Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

The Only Rules That Matter: Exploration (TheCorsair, Madame Mim)

She'd had sex before, of course, even if only with her brutish sailor. But it had always been coarse, rough, animalistic, and he never seemed satisfied with just the once. When this stranger worked slowly on her therefore, Natasha trembled the way she had her very first time. He was slow and gentle and he whispered to her as he explained how she was worthy of worship. She gasped when her skirts fell and stepped out of them as he stood back to admire her.

Then John sank to his knees. Anton had rarely been thoughtful enough to return the favor whenever she found herself on her knees, so her hand flew to his hair as he knelt in front of her.

"What're you--? Oh!" John ran his tongue along her wet slit and she gasped as her thoughts scattered like so many disturbed flies. "John I...I... Oohhh God..." Natasha had a difficult time drawing breath as he worked his lips and tongue along her sex. Her knees went weak and she feared she might collapse onto him.

"Take me," she whispered. "John..."
 
Her taste and her aroma were different from Jenny's, a realization that sent s deliciously guilty thrill through John's nerves as he gently ran his tongue over Natasha's slit. Just once, but the tiny Russian woman moaned and shivered and nearly collapsed. "Take me," she whispered. "John..."

Hands on thighs he gently pushed her back towarde the bed, following on his knees. She shuffled backwards, then made a small sound of surprise as the back of her knees struck the edge of the bed and she sat down hard. John smiled at her as she leaned backwards, bracing herself with her hands. "Take you?" he whispered, nipping at her inner thigh. He tugged at her bloomers, working them down as she lifted her hips into the air, pulling them over the curve of her ass and down her legs to reveal a patch of glistening amber curls between her thighs.

"Take you?" he whispered again, glancing at the shadowy crack he knew Jenny was watching through as he tossed the undergarment aside. "Or taste you?" He leaned forward, parting the curls with his fingers and kissing the lips of her sex. His tongue played over them, the tip exploring her entrance and teasing her clit, and her moans made his cock twitch in his pants. "God," he murmured, palms caressing her stocking-sheathed thighs, "you taste divine." Pursing his lips he sucked gently at her clit. His hands slid upwards, thumbs gently opening her folds.

"How will you taste, I wonder, when you cum?" With that his tongue slowly pushed into her depths, the strong, flexible organ filling hervwalls as his mouth covered her pussy.
 
Natasha's fingers clenched in John's hair as he kissed her lips, tasted her sex, teased her clit. She leaned her head back and moaned before lifting her hips to facilitate his taking them off. She'd never done anything like this before and the thrill of danger, of immorality, threatened to prove addictive. He sucked on her clit and the hand bearing her weight clenched the bedcovers as she tried not to lose it right then.

"Jooooohhhnn..." she moaned, "please take me John. Please--ah!"

John pushed his tongue inside her and Natasha sat up a little straighter, panting. Her thighs squirmed on either side of his head and her breath came in short, sharp gasps. Her relative inexperience meant she wasn't long to the finish.

"John," she panted. "John please I...I... Oh God...!"

Natasha came more quietly than Jenny usually did, with shaking and whimpering and squeaking instead of wailing for the world to hear. Jenny grinned when she realized this as she watched her husband pleasure another woman. Through her bloomers she touched herself at first, though eventually she slipped her hand inside them to satisfy her aching need. So that was what it looked like. She bit her lip, unable to keep from starting at the little Russian's pussy even after John had pulled away.

Natasha was still on the bed, leaning on one hand, breathing hard to recover from the first of what was sure to be many orgasms. Make her scream, Jenny mouthed to her husband with a wicked grin. She wanted to watch the woman toss and flail, to beg for more even when she was exhausted. She wanted to hear Natasha scream and beg like a whore in the throes of passion.

She ignored the inherent dark tone of these desires for now, and would for some time to come ignore how much she wanted to be the one to do it to her.
 
God. John wasn't sure what was more erotic - Natasha half dressed and gasping for breath, or Jenny watching from the shadows. Make her scream mouthed his wife, and he nodded once. Agreeing was easy. After all, as much as his cock ached all he wanted was to bury himself in Natasha's tasty cunt and fuck. Instead, he crawled up onto the bed and pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply. "Do you taste that?" he whispered.

She nodded, trembling and wide eyed.

"That's your taste," hs whispered, "the taste of your pleasure on my lips." He kissed her again, strong fingers working the laces of her corset. "Your first taste of pleasure," he murmured, slipping the silk and whalebone garment from her trembling body. "But not your last."

Auburn braid hanging down her back, her slim figure nude save for garter belt and stockings, Natasha presented an image of innocense and sensuality. Make her scream, Jenny had demanded, and he wanted to. He wanted this slender beauty writhing and wanton beneath him, wanted to hear her cries as he used her for his pleasure as Jenny watched another woman take pleasure from him.

Natasha looked at him, her hand resting lightly on his chest. "It hardly seems fair," she murmured.

"What?" he asked.

Her cheeks colored, and the blush spread down her thriat and over her breasts. "To receive wirship," she whispered, clumsily but determinedly working at his buttons, "but not to give it." Cool air hit his chest as she opened his shirt, and her fingers felt like flame in his skin. Her lips were soft on his chest, her tongue soft and wet as she toyed with his flat male nipple, and he drew a shuddering breath.

She smiled at that as she ran her hands over his bared chest and stomach. "Lie back," she smiled, pushing gently. "To lead worship, I must be a priestess. And a priestess must serve before an altar." Hesitant, as if unable to believe her daring, she cupped his girth through his trousers. "She must serve long, and well."
 
God but she couldn't help being a little mortified. Their little game of Emerson, of worshipping beauty and sensuality like pagans, seemed almost sacrilege. Almost. Natasha pushed him back into his back, nerves making her clumsy and hesitant. This was something Anton had loved, after all. Well, this and the other thing she would never allow him to do.

"It wouldn't do to have one-sided worship," she murmured as she slid off of the edge of the bed and onto her knees, tugging down John's trousers as she went.

She dragged her tongue up the underside of his long, thick shaft, smiling wickedly before wrapping her lips around his head. Natasha didn't immediately get to work, but instead sucked and tongued and toyed with his head, determined to wring moans and begging from his lips before taking the rest of him into her mouth. When she finally did she moaned around his shaft, proving to have a very talented tongue, and cupping his balls. Two could play at his game.
 
John's eyes wenr wide as Natasha took his head -- just his head - into her mouth, sucking and lappimg and in no hurry to go further. "God," he sighed out, locking eyes with Jenny for a moment before leaning back on the mattress. "God, Natasha, you feel incredible..." And fuck but she did! The sight of those delicate lips wrapped around his head as she knelt before him, teasing him combined with the knowledge that Jenny was watching from the other room to make her attentions almost unbearable.

A sharp gasp escaped him as his hips bucked involuntarily, trying to press his length deeper into her mouth. She just movex with him, smiling wickedly at him as she toyed with him. "Fuck..." he groaned out, hips jerking, "please... Natasha..."

It must have been a signal she'd waited for, because her throaty moan of pleasure vibrated along him as she took his full length into the wet heat of her mouth. His head bumped into the back of her throat as her head moved up and down, and his hands twisted into the covers as his hips lifted tooffer more of himself to her. "God... fuck... Natasha!" he cried, feeling his shaft twitch as she cupped his balls. "I'm... I'm... close!"

Goddamn but he was near to orgasm. He'd been hard ever since he'd approached her, and by the time he'd gotten her off he had been aching. "Fuck... I want you! So...so...close!"
 
Natasha's lips curled into as much of a smile as she could manage around his thick, throbbing shaft. John swore and panted as he told her that he was close and she gently massaged his balls and sucked harder. Carefully, unsure whether anyone had ever done it to him before, she pressed a finger to his perineum and moved it in small circles as her tongue continued its tricks around his cock.

She moaned when he came, swallowing his seed with a grateful groan and sucking gently on his shaft until it was clear he could give no more. Slowly she retreated up his length and coyly wiped away a bit of seed that had dripped on her chin before licking the finger she'd used to wipe it off. Slowly she crawled back onto the bed, back up his body, and kissed him gently. She smiled again, a picture of some perverse version of innocence.

"This is how you worship, da?" she asked.

Jenny bit her lip as Natasha worked her husband's cock. Their eyes locked and she grinned, sneaking down her bloomers just enough so that he'd see her touching herself. Her fingers worked along her wet slit and occasionally she needed to take a moment; John had waited to cum until she did that first time, of course she was going to repay him the same courtesy. And when he finally did cum, arcing off the edge of the bed and tangling his fingers in Natasha's hair, Jenny's mouth dropped open and she had to lean heavily against the doorframe to keep from falling as she allowed herself to fall over that edge with him. God that was incredible! She was still breathing heavily, as quietly as she could, as she watched and waited for whatever they decided to do next.
 
John collapsed back onto the bed, breathing hard. He was certain that Natasha's attentions alone would have brought him to a mind-blowing orgasm. But combined with the sight of Jenny, eyes wide open and lips parted as she came with him? He had thought, just for a moment, that his heart was going to stop. He gasped, and then watched as Natasha crawled up his body and kissed him, her lips still faintly sticky with his seed. "This is how you worship, da?" she asked, her eyes wide and her expression innocent.

"Oh, it's a start," he agreed, hands exploring her body.

"A start?" she asked, widening her eyes a little further. "Why, good sir, what else must we do?"

He cupped her rear with one hand, squeezing hard as his fingers brushed the slick lips of her sex, and his still-hard cock twitched against her stomach as she gasped at his touch. "Perhaps we should stop playing games," he murmured, voice fierce and hungry as he bit at her throat. She gasped again and his free hand closed around her braid, tugging her hair backwards. He bit and sucked at the smooth arch of her throat and the soft valley of her breasts. "I want to feel you clenched around me." He pulled her hips a little, settling her cunt against his shaft as his hips moved, rubbing his length against her. "I want to fuck you, Natasha. I want to fuck you long and hard, and feel you cumming on me." His finger worked deeper into her cunt from behind as his cock ground against her clit. "I want you to beg me to use you in all the ways you've dreamed of, and I want you to fuck me the way you've always wanted to fuck."

His teeth scraped over her nipple, then soothed the sting with his tongue. "There's just us tonight," he murmured, meeting Jenny's eyes. "Just us."
 
Natasha's mouth dropped as he slipped his fingers inside her and ground his cock against her clit. She felt hot and weak and shaky at just the prospect of John fulfilling even half of what he was promising her. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back as he bit and licked and touched. It took her a few tries to get the words out.

"Fuck me John," she moaned. "Make me cum harder than I ever have. Oh god please...I want you inside me...!" Natasha pulled at his hips urgently, as though something terrible might happen if he didn't make love to her right now. She bit at his neck and chest, licking over each spot she bit. "Fuck me..." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Jenny raised her eyebrows as her husband met her eyes and promised Natasha that it was just them. She smirked and leaned against the door, dropping her bloomers to the floor. The little Russian doll begged him to fuck her and Jenny inclined her head as though to say go on. She wanted to see exactly what John could do--would do--to a complete stranger.
 
John smiled, both at Natasha's erotic plefas and at his wife's approval. Licking his lips,, he gripped her hips tight. "Fuck you..?" he whispered, sitting up beneath her, cupping her ass as he bit at her throat. "Oh, I plan to..." His arms and chest tightened suddenly, muscles standing out like steel cables as he lifted her off his lap. Her legs took some of her sleight weight, but for the most part it was raw strength holding her abive him as his head nuzzled the soaking lips of her slit. And then, without warning, he impaled her on his length.

"God, you're tight!" he gasped as she took his length, groaning at the sensation of her walls stretching around his girth. His mouth covered hers, drinking in the cry of pleasure and shock she uttered at the sudden invasion. "Fuck you like this?" he growled, lifting her up and down on his shaft. "Deep inside you, like this?" His thighs bunched, slamming himself up into her as he pulled her down around his shaft.

He kissed her again, tongue filling her mouth with the same possessive hunger that his cock filled her cunt. "Touch yourself," he demanded. "Finger yourself while I fuck you. Show me how you want to be used!"
 
When he sat up beneath her Natasha made a noise of surprise. Her hands flew to his shoulders to balance herself as he bit her throat, and goosebumps raised on her arms when he promised that he planned to fuck her. He was surprisingly muscular for his build, and when he lifted her off his lap Natasha tangled her fingers in his hair, her thighs shaking as his head teased at her slit. When John brought her down, impaling her, she cried out in surprise and pleasure and tossed her head back. He leaned forward to claim that cry with his own mouth before lifting her up then back down on his shaft.

"Da...oh God yes! Just like this! Oh John...!" Natasha's thighs worked harder as she lifted herself up his shaft with his help. God but he was so thick! He felt incredible inside her and she never wanted him to stop.

She obeyed immediately when he demanded that she touch herself. Natasha's fingers slid over her clit, working in the same rhythm as he pounded his cock into her. Her walls tightened at the sensation and with her free hand she leaned more heavily on her lover. She bit her lip, trying to last, but it was just too much.

"I'm close..." she panted, angling her hips forward. "Oh God I'm going to cum...!"
 
Hard or not, John knew he could last a while this time round. Natasha and her sweet, skilled mouth had seen to that. But the wild way she rode him, begging him to fuck her as she fingered herself, tested that theory. Her fingers, slick with her own juices, stroked over his shaft as she worked her clit, adding an additional delightful sensation to the glorious feeling of the friction of her walls clutching him as he fucked her. "Then cum for me, Natasha," he demanded, teeth sharp on her throat and then her ear. "Cum for me." Still nipping at her earlobe he sought Jenny out, meeting her eyes as he drove himself deep into Natasha once more. "Cum for me."

Natasha responded with a sudden cry, throwing her head back as she clenched tight around him. Her walls seemed to ripple and pulse, contracting and loosening as she writhed on his cock and moaned in pleasure. John shuddered as well, pulling her body against his. "John..." she gasped, wild-eyed. "O Bozhe, John..." Her mouth devoured his as she gasped and leaned against him, her hands exploring his chest and face. "Ty, ty ne konchish', John. Bozhe ... Ya khochu, chtoby ty ... Ya khochu chuvstvovat' vas diplom..."

"Oy, vy budete," he promised. His hands slid over her back, slick with sweat and chill in the cool air of the hotel room. As he nibbled at her lip, he pulled her leg around his waist and clenched the muscles in his abdomen. His cock pulsed in response, drawing a groan of pleasure from her. Then he twisted, rolling her over onto her back without withdrawing from her. She gasped, wide-eyed as his weight pressed her down into the mattress, then gasped again as he slid his hands up her arms and pinned her wrists to the bed. "Vy budete," he grinned, muscles in his thighs bunching as he began thrusting deeply into her body once more.
 
Oh God he was good! Natasha's palms tingled as she came around his cock with a cry, tossing her head back and arching her back. She panted and leaned against him as John pulled her body against his, devouring his mouth and reveling in the feel of his sweat-slicked skin beneath her hands. He hadn't cum yet, and she needed to feel him inside her. Oh God how she needed it...

John pulled her leg around him, his cock pulsing inside her and making her moan. In one fluid motion she was on her back, one leg wrapped around his waist. Natasha gasped as his hands slid up her arms and pinned her to the bed. She put up a token struggle as he grinned down at her, smiling back up at him with that same lust-drunken gaze. Her mouth dropped open as he began thrusting deeply into her and she moved her hips to meet him.

"Trakhni menya, John," she begged. "Trakhni menya, poka ya ne mogu khodit' pryamo. Zastavit' menya krichat'..."

Jenny watched as her husband pounded the little Russian doll into the mattress. Holy fuck it was hot. She met his eyes whenever he looked over at her, biting her lip and fingering herself as they fucked. Why hadn't they done this sooner?
 
John stared down at Natasha, eyes devouring her as he watched her body move with his thrusts. Listening to her little moan as he withdrew, followed by her sharp gasp as his hips rocked forward and his cock sheathed itself in her sex once more. Her body writhed beneath him, struggling for the freedom to pull him down into an embrace. To touch and caress him as he filled her. He refused, keeping his arms stiff and his hands clamped around her wrists.

None of this was about making love, after all. Not to the woman beneath him, at least. It was about taking his pleasure in and with her, and about putting on a show for his wife as she watched from the shadows. Thinking of Jenny he leaned forward, bringing his lips to Natasha's, tasting her cries of pleasure as he fucked her. "Tell me you want me," he whispered.

"God... yes!" she groaned, her bidy straining against his.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered.


"Fuck me!" She cried. "Holy mother of God, fuck me!"

Suddenly, he stopped. His weight pressed into her as she stared at him, wild eyed and wordless. God, he wanted to cum. "Tell me," he demanded, biting at her throat. "Tell me you want my cum in you..."

She gasped at the thought, and despite his thick shaft stretching her she blushed at the brazen words. She shouldn'tshe knew. What... what if she found herself pregnant by... by... Her body arched, breasts oressing hard against his chest as a spasm of pleasure wracked her. "Yes," she moaned, struggling to wrap her arms around him.

"Yes what?" he demanded, hands still gripping her wrists. "Tell me."

"Please... please... my God... ," she gasped, straining, "fuck me! Pkease, let... let me feel your... your seed..."



John rose back up above Natasha as she spoke those words, gripping her hips and slamming his cock into her as hard and as fast as he could. "Tell me!" he demanded as he pounded into her, chasing his own orgasm. "Tell me!"

"Please!" Natasha whimpered. "Pkease... fuck... fuck your seed... into me!"

God, his cock felt like an aching iron bar now. All he coukd think of was her cunt gripping him, and his desperate need to cum, and the fact that Jenny was watching. "Again!"

"Oh God!" she called out. "Please... cum.. please... in... in me! Let... let me...."

John threw his head back, hips slamming forward one last time as his cock pulsed and pumped his orgasm into her clenching sex. Distantly he was aware of her own cries, which only servd to make him thrust into her again and again until she had milked his cock dry. Only then, as he collapsed against Natasha, kissing her and stroking her slim body, did he wonder what Jenny would think of seeing her husband's seed dripping from anither woman's pussy.
 
Their cries were enough to wake half the hotel, she was certain, but of course she didn't stop them. Jenny herself had to shove her knuckles into her mouth to keep from crying out as she reached yet another orgasm, watching her husband pin Natasha down and fuck her mercilessly. The little slut begged for his cum, cried out for it even as she got her way. John didn't stop as his seed filled her sex, spilled out of it, and Jenny's cunt clenched again as another, weaker orgasm wracked her body. She licked her lips and her husband pulled out of the Russian teacher, watching his seed drip from her. She blushed and felt guilty when she realized just how much she wanted to clean up Natasha, to lick her husband's cum from the tender little twat. That was wrong, that was sinful. But God it didn't keep her from wanting to crawl into bed with them right that moment to minister to them both.

She resisted that urge, quietly closing the door between the rooms. When John finally did show up, however, she pushed him hard against the wall and pulled him down for a rough, passionate kiss. One hand was already undoing his trousers.

"I want to do it again," she whispered feverishly. "But I don't want one of us to just watch next time."
 
He had her again and again that night, taking her roughly and gently by turns. Above and below, before and behind, as he explored and used her bidy for the mutual pleasure of his wife. Finally she could take no more and, exhausted, she collapsed into slumber. Softly, John gathered his belongings and slipped into the adjoining room to greet his Jenny. She met him with eager passion, one hand gripping his cum-slick cock as she devoured his mouth. "I want to do it again," she whispered. "But I don't want one of us to just watch next time."

He shoved her to the ground, pulling away what little clothing she still wore. "Fuck," he groaned as he roughly drove his length into her cunt. "You're akready wet for me..." There was no foreplay - or, perhaps, the whole evening had been foreplay. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was the need to fuck Jenny while still reeking of another woman. "Tell me," he gasped, gripping her hips and taking her with a violent hunger, "tell me what you had in mind..."


"Making Tortillas"
Algeciras, Spain. 1871.

John sat on the veranda of the little hacienda they'd rented, idly peeling an orange and staring out across the white beach and the Bay of Gibralter. The Pearl sat out there, invisible to common vision, waiting to set sail once more. But not yet. For now, at least, their services were not required. Soon, he knew. But not now.

They'd been in the ancient port city for two weks now, taking a much-needed vacation. Their pose as wealthy Americans - gold wasn't hard to come by, not when you collected the souls of dead sailors from sinking ships - they'd been admited to the social circles of the upper crust. Two weeks had passed in a pleasant round of concerts and dances and dinners and gambling. And with a handsome Don who'd taken an interest in Jenny, and with his Swedish wife who'd let John know that she didn't mind her husband's infidelity as long as he ensured she was not left lonely.

John smiled at that, cbewing on his orange. Sweden might be a cold country, but the platinum-haired Dona Marie Zapata had blood and passion that ran hot. He'd have been with her today, in truth, except that Jenny had asked him to remain home. It was their anniversery, she'd reminded him, and she had something special in mind.
 
John sat on the veranda with his back to her and Jenny chewed her lip nervously as she watched him. They'd been mutually non-monogamous for a few decades now, but their anniversary they had always reserved for themselves, just the two of them. That's why she was nervous. Would he be angry? Really it was a present for him, seeing as he'd said several times he'd like it. She'd be in confession every day for weeks, she just knew it, so she hoped he'd at least enjoy it. Taking a deep breath, she walked up behind him.

"Happy one hundred and seventy-second anniversary, my love," she murmured, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing his neck. "I've gotten you a present."

With much giggling and teasing she pulled him to his feet and made him cover his eyes. Like this Jenny led him into the breezy sitting room which opened onto the veranda where his "present" was waiting. Finally she allowed him to open his eyes. Standing there was a woman looking shy but determined.

"John, this is Dona Ana," Jenny introduced them. "She...well...she likes women, and women pay her. I know it's not our usual way." Their usual way was to find someone; debauchery was surprisingly more common than she'd first imagined and they never paid for sex. But if she'd propositioned Dona Zapata and the noblewoman hadn't been open-minded it could have destroyed their reputation and ruined their vacation. "But you keep saying you'd like to see me with a woman. Would...would you still?" She shifted nervously.
 
John stared wide-eyed at Dona Ana, and then at his wife with a similar expression. They'd... well, they'd had more than one person in their beds before. More than once, Jack had shared his wife with another man - watching him fuck her as she sucked him, or watching her suck him as he fucked her, or feeling another man's cock against his as they both took her at once. And he'd had more than one woman at a time while Jenny had watched, and sometimes Jenny had been in the room as he'd taken turns at her and his current lover, but she'd always balked at the suggestion that she join in at the same time. He'd wanted to see that, really wanted to see her pleasure another woman and be pleasured by one, but she'd always refused. And he'd respected that.

"Would I?" he asked, sudden lust in his expression. Then he hesitated, taking her in his arms. "I mean... yes, I would. But... not if you don't want to." He kissed her then, love and affection in the gesture. "I love the idea, Jenny. And I love you. But I want you to enjoy yourself. And, well, don't do this for me Jenny." He stared down into her moss-green eyes, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "I..."

He smiled, and kissed her again. "But yes. If you want to. Or even if you're unsure, but want to try. Then I would like that. Very much." Then he kissed her again. "Just... promise me. If you need to stop, you will."
 
The expression on John's face was one she wished she could have fixed in time forever. It was hilarious and adorable all at once, something he often achieved without even trying. But then he hesitated and became serious, then affectionate, as he took Jenny into his arms and kissed her. She would never admit that perhaps this was maybe a little bit for her as well; she'd become enthralled so many times whenever she watched her husband take another woman, wondering what it would be like. But the sinfulness of it...it was wrong! It was a perversion of nature! But then, so were their very lives, she reasoned.

"I want to try," she said softly, brushing a lock of hair from John's face and tucking it behind his ear. "I promise I'll stop if I need to, but I want to do this. For you."

With a final kiss Jenny gently pulled away from her husband and stepped to Dona Ana. The who--woman seemed to realize she was feeling rather shy and smiled warmly. Jenny fought her instinct to pull or push away as Ana gently pulled her forward, tugging at her buttons and laces gently and slowly peeling away each item of clothing until she stood in only her shift and stockings then guiding her to a chair. She sat awkwardly and let Dona Ana pull off her boots then slowly lift her skirt as her hands crept up to her garters to pull her stockings down. The kisses she planted up her bare shins were much like John's own kisses. Dona Ana knelt between her knees and gently guided Jenny's hands to her breasts and leaned in to kiss her.

That first kiss was...surprisingly normal. It was like kissing John. Well, not John exactly; in John's kisses there was not only affection but a deep and abiding love for her. True love. It was like kissing any other man she'd kissed, devoid of that passionate love but still a sultry kiss. The small noise Jenny made sounded like it had come from someone else and her fingers seemed to move of their own accord to begin undoing Dona Ana's fastenings.
 
"Song of Solomon"
Galway, Ireland 1975

"Forgive me Father, for I've sinned. It's been...Well, I dunno how long it's been since my last confession, to be honest."

Off to a great start, lying to a priest in a confessional. Jenny knew exactly how long it had been since her last confession: 57 years, four months, two weeks, and six days, when she had asked for absolution for what she had done during the war. The Great War, they'd called it, "the war to end all wars," where she'd done her duty to her fellow man while they collected souls in their duty to Calypso. Except it hadn't ended all wars and the whole damn thing had started over again just a couple decades later. That wasn't fair. But then again, Jenny was finding more and more often that life on this planet more often than not wasn't fair.

"What are your sins, my child?"

The well-known script hadn't changed in more than three hundred years. Probably the only thing that never changed was Catholicism...well, unless you counted that Vatican II nonsense. Jenny took a deep breath.

"I've killed, Father. It was for a good reason, but still I killed. I've taken the Lord's name in vain I dunno how many times. I was--" No. She still couldn't say that aloud, not to herself and not to her confessor. It had been three years, but the word rape still stuck on Jenny's tongue. "Well...that was my fault anyway. But Father that's because above all, above every terrible thing I've done in my life, I'm an adultress. For the most part an unrepentant one at that. Not that my husband doesn't know about it; he's an adulterer too. Hell, oftentimes he watches. And even though in my heart I know it's wrong, I don't care. I enjoy cuckolding my husband while he watches. Or even while he doesn't watch."

She paused to allow the priest to make some comment before barreling on. "Men, women...any sort of touch that brings me earthly pleasure, I revel in it. Alone or in twos or threes...four is too much. I remember this one couple in Paris, Jean Luc and Celine. God he was hung like a horse! He fucked me so deep and hard that I could see his cock moving inside me..." Well, she'd started her confession in earnest. Something inside her, some sort of self-protection mechanism, wouldn't allow her to continue in earnest. Instead she lingered on the details of her sexual conquests, secretly wondering if she was turning on the priest. She'd seen him before entering the confessional and wouldn't at all mind hitting that. "And Celine...one of the finest pussies I've ever tasted, Father. She was...mm! There was one time I was riding Jean Luc and eating out his wife while my husband fucked my ass at the same time. I could've sworn I saw Heaven when they finally let me cum."

Jenny bit her lip and squirmed, starting to get herself worked up a bit. "But it isn't all animal rutting, either Father. One time I spent six hours with these twins, Rosemary and Lily, and it was so slow and sensual. Their breasts were just...perfect, and Lily was completely clean shaven. That was the first time I'd experienced that and dear God it makes so much of a difference! John--my husband, I mean--says he likes me better that way too, now that I've done it. But Rosemary's tongue was so fucking talented...I must've cum at least five times. John says eight, but I'm not so sure. I lost count, anyway. Does it count as adultery if he's there too?" She waited for her answer before continuing. "You know I feel sorry for you lot sometimes. Priests, I mean. You've never known the touch of a woman, her hand around your cock, the way her nipple stiffens when you suck on it, the way she tastes when she cums around your tongue. You can only imagine those sorts of things, and then feel guilty when you touch yourself while imagining them." Jenny's fingers had snuck between her thighs at the memory of her night with the brunette twins. "And with how long you must go between each time...I can't imagine how hard you must cum when you finally let yourself, imagining plowing some whore from behind after she's sucked your cock so well you feel you might explode..."

Then a devious thought came to Jenny. She would have the priest...but not yet. She'd started her confession in earnest, but she wasn't ready yet. 57 years and she wasn't ready for the burden of forgiveness. "I had better go," she said as contritely as she could. "I've taken up enough of your time, Father. I can come back tomorrow to finish, and then you can give me my penance. If you want, I mean."
 
Father Michael Simms was younger than many priests, barely 27 and just graduated from the Seminary after doing a tour in the army. Younger, and uncomfortable with the way he caught the eye of the younger women in the parish - he was tall and broad-shouldered, with thick, curly dark hair and warm briwn eyes and an easy smile. He was also clearly not Irish, not with his faint Manchester accent.

He'd never thought of himself as sheltered, not growing up poor in urban Manchester and doing his two years in service. But Miss Sparrow - a distant relation of the proprietors if the Black Anchor, he understood - was making him question that belief. Not the revelation that she'd killed, although that was shocking enough. No, it was her sexual sins that caught him off guard. Surely things like that only happened in porn? And itt went on and on, as she reveled in it!

"Dies it count as adultery if he's there too?"

"Yes," Father Michael answered, shifting a little. Her descriptions were getting him hard. "The sin of adultery is sex outside the sacrament of marriage. It is a..."

But then she was interrupting, talking about the priestly vows - his priestly vows - of chastity and celibacy in graphic, carnal terms. Describing acts that had tirmented his dreams, forced him to spend long hours in prayer as he sought the strength to resist temptation. He tried to force himself to listen and understand, to seek inspiration of the Lord to aid her. But he found his gaze lingering on the outlines if her generous hips and full breasts, and wondered how she would look without the dress she wore. Wondered how she might look, bent over his desk as...

No!

"I can come back tomorrow to finish, and then you can give me my penance. If you want, I mean."

That would be a mistake, and he knew it. He should recuse himself, let Father Wells be her confessor. The 67-year-old senior priest of the parish would know better how to handle this wanton Jezebel. "Of course," he heard himself say. "Tomorrow, then."



"You're back early," John said, kissing Jenny as she entered their hotel room. He was clad only in a towel wrapped around her waist, and his lips and tongue tasted if beer and another woman.

"Aren't you joining me?" a feminine voice called from the bathroom.

"In a moment!" John called back, running his hands over Jenny's breasts as he worked the buttons. "I got takeout at the pub," he whispered conspiratorially. "Didn't think you'd be back yet, so you wanna share?" He slipped the dress over her shoulders, nipping at the esposed skin. "Oh, how was confession? Feel any better?"
 
Father Michael took a little too long to consent to be her confessor tomorrow. She had him. It had almost been too easy, but then again priests were some of the most sexually repressed beings on the planet. And besides, Jenny had never fucked a priest before. There had been that one bloke in the priest costume, but that didn't count.

"I'll come later, so I don't take up time for your parishioners," she promised before crossing herself and leaving the confessional.

At the hotel John seemed in a good mood as he welcomed her back, mentioning he'd gotten "takeout." Jenny grinned and kissed him, letting her dress fall to the floor.

"Only if you've already had your fill," she said. "I don't want to spoil your fun." When he asked whether she felt better after confession she shrugged. "Not like I thought I would. I'm going back tomorrow. I imagine after tomorrow I'll be a little better."

~*~

"I sort of pity you, Father," Jenny admitted. The sun was setting and as promised she'd returned late, though not in order to avoid interfering with the other confessions. "You only encounter water in your day-to-day life during baptism. It can always be so much more erotic than that. I shared a woman with John last night, after confession, and the tub was big enough for the three of us. My God she could hold her breath for an astonishingly long time." She smiled and shook her head.

"I remember the first time I realized I might be attracted to women," she said. "I was drunk. She was drunk. She wanted me to be her mistress, thought I was exotic--she was a Chinawoman, you see--but I said no. Because that was before John and I had our arrangement, started fucking other people. We still fuck each other, of course, but after so many years of marriage you start to get bored. You need some variety. Which is a little funny because the first woman he had who wasn't me, well she was a redhead too. He had his pick and he chose this little Russian porcelain doll, Natasha. She tried to ride him, but she never was much of a match. The way my John used her, fucked her like she was just a toy...it reminded me of the way I used to be." She smiled and leaned her head against the screen. "I think maybe he was just trying to play it safe his first time."

She sighed and shook her head. "I dunno why though. It's not like I did." Jenny smiled at the memory of her first extramarital liaison. "Anton was sweet like my John, but dear God he was enormous in every sense of the term. Just...a giant blonde slab of muscle. But he gave as much as he took; before he fucked my ass, I rode him like the stallion he was. He could have just used me like a fuck toy and that would've been that, but he let me fuck him until we were both left shaking. I could show you, if you want..."

Jenny didn't leave Father Michael much time to answer. Quietly she slipped out of her side of the confessional and into his, closing the door and standing before him in the cramped box. Her fingers deftly undid the buttons of her dress, letting it fall to her hips. She wasn't wearing any bra or panties underneath.

"Michael the archangel is supposed to strike down Lucifer in the final battle," Jenny said quietly, tugging her dress over her generous hips and letting it fall to the floor of the confessional. Carefully she straddled Father Michael's lap. "And Lucifer is the father of sins. Won't you strike down the sin inside me, Father Michael?" Leaning in she gently nibbled his ear. "You've read the Song of Solomon just as surely as I have, Michael," she whispered, her hand sliding down his arm. "Climb the palm tree and lay hold of its fruit." She guided his hand to her breast and let it rest there, waiting. He was only a man; he wasn't going to resist. "'Let my beloved come into his garden,'" she whispered, "'and taste its choice fruits.'"
 
Father Michael spent the night in a mixture of tortured erotic dreams and prayer, seeking the strength to resist temptation. It helped, more or less, but he was exhausted when he rose to bathe and save and prepare for the day. Fortunatly, most of the day was comparatively light. Administrative tasks, visiting the sick Widow O'Malley, and confession. And confession was light, that evening.

Until Jenny Sparrow returned. Returned, whispering - bragging - of the depraved acts she had performed. Some in her past, but some as recently as the previous night. "No need to show me," he insisted, voice a little shaky. "But confession is only part of repentance, Jennifer. It isn't enough to say the words, you must..."

The door opened and she slipped in with him. It was crowded in there, and before he could react she was stripping her dress off. Suddenly, confrinted with her beautiful naked body - more beautiful than the image painted by his fevered dreams - the confession booth seemed even smaller and more crowded as she straddled his lap with her firm thighs.

And she blasphemed! Sweet, erotic blasphemy that transformed the Song of Songs into pornography as she drew his hand to a generous bare breast. Without even intending to he squeezed, and his cock - already rock hard from her words and presence - throbbed against the shaved lips of her sex. "Jennifer," he breathed, trying to be forceful. "You should not do this..."

"Let my beloved come into my garden," she whispered, fingers tangling in his curly hair, "and taste its choice fruits." She exerted a gentle pressure, encouraging and demanding, but not forcing.

"Retro me Sathanus," he breathed, gripping her hips with the intent of pushing her from nis lap. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his hands, and he could feel supple muscle rolling as she responded by grinding against his cock. Withoy conscious decision he squeezed, pulling her tighter against him as his lios found het breast. "You shouldn't do this," he whispered, sucking and biting at the erect flesh, his hips rolling as he tried to fuck against her. "We... shouldn't... do this..."
 
"Retro me Sathanus," Father Michael breathed even as his fingers pressed into her flesh.

Jenny couldn't help but grin and laugh softly. "I'm just a woman," she said softly as she began to grind against his hard cock, "and you're just a man, and nobody makes us do anything. The Good Lord gave us free will just as surely as he gave us sins and the guilt to go along with them."

Even as he pulled her tighter against him and his lips found her breast, Father Michael tried to fight what was only natural. She kept one hand tangled in his hair, encouraging him to keep his lips to her breasts. His whispered words against her flesh sent chills down her spine. Already the virgin priest--virgin!--was trying to fuck her. Jenny smiled and let her other hand slide between them to deftly undo his pants. It was more complicated than a cassock, but zippers had been a blessing from Heaven!

"'I have taken off my robe-must I put it on again?'" she searched for imagery from the Song of Songs which wouldn't seem weird to a modern man. "'My lover thrust his hand through the latch-opening; my heart began to pound for him. I arose to open for my lover, and my hands dripped with myrrh, on the handles of the lock.' You can't claim that something so explicitly in the Bible is unholy, Michael." She succeeded in undoing his pants and pulling his cock out. "God forgives," she reminded him in a whisper, slowly stroking his cock.
 
"God... forgives..." Father Michael repeated, eyes closing as Jenny's hands - those warm, soft, delightful temptress hands - closed around his aching erection and started stroking. "You should stop," he mumbled, even as his traitor hands caressed the curves of her lush bottom and curved back. "I'm a... a priest... Jenny..." The breath from the words was hot on the damp, crimson peak of her full breast, and his traitor tongue circled the firm nipple once more.

God. God would give him the strength to resist temptation. He would. But while his spirit was willing, his all to mortal flesh was sinful and weak. Her thumbs teased the head of his aching cock, moistening him with the precum beaded there. And when her hands slid lower, down to his base, he felt the dew upon her bare shaven slit as her hips moved against his.

His fingers dug into her ass, gripping and lifting. "You... should stop... Jennifer," he moaned, feeling his fingers stroke over those same bare lips as the pressure parted them. Her juices dripped down his fingers and onto his black slacks. Uttering an animalistic sound, he stroked between those slick, sweet lips and bit at the skin between her breasts.

"Jennifer..." he gasped, wanting. Wanting her to stop. Wanting her. "You... shouldn't... can't... do this..." He nipped at her again. "I... I'm a... a priest... it's... this.. is.." He rolled his hips as he spoke, the length of his cock hard against her clit. "I... can't..."



"Will... will she... be there... again... tonight..?"

Jack shifted his stance a little, forcing her legs a little further apart so he could fuck deeper into her. She was the same woman from last night, a dusky-skinned beauty of Jamaican ancestry with an incongrous Irish lilt. Right now her blouse was open to the waist and her miniskirt bunched around her hips, and her head banged against the rough stone wall out back of the pub with each thrust. "Dunno," he gasped back. "Maybe. Went... to church."

He still didn't know her name. Somehow, that made it hotter.

"S'funny," she moaned, kissing him hungrily. Her pert, conical breasts flattened and slid over his sweat-slick skin. "Why?"

"Confession," Jack grunted, feeling her start to clench around his cock. "Been... a... while...."

"Fuck... she moaned, biting her lip and whimpering as she came. Then she groaned contentedly as Jack's cum pulsed into her womb. "Can I come see?" she finally asked with a grin. Her fingertips traced his chest. "I can help give her reasons to go back..."
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom