 pounds, so a bit on the leaner side, with “B,” bordering on “C” cups breasts, a narrow waist and a somewhat larger than I’d like butt. My hair is dark brown and about six inches over my shoulders.
Eva, on the other hand, was blessed with unusually large breasts on her smallish frame. She had short bleach blonde hair framing a cute cherubic face. I’d never really been into girls, but I did find her to be quite attractive. She certainly didn’t have trouble attracting the attention of men, including my husband. But Eva wasn’t a kiss and tell type of girl, so I didn’t pry into her love life although I did notice a number of different cars in her driveway over the years.
The night the men and the boys left I invited Eva over for dinner. I made a meat loaf and roasted potatoes and opened a bottle of zinfandel. Eva came over in a tight, sleeveless blouse and skinny jeans. I couldn’t help noticing that when Eva walked her boobs moved with the sway of her hips. I think I had on one of my husband’s Red Sox t-shirts and a pair of cutoffs.
We had fun at dinner, being able to talk to one another without being interrupted by one of our kids. We reached the end of the bottle of wine, so I opened a second one. I was thinking about drinking the second bottle in our hot tub that was in our fenced in back yard.
“So why don’t we move the party to the hot tub? I’ll put our wine in plastic glasses. Did you want to go home and get your suit?”
“Jen, it’s nice out. Why don’t we go into the hot tub naked? It’s just us girls.”
I didn’t give it much thought. Eva was the neighbor on one side and the neighbors on the other two sides were separated by a six foot high fence. “Sure, why not,” I replied.
Eva shed her clothes in the dining room while I retrieved a couple of beach towels. When I returned she was standing there in her birthday suit, looking every bit the sexy woman I pictured. Her breasts were the size of grapefruits, full and heavy, with a narrow waist flaring out to well-rounded ass cheeks. It was the first time I felt aroused at seeing a naked woman. Eva must have sensed my reaction. Her smile faded to a lustful look as her eyes travelled across me, seeing me naked for the first time.
Eva ended the embarrassing silence. “Let’s grab the wine and glasses and go to the hot tub.”
I grabbed two glasses in one hand and carried the towels in the other arm. Eva took the wine bottle by the neck and out we went onto the wooden deck and the hot tub on the far end of the deck. I watched her climb in first, her breasts jiggling and her shaved pussy exposed as she raised her leg to enter the hot tub. I handed her a glass of wine and then got in myself.
“Oooooh, this water is divine,” cooed Eva as the bubbling water surrounded her.
I was sitting across from her as we started sipping our wine.
“So do you and Steve get in here much?” she asked between sips.
“Not as much as I’d like. Sometimes we’ll hop in here after we put the kids to bed and are feeling a bit naughty.”
“Well, I’m feeling a bit naughty right now,” said Eva, in a seductive voice I’ve hadn’t heard topkapı escort before. She slid lower in the tub until the water was touching her chin.
I felt her foot touching the inside of my thigh. I was too shocked to do anything. Her foot was pushing my legs apart.
“So do you like girls?” she asked in the same sexy voice.
“I … I … I don’t know. I’ve never been with a woman … you know … in that way,” I answered truthfully. But it seemed to me that my answer would soon be changing. Her foot went higher, lightly touching my labia.
“Let me know if you want me to stop.”
The light touch sent an electric current through my body. I didn’t want her to stop. I thought about that missing part of my life. This was a piece of that missing part. “Please come closer,” I whispered over the sound of the jets.
Eva heard me. She got up and took a step across the tub, resting her knees outside of my legs and facing me, her face not more than six inches from mine. Her breasts were practically pressing against mine. “Is this close enough?” she asked, now looking at me with lust in her eyes.
I nodded. My heart was beating through my chest.
She put down her wine glass and took mine out of my hand and put it on the deck. The glass tipped over, spilling red wine over the dark stained wood. Neither of us cared.
She leaned forward, forcefully kissing me with one hand behind my neck. She pressed her lips hard against mine, her tongue finding mine. There was a quiet desperation in her kiss. I put my hand behind her head, feeling the silky blonde hair gliding through my fingers as my tongue intertwined with hers. There was more passion in the kiss than any I’ve had with a man, and the softness of her lips and the gentle caress of her tongue told me that loving a woman was going to be something special.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” she murmured in my ear, still straddling my lap so I could feel the soft skin of her thighs rubbing against mine. “For a long time.” She dropped her hand between my legs, cupping my sex with the palm of her hand.
“A very long time …” she continued, as she started rubbing the palm of her hand against my clit. She pressed her breasts against mine, the water foaming around them. This was so sexy, so erotic, it touched me in places that had been dormant for my whole life. I wanted her more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.
“Make love to me,” I said.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she replied.
Her hand moved quicker, as did my breathing. I was soaring, the warm water and the expert manipulation of her slender fingers driving me higher and higher until I reached the summit, the sky exploding into thousands of shards of light. “Kiss me,” I pleaded.
She drew me closer, pressing her lips against mine as my body convulsed in orgasmic bliss.
“Let’s go to my bedroom. I want you to fuck me properly.”
“I want to fuck you every way I can think of,” she answered.
And so it went that fateful summer when I discovered the joys of forbidden lesbian sex. Eva came over as often as she always had, though there were hidden trysts in a spare bedroom, the garage, and even the kitchen, when we would couple in a frenzy, those stolen moments of heart pounding sex sustaining me during the drudgery of everyday life. I would fuck my husband, my eyes but hollow shells as I pictured Eva between my legs, pleasuring me in ways a man could never do.
Instead of satiating my desires, Eva ignited them. Every person I came in contact with was a potential sexual conquest. The UPS man, my younger son’s piano teacher, my relatives, were all seen in a different light. I couldn’t stop my mind from thinking about it. I needed that forbidden fruit to ease the tension that would build up inside me.
Eva soon wasn’t enough. She was sexually active outside her relationship with me. We got together often, but two or three days without sex was a month in my prior life. I loved the danger of discovery. It heightened the sexual pleasure for me in a way that was like a drug. I had to do it over and over without regard to the risk of discovery. It was difficult to control my thoughts and to separate real life from my fantasies. Did I have sex with Eva in our pantry or did I just imagine it?
Eva lit a fire that burned bright within me. Many a night after my husband went to sleep I would slide out of bed for my extracurricular sex. In the beginning, it was masturbation sessions in my office in front of my computer watching videos. Hot lesbian sex. Older women with younger women, multiple women, strap-ons for vaginal or anal sex, stepmothers and daughters. I would watch while at the same time with two or three fingers churning inside me, bringing me to one orgasm after another until my sweaty back stuck to my leather office chair and a pool of my juices was between my legs on the seating surface.
The grocery store became my next destination of debauchery. The videos escort bayan kağıthane had inspired me in ways that stimulated my perverted mind. A trip down the vegetable aisle was a trip down the sex toy store. I bought zucchini, cucumbers, Japanese eggplant, bananas and even apples. My cunt was getting juicy fingering the produce, imagining where I would push them into my body and how I would make myself cum. I was a dripping mess by the time I checked out, eliciting a quizzical look from the female cashier at the glassy look in my eyes.
I couldn’t wait that night for my husband to fall asleep. I crept into the guest bathroom, scattering my purchases on the floor along with a box of condoms and lube. I took the zucchini first, pulling a condom over it and greasing it with a liberal amount of lube. I laid on the bathroom rug with my knees raised and my legs opened to their fullest extension. My eyes widened as the chilly vegetable (I made a mental note to leave these items out of the refrigerator in the future) slowly slid in my already wet pussy as I pictured a large woman brandishing a strap-on having her way with me. The pleasure was exquisite as I pumped the zucchini inside me, each time probing deeper in that velvety tunnel. I shifted to the cucumber, again sheathing it with a condom before sliding it into my slippery snatch, it’s greedy mouth sucking in the girth of this vegetable and stretching the walls of my cunt. I knew I could cum anytime I wanted, but denied my pleasure with the promise of an even more intense orgasm.
I picked up the zucchini and pushed it against my anus, that small pucker refusing to give way. I decided to squat on it, using my body weight as leverage to open my back passage with the cucumber still lewdly protruding from my pussy. My anal ring finally gave way, forcing the breath out of me as the zucchini slowly went in. The pain was blinding at first, but in short order the pain gave way to an overwhelming sense of fullness as the two vegetables were virtually touching, separated only by the thin membrane separating my anus from my vagina. As I squatted down, holding half of the zucchini in my ass, I used the cucumber to bring me off, pushing it as far as it would go inside me. My eyelids were stretched tight, sparkles of light appearing within them, as an orgasm roared through me like a runaway locomotive. “OH FUCKKKKK,” I bellowed in a primal scream as my pussy and ass clenched on their intruders. I stuffed my pajama bottoms in my mouth to prevent further unintended broadcasts, but by that time my husband had been disturbed from his deep slumber, and like a bear emerging from hibernation, plodded to the bathroom door.
“Jen. You OK in there?” he sleepily asked, standing outside the door.
“Yeah, yeah, I dropped the book I’m reading on my big toe … I’ll be OK … sorry to wake you.” I said through the door. I could feel my heart pounding in my temples from the orgasm and the near miss on discovery. After my husband staggered back to bed I cleaned up my mess and went back to bed. As I listened to my husband softly snoring I couldn’t help but smile at my latest adventure. I knew I was stoking a fire that might eventually end my marriage. I was too far gone to pay heed to my conscience.
My out of control fantasies even reached Sunday mornings at church. Our female pastor at our church, who was a single woman in her late 30’s, became a part of my imaginary world, and instead of focusing on her sermons I was imagining what was under her robe. I had heard whispers that she was a lesbian, but discarded those thoughts as idle and salacious gossip.
Even masturbating every night didn’t quench my overwhelming desire. I started to think about our pastor, not as a fantasy, but as a potential conquest. She always wore her flaming red hair in a bun, and even when she wasn’t in church her garb was so plain and ill-fitting as to make any speculation about her body type almost meaningless. But I suspected that she had a voluptuous body, and that belief pushed me to do something that I would have never dreamed possible.
One Sunday, after the service, I pulled aside our pastor to ask for a counseling session. She of course agreed, and we set a time for Monday afternoon, before my kids got out of school. I appreciated her sense of discretion in not asking what I wanted to talk to her about, but that appreciation didn’t slow down my play for her.
On Monday afternoon, I chose a relatively conservative blouse, a skirt, and modest heels. I went light on the make-up as well. I wanted to present as a shy, well-mannered housewife. I went to the rectory (which is next to the church), a modest ivy covered brick cottage with a small rounded wooden plank door. I’d never been to this side of the church, but the cottage fit in nicely with the overall design. It was small and charming.
Our pastor’s name was Mary Ellen O’Flaherty. It was a strong Irish surname. Mary Ellen espoused this family trait. She sarıyer escort fought hard to gain this position. The usual artificial impediments to a woman’s advancement were present in the church as well. She had to overcome a perception that the pastor had to be a man, and succeeded in building a substantial congregation. But I talked myself into two things. First, Mary Ellen was gay, and second (and most importantly) Mary Ellen would want to have sex with me.
I’m sure you’re thinking that I had a mountain to climb. And if I was the woman I was before my slut awakening I would have agreed with you. But during this time in my life I absolutely believed anything was possible and I thought this was possible. You can guess what happened because I included this episode in my memoirs. But it didn’t happen exactly as I had planned.
I’m good at looking demure and beautiful and that’s the look I went for that afternoon. Mary Ellen answered the door in surprising nice clothes. I had seen her dozens of times in social situations and never thought she looked this good. I was thrilled that I was right about her body. Even though her blouse was even more conservative than mine, with a high neck, it fit her properly. The outline of her breasts was obvious and impressive. Supported with the right bra, her tits looked magnificent. I could easily see the curve of her hips and the flaring out of her luscious backside. The long skirt didn’t hide the sexy ankles and feet clad in conservative low-heeled black pumps. Her hair was down, instead of a bun, flowing down her shoulders in a silky red wave. I smiled broadly at her. She did the same to me. It was a lovely smile, even with no lipstick.
“Mrs. Markham, welcome to my humble abode.” She gave me a slight bow and then pointed to the seat across from hers. She was standing in front of man sized recliner, no doubt the donation of some generous parishioner. She pointed to a beautiful upholstered chair that in no way matched the recliner. Another donation. I sat down, noticing that she had set out a tea service. As I sat down she stooped to pour me a cup.
“Did you want anything with your tea?” she asked politely.
“No thank you,” I answered with a like amount of politeness.
She handed me the cup and bent over the coffee table. Maybe it was the way it was buttoned, but her blouse opened and I was treated to a view of freckly white skin and the curve of her breast. She was sexier than hell. She sat down and looked at me with her hands folded in her lap, expecting me to go first. After all, I called the meeting.
“So, I wanted to talk to you about a personal matter and not what I’d call a religious matter. Is that OK?”
“Of course it is, Mrs. Markham. At least half of my counseling sessions involve some sort of a personal matter. My training for this position required that I take courses in social work and counseling. Please, if you’re willing to share I’m willing to listen.” She paused, taking a sip of her tea, then carefully placing the cup on her coaster. “I have to say that I find it delightful that you raised your hand for help. I want to get to know each and every one of my parishioners.”
She was making this really hard for me. But I wasn’t a quitter.
“So, I have these feelings. They’re strong. So strong they’re distracting me from my everyday life,” I explained.
“I see.” She sat further back in her chair. “What kind of feelings?”
I paused for effect. “I … uh … have strong sexual urges …”
I swear, she didn’t bat an eyelash. She was unflappable. “Many people have strong sexual urges. But God gave us those urges so that we’d procreate. Having those urges is a blessed thing, not something you should be ashamed of.”
She said this with all sincerity. I was impressed by the clarity of her thought. I told myself that I shouldn’t be ashamed if I loved to fuck basically everything.
“Well, these urges are somewhat specific,” I added.
“By specific, do you mean the kind of sexual urge or the object of your sexual desires?”
This lady was good. She must have done well in her counseling classes.
“Actually it’s a person.”
“Uh huh,” she said as she put her finger to her chin. I was almost staring at her tits. She would have had to have been totally oblivious not to notice my wayward eyeballs. “Mrs. Markham, you don’t have to give me any names if you don’t want to. I’d only use that person’s name if you think it will advance my ability to counsel you.”
“So it’s kind of awkward …”
“Now Mrs. Markham, it’s fine not to mention a person’s name. Please don’t do it on my account.”
“I … ummmm …”
“Mrs. Markham, if it pertains to adultery, then yes, that is a sin … but we all sin. I’m not blind to the fact that adultery occurs in this community. It’s not about ending it. It’s about understanding why and asking if the underlying relationship can be repaired.”
“Thank you, Mary Ellen, and please call me Jennifer. That’s the name I’m more used to hearing.”
“All right Jennifer. I think we’re at a point where we can end the session or continue if you feel comfortable.”
“It’s you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mary Ellen, it’s you.”
“I’m what?” She was slightly bewildered.
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