The Pastor’s Wife

Dear, Avid reader… more scribbling that I hope will amuse and entertain you and maybe make you think, turn you on or even leave you conflicted. Two ideas for a story fused into one which I hope will work… actually by the ‘time of going to press’ it’s become a veritable hotchpotch of thoughts and ideas and strands. I actually started on in this back on the 8th of April. That’s April, 2011, although I have meandered and scribbled in other directions during this labour of love (?). One of the stories in between I used a character, I can’t take credit for him, he’s been around for a while but I so enjoyed writing about him that I incorporated him into this tome and in so doing this in itself has become part of a larger thread.

It’ll stand on its own and like ‘Hard Rain’ (which was actually one of those few stories that I penned in a day)I deliberately picked a subject/character that is rarely written about, much less in an erotic manner as well. The original inspiration for this story, ‘The Pastor’s Wife’, turned about to be fake, which is a shame because I really quite liked that fictitious muse, still do, but you can’t rely on fairy tales. I have to admit that this unforeseen revelation led me to changing the title character’s name, I could never resist a good pun (hehe).

So, I’ll let you get on and talk to you all later, as ever I hope you enjoy and maybe think on…




p.s. By the by it’s a long one as the Pastor’s Wife said to the Bishop!!!



It was one of those glorious days that define summer. The Church of the Blessed Mary had indeed been blessed to have held its Fete on a day when the weather would draw the crowds out in large numbers. He walked through the milling crowds as they strolled and chatted about the local gossip through the maze of stalls and tents. It had been almost two decades since he had last returned to the sleepy English Village where he had spent several summers during his youth. Always staying with his cousins, during those halcyon holidays; which back when he had been thirteen years old seemed to last forever old and now flew past so quickly when you had no time to play.

He stepped into the cool interior of the church, the slightly damp and dusty smell evoking those long boring masses he’d had to endure for six Sundays each year. He smiled to himself as he realised that they had probably been as boring as the ones he had attended with his parents during the rest of the year but those hadn’t kept him from running through the fields and climbing all the trees within five miles of his cousin Benny’s (his best friend back then (at least during the summer, such fickle youth)) farm just on the outskirts of the village.

He looked up at the large stained glass window behind the altar showing Jesus sitting astride the world with a benevolent smile and arms outstretched. The smile widened to a broad grin as he remembered Damian’s look of fear when in the quietest of whispers, sitting beside his devout aunt, on a pew almost at the front of the congregation he had suggested that the Saviour was being portrayed as having a bowel movement. He didn’t confess that one to the priest for fear of a summer full of Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers. The smile faltered on his lips as he thought his lack of faith had been apparent even back then and it was only a matter of time before he looked up the word Atheist to find himself.

The sweat beneath his armpits and running down his spine from the hot day outside began to chill in the cool interior. He stepped past the small bowl of Holy Water, the reflex to dip his finger and bless himself long since cauterised from his psyche. “Spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch…” he murmured to himself. He walked up the central aisle towards the altar and stood looking at the first ‘Station of the Cross’ to the right carved into a chunk of old local oak. For a staunch atheist he really did like churches and their atmospheres of serenity far too much.

He had been lost in his reverie for quite a time when he eventually acknowledged the faint squeak that had been getting closer. He turned around to find the squeak emanating from the right wheel of a wheelchair. “Hello” he said to the woman sitting in it.

“Hello” she replied offering her slim hand up to him. He took the proffered hand and shook it feeling supple strength from within her calloused fingers. “I’m Georgia …” he knew that he was missing some knowledge that she assumed he had. “… the Pastor’s wife!”

“Ahhh… I’m Damian. Damian Towne pleased to meet you Georgia.”

“You’re new to the Parish, Damian?”

“You could say that” he answered ambiguously unsure why he held back.

Georgia nodded slowly, an errant strand of her blonde hair escaped from the tie behind her head tickling her tanned slim neck. Adam refrained from smiling as he found himself liking that single rebellious hair over the stern mass pulled back tightly. Georgia ’s face was slim with a narrow nose and a mouth that would benefit from an unforced or at least a relaxed smile. “So just visiting once again?”

“No… I’ll be here for a while… I’ve moved into the Malone’s place” he indicated over his shoulder with his thumb pointing through the thick granite walls of the church to the north.

A flicker passed across her features before she replied, “It’ll be good to see the old place in use once again, it’s been empty far too many years.” she paused for a moment considering her words, “Are you related to the Malone’s?”

“No, no relation” he lied unsure whether it was simply his own sense of privacy he was protecting or not wanting to go over ancient history.

That flicker reappeared on Georgia ’s features for another second before her mouth relaxed into a pleasant smile, “So what is it you do Damian if I may be so bold as to ask?”

“A little boldness never hurt anyone, I’m… I was as they say something in the City but now having amassed my ill-gotten gains I’ve taken to more honest labours and fancied a ‘doer-upper’.”

“Well the old place certainly needs doing up, as it were; and you’ve certainly got your work cut out for you!”

Damian looked around the church taking in the long ago familiar architecture, “A nice wee church you have here” he stated.

Georgia span the left wheel of her chair around following his gaze, “Seventeenth century and apart from the installation of modern amenities pretty much unchanged from when it was built!” Damian noticed the Pastor’s wife’s ample chest swelling with civic pride as the date 1867 popped into his head, “The graveyard is even older, it is estimated that over towards the western boundary there are a couple of graves that date back to the late 1600’s though of course the carvings haven’t lasted the test of time.”

“Though the rocks remain…” answered Damian and saw the look of puzzlement on Georgia’s face, “It’s a line from a song” he answered her unspoken question.

“Ahh… so will we be seeing you tomorrow?”

Damian shook his head, “Sorry but I’m a devout atheist” he looked about, “I just appreciate churches for their, hmmm, atmosphere.”

Georgia smiled, “I won’t hold it against you, though my husband might still try to convert you.”

Damian walked out of the church with Georgia, only helping her in her wheelchair down the wooden ramp placed for the purpose at the heavy stone steps of the vestibule. For a half hour he walked around the fete in the adjacent meadow with her, being introduced to the locals, before he bid her goodbye and headed through the adjacent fields to the old rundown farmhouse that was now his home.


The following Tuesday Damian was stripped to the waist and wearing a filter mask across his mouth as he ripped out some of the internal walls in preparation for replacing them with more modern materials. He’d already found a number of wooden posts that were suffering badly with dry rot and was amazed at how light the thick beams had been as he had carried them outside to heap in a pile in the centre of the old farmyard. The work was dirty and with the baking heat from the summer sun his torso was streaked as the sweat ran down his skin dragging the ancient dust with it.

He’d just dumped another load of rotten wood onto the pile when he saw the small silver car parked just inside the gate. He hadn’t heard it pull into the yard and he wandered over to see who his visitor was. He was still ten metres from it when the side door opened and a blonde head bobbed into view. “Hello Georgia ” he called as he saw the pastor’s wife swing her legs out of the car. He hurried over “Can I give you a hand?” he asked unsure if she would find it an insult as she seemed very capable despite her disability.

She reached behind her into the passenger side and hefted her wheelchair with ease across and out beside her onto the rough cobbles. “If you could just hold it steady for me, I’d be much obliged.”

He took the handles of the wheelchair and watched as she opened it and flicked a couple of levers knowing that his hands were only there out of politeness. He hadn’t ever known anyone with a disability that confined them to a wheelchair and he wondered if they were all as capable as his new friend. In one fluid movement she lifted herself out and into the chair, lifting her feet onto each of the footplates before looking up at him. Her eyes flicked to his dirt streaked chest before settling back on his eyes. “Working hard, I see.”

“No rest for the wicked” he replied with a grin.

She mimicked the grin; “Figured as much, if you look in the back seat you can grab the hamper” she wheeled away towards the front porch of the house without waiting for an answer.

Damian hoisted the wicker hamper from the back of the car and followed her over to the door to find her surveying the heap of wood to her right. “You can’t start creating until you’ve done a little destruction” he commented.

“I guess… out with the old?”

“Only when it’s no longer useful or completely past its ‘sell-by’ date!” he replied.

She stared in through the door to the dusty interior, beams of bright sunlight streaming through the open windows creating searchlights composed of swirling dust motes rising and falling in the lightest of draughts. “So where are you sleeping amidst all this chaos?” she asked.

“I’ve got one of the back bedrooms pretty much sealed off from the demolition” he replied setting the hamper beside a sturdy garden table. He cleared the tools and remnants of wood and nails before hoisting it up onto the thick wooden boards.

Georgia drew her eyes away from the interior and gazed at Damian, taking in his naked dirt streaked torso, “And washing facilities?”

He grinned back at her and stepped over to the corner of the house where a large barrel sat, the downpipe of the guttering feeding into it. He stood on a breeze block beside and simply plunged his head into it past his shoulders. Displaced water overflowed and he remained submerged for over ten seconds before whiplashing his head out of it sending a large arc of fine spray back across the yard. He picked up a large multi-coloured towel and vigorously rubbed the short hair on his head dry before drying the upper part of his torso and arms. “See? All mod cons!” he laughed.

Georgia’s face broke into a broad smile as she freely cast her eyes down over his body. Damian’s head, arms and upper torso were reasonably presentable but his flat stomach was more streaked than before. “Your bathroom seems to leave a little to be desired?”

“I suppose it does… I’ve got a rainwater shower rigged up in the barn” Damian replied pointing his thumb over his shoulder to the outbuilding obscured by the main house, “It’s quite pleasant at the moment but I sure hope I’ve got hot water before the weather turns cold!”

“I bet you do…” Georgia nibbled on her forefinger for a moment imagining Damian beneath the shower washing the dust from his naked body. She pulled it guiltily away from her mouth suddenly realising she was flirting with this half-naked, considerably younger man. She blushed at the thought; desires that had been locked away for so many years had suddenly resurfaced.

“So what brings you to my humble abode?”

“Could I not just be welcoming a new resident to our small community?” she replied with a smile, “Although if I’m honest you caused quite the stir of curiosity on Saturday so this could be a… sort of fact finding mission.”

“Well you’ve brought welcome provisions so feel free, ask away!”

The two of them sat at the table and drank and ate from the hamper. Damian told her of his life in general. The stress and eventual boredom with his job as a dealer on the Metal Exchange, his marriage of three years, no children, that ended eighteen months previously and was the primary reason for his change in lifestyle. He admitted that one of the reasons for the break-up had been his workaholic nature up to that point (there was no point mentioning the enquiry into Wormwood Investments) and that if his ex-wife could see him now she might re-assess their relationship but he had no interest in going back over ‘old ground’.

Georgia told him of life in the village, driven mainly by the seasons and the agricultural nature of the surrounding farmland. The village being a fair distance off the beaten track had limited the number of non-local people buying into the area and that he, Damian, would be the first ‘stranger’ in over seven years to settle. The last ones, the Andersons, were still considered ‘Newbies’ although with Damian now resident they might be on the verge of being accepted.

“So I’ll be the ‘Interloper’ till someone else moves into the area?” he asked.

“Something like that” she admitted.

They chatted and even though neither of them admitted it to themselves, they flirted for over two hours till Georgia looked at her silver wristwatch and realised the time. She promised to call again soon and hoped to see him around the village as she drove out of the yard.


Damian stepped into the hallway of his ‘work in progress’, the ray of sun streaming through the doorway caught the old warped mirror still attached to the wall on his left. He looked at the distorted and hazed reflection through the dust coating it. For a brief moment before he wiped away the patina of filth his reflection seemed to be a good deal shorter and his unshaven chin seemed to be sporting a fully fledged beard. “Just a trick of the light…” he said to his image as he rubbed his stubble, “… a trick of the light…” He thought about Georgia, the Pastor’s wife and what she looked like naked, his semi-hard cock, which he had been sporting for the past two hours stiffened.

Later, in the barn, after a lack lustre attempt to carry on with his demolition he showered beneath the cool water as he pumped his erection rapidly in his fist and shot spurt after spurt of thick white semen against the old oak timbers as thoughts of a naked Georgia coupled with thoughts of his cock ploughing deeply into her cunt.


Georgia stared up at the ceiling above her bed, Lou, her husband snoring beside her. Frustration and simple horniness filled her thoughts. Her pussy had been wet when she had arrived back from Damian’s, she had suspected it had been but her paralysis limited ‘true’ sensations and only direct examination could prove it. Her practical cotton knickers had been soaked when she had taken herself to the bathroom. She cursed her spinal injury again, something she hadn’t done in years and repeated the curse later when her overtures to her husband fell on deaf ears. She couldn’t actually remember the last time they had sex. The frustration manifested itself in a single tear running down her cheek.

“Fuck” she whispered to the unhearing ceiling above her and husband lying beside her. As sleep eventually drew her within its grasp dreams of sin, dreams of infidelity and dreams of the young newcomer filled her mind.


Over the next week Georgia gradually dismissed the desires that had taken hold of her as an aberration but every so often she’d catch herself looking in the direction of the Malone’s farm and wondering what Damian was doing at that point. Monday (and Friday) morning was taken up with her physiotherapy sessions and often seemed to be a waste of her time. The muscles in her legs were thin and she imagined without the bi-weekly sessions they would be completely atrophied but the chance of re-gaining any control was years past.

Nurse Mourne’s strong hands grasped her ankle and knee and worked her leg back and forth while Georgia lying on her back resisted with her lower back muscles and by connection her gluteus maximus. She remembered how much all the boys enjoyed looking at her ass before the accident whereas now her major concern was pressure sores. “How are you doing, Georgia ?”

“Not too bad Stella, and yourself?” she replied from the portable massage bed that the young physiotherapist brought with her.

“Pretty good, looks like I’ll be safe from the cuts for the moment” she lowered Georgia ’s left leg and lifted up the other to repeat the repetitive action. It had taken Georgia over a year to finally feel comfortable with her present Physio, the previous one had moved onto pastures new and Stella had been fresh from college when she started treating the elder woman. She actually preferred Stella to her stern predecessor and most of the time found her easy to talk to. Stella within her professional capacity enquired into all aspects of her life and had quickly dropped the subject of a sex life when it became apparent none existed.

It had annoyed the young woman as she knew that apart from the obvious benefits to anyone’s psyche it had further benefits for paraplegics in the increase in circulation as well as making them feel ‘normal’. Unfortunately due to the lack of sensation masturbation was almost pointless whereas a ‘proper fucking’ (as her lecturer had unashamedly put it) was a great therapy for patients. She added that she wasn’t suggesting that her students should start using it as part of their treatments. She had never met Georgia ’s husband and felt she would have to ‘bite her tongue’ if she ever did. Maybe things have changed thought Stella noting a small damp line along the gusset of Georgia ’s sensible knickers.

Georgia closed her eyes and did her utmost to push back against Stella’s actions. Almost as soon as the outside world disappeared she imagined it was Damian’s hands upon her flesh, she imagined the palms bending her legs back and forth to be calloused and rough instead of soft and smooth.

Her chest rose and fell smoothly as she was laid back on the garden table outside the old Malone place, the younger man spreading her legs apart, feeling the sides of his naked hips rub up along the inside of her thighs. She bends her legs, her bare heels pressing into his muscular ass, urging him forward, urging his large hard cock towards her dripping pussy. She could feel the sun beating down on her naked form, her nipples hot and hard atop her heaving chest, splinters from the rough wooden planks of the table digging into her back and ass. His strong large calloused fingers pressing into the soft white skin of her thighs as she feels the briefest touch of his glans against her swollen outer lips, he leans forward, “You want it don’t you, Georgia… you want my big hard cock deep inside your-”

“ Georgia ?” interrupted Stella excitedly, “ Georgia , did you feel that?”

Georgia’s lips were closed and she bit the inside of her lip for a second annoyed that she had been pulled from her reverie. “Sorry… what, I was miles away?” she opened her eyes to look at the young woman staring at her. She couldn’t read the expression on her face. There was curiosity there and amazement but her cheeks were slightly flushed as well.

“There was a definite ‘micro-tremor’ in your right leg, I’d swear to it” the young woman was concentrating in staring at Georgia’s eyes, desperate not to look down at the obvious wet patch decorating the white cotton stretched over the woman’s mound.

“…no… You must be mistaken… it’s been too long…” Georgia shook her head, “it’s simply not possible!”

“I know what you’re saying and yes it’s so unlikely it’s almost impossible but I definitely felt something, it was a tiny movement but it was there. It is almost unheard of after such a long time… almost is the word though, not ever.”

Georgia raised herself on her elbows and looked at her useless legs and willed them to move. She concentrated as hard as she had ever done, more than she had in the long months following the accident but the two long lumps of meat remained immobile as normal. “Nothing…” she could feel her eyes moistening and pushed the emotions of sadness and bitterness away, they had done her no good all those years before and it wasn’t going to do any good now, “must have been something else… cramp or something?”

“ Georgia , I’ve been coming to you now for almost seventeen months and in all that time,” the Physio did a quick calculation in her head, “well over a hundred hours of therapy there has been no response whatsoever. Today there was something! And I was almost sure I felt something on Friday as well… I didn’t mention it because I wasn’t sure but today I was looking out for it” she glanced down at Georgia ’s damp underwear. “Whatever you have been doing differently recently… keep it up!” she grinned and had to stop herself from chuckling at the double entendre.

“There’s nothing…” Georgia replied, “…nothing at all!”

Stella turned away and began to rub the excess oil from her hands; with her back to Georgia she spoke, “Look something has changed… something…” the Physio felt herself blushing, with her other clients she never had a problem talking about their sex lives, sometimes she couldn’t get them to shut up about them but Georgia had always been silent on the matter and she was a Pastor’s wife. She had wondered if the two of them engaged in love-making at all but Georgia ’s sex had/ was obviously aroused so she guessed they were or that Georgia was ‘taking matters into her own hands’. “Look…” she hesitated once again trying to form words in her mind before speaking, “…increased blood flow, some… exercise can… well it can’t do any harm and if… it’s something new or different… well…” The young woman’s words trailed away.

“I… err…” Georgia stammered and buried her blushing face in the towel beneath her head.


Damian had progressed slowly and surely with his demolition till he was happy that he had ripped out all that was rotten and he didn’t want and yet managed to keep the best of the original structure, even revealing the original kitchen fire-place buried beneath forty year old plasterboard and several layers of wallpaper, an archaeological record of recent historical fashions. It was definitely going to be the centre-piece of the finished kitchen with the arch above the new Aga rising to almost six feet. He wasn’t sure how good he would be at brick-work and re-pointing the old chimney breast but there were a couple of other walls that he would be re-covering that would give him an opportunity to practice before he tackled it himself or called in professional help.

He was slightly disappointed that Georgia hadn’t returned the following Tuesday, hoping that it may have become a ritual and as the sky had darkened he had cleaned himself up and headed down the hill to the village to the local public house, The Goat’s Head.

He had almost laughed when the pub had gone silent as he had entered, it would have been perfectly absurd if the tinny music issuing from the Jukebox had chosen that moment to change tracks. “Evening all” he simply said breaking the spell and heading for the bar as conversation resumed.

The woman behind the bar, Suki the Landlady, welcomed him to the village and apologised on behalf of the ‘rude clientele’ populating the Lounge. “No apology necessary, nobody likes strangers until they’re no longer strangers.”

With Suki being the beneficial hostess as she served the regulars he was eventually introduced to all as they came up to be served. He almost laughed as the Anderson ’s offered the warmest reception, excepting Suki, of the night. The landlady laughed conspiratorially when Damian suggested the reason for their enthusiasm being their own ascendance towards acceptance.

“They’ll be terribly disappointed if you get accepted before them… maybe I’ll put a word in for you to join the Village committee?” no-one was looking to be served at that point and the busty Landlady was leaning across the bar towards Damian as he sipped on his pint of Cornish Ale. He couldn’t help but notice as she fingered the gold chain hanging around her neck, disappearing into her deep cleavage which was so much more obvious since she had undone another button.

“It’s a terrible one, you are Suki! You’d get me into trouble!”

She withdrew slightly and looked about the comfortable lounge, “Maybe you don’t know what it’s like but sometimes I just wish something would happen. You know what I mean?”

“I do” he agreed, “but you know what they say about wishing?”

She looked back at him, “Be careful…?” he nodded in reply and couldn’t help but drop his eyes to her cleavage. He was surprised to see Suki blush and after a moment walk quickly away as one of the older customers was rising from his seat in search of another pint.

Damian lifted his own pint and moved through a small connecting door, through which he had to stoop, to the ‘Public Bar’. There was an obvious distinction between the two rooms of the Pub in the demographic of each. Damian found himself somewhere in the middle between the more mature regulars in the Lounge and the ‘just-legal’ drinkers in the Bar. The music was louder and more modern (but he suspected it was probably six months or even a year behind the times) and the arrogance of youth seemed to not consider him worthy of a pause in conversation. The only other people of a comparable age in this side of the Pub were two men playing on the Pool table. They seemed to have the look of farm labourers, possibly (probably) single and the youngest of the two who sported wavy red hair and five or six days growth of stubble on his chin had the swagger of a man who fancied himself the Alpha male.

He weaved through the tables catching a couple of semi-inquisitive stares and obviously jealous looks from the younger females and males respectively. He picked up the small stub of chalk from the wooden ledge beneath the small black board on which the queue for the table was marked. Only one other pair of initials resided upon it, ‘G. P.’ and he scrawled a ‘D’ beneath under the watchful glare of the ginger headed man.

“You’re the fellow from up at the Malone place?” came a gruff voice from the older of the two.

“That I am, Damian Towne” he replied to a nod from the man cueing up his shot.

The ‘spot’ was sunk with an easy grace of the strong looking arm and the man rose and re-chalked the tip of his cue, “I’m Samuel and this is Silas, Sam and Si for short.” It was only then that Damian noted that Samuel or Sam was blind in one eye and figured that the man did well on the Pool table considering he had no depth perception.

“Pleased to meet you both” he replied eliciting a nod of acknowledgement from a silent Si.

Sam potted two more balls leaving him with one spot remaining on the table when it rattled in the pocket. It had been over ten years since he had last played Pool and hoped that a little of his talent still remained when it came to be his turn to play. Damian grinned slightly as Si cannoned one of his own balls against the black and managed to dislodge Sam’s spot with it and leave him snookered. Sam seemed to relish the challenge as he stalked around the table looking for a way out of his predicament. To give the half-blind man his due he almost pulled it off but the ‘Fates’ of the Pool Table were not on his side and after a brief wobble when he fairly struck his own the ball the Black dropped into the pocket and he forfeited the game.

“A good effort” said Damian raising his half empty glass to the older man.

“Good but not good enough” he replied and then continued in a whisper that was probably just loud enough for Si to hear, “Yon boy has always been a dirty player” he said with a grin.

One of the young women rose from a table near to where Damian stood beside Sam and walked around the table to deposit her pound coin in the slot on the far side. As she rammed home the plunger that released the balls her eyes rose to meet Damian’s beneath a liberal smattering of Kohl eye shadow matching her black lipstick. Her hair was trimmed close to her scalp save for a long ‘kiss-curl’ hanging down from above her forehead. She wore a small leather jacket atop a t-shirt advertising some ‘dark’ band that Damian had never hear off and a black skirt that only just covered her slim ass as she bent over the table to set up the triangle of balls. The distressed tights and black Doc Martens finished the ensemble and he figured this was the basic uniform of the disaffected youth of the village. Damian figured she was eighteen or nineteen tops.

Sam scratched his mark on the black board behind Damian’s shoulder, “Now young Faith can play every bit as dirty as Si… and he doesn’t like it one bit!”

From Si’s break the game quickly descended into the Pool equivalent of Guerrilla warfare and Damian enjoyed watching it immensely as he saw Si’s anger build with frustration. He also enjoyed backing against the wall when Faith played a shot from his side of the table and seemed to take great pains in lining up her cue bent over in front of him. Damian was hoping for a win from the young woman and his wish was answered when Si’s anger got the better of him and an easily avoidable mistake sent the black rolling into the centre pocket before it’s time.

Si stormed off towards the bar to refill his and Sam’s glasses as Damian racked up. Faith stood silently at the opposite end of the table slowly rolling the cube of chalk around the tip of her cue, her eyes focused on Damian’s and the tip of her tongue poking from between her black painted lips. His cock responded and he grinned as win or lose he suspected he was going to enjoy this game even more than the last one. She downed two balls off the break, one of each but was left out of position and simply nominated Stripes and played a safety shot leaving the Cue ball resting against the bottom cushion. Damian completely mis-cued his first shot and was lucky to get away without committing a foul.

He looked up at Faith and sensed disappointment on her features. She managed to dispatch two more of her balls and unconcernedly left the White in the middle of the table. Damian took a further sip from his pint before surveying the predicament he was in. he potted his first ball and left a second over a pocket leaving the white at the top end of the table close to the cushion. Faith relaxed and pulled of her jacket revealing her small pointed breasts beneath her t-shirt which Damian figured were bra-free. He watched fascinated as she lined up her shot, the side of the cue running almost across her nipple. She failed to pot a ball but left it handy beside the middle pocket.

Over the next dozen shots Damian found his stride and had two balls left on the table to faith’s one. She re-assessed her opponent as once again she found the cue ball tight to the cushion. Leaning, one handed, on the table she looked at him again and then stood straight to slowly and very deliberately chalk the tip of her cue. Her eyes returned to his as she blew the excess dust from the tip.“Playing dirty…”Damian whispered to himself as he lifted his glass to his mouth.He wondered just how dirty the young woman could get.

“And that is the kind of dirty we like” said Sam quietly from his shoulder with a broad grin spread across his mouth. “So what was it you did up in the big city Damian?” he asked louder.

Damian shook himself from the image of Faith on the Pool Table that had risen in his mind. “A complete and utter Merchant Banker” he replied with a smirk, “but I’m all better now!”

Sam laughed loudly and was joined by the young people on the table beside Damian; even Si smiled at Damian’s self-depreciating comment. Faith stroked the end of her cue with three fingers but a broad smile was present on her black painted lips. She completely messed up her next shot and allowed Damian to pull ahead with two easy pots.

Faith seemed to up her game at least as her ‘off-table’ tactics were concerned. When she took a shot in front of Damian her ass was pushed right out just inches from his crotch. He caught her reflection in the old style pub mirror opposite advertising Jack Daniels as her eyes looked up into his and her tongue slid across her lips. A metallic glint issued from her black lips and Damian knew her tongue was pierced and his cock swelled within his jeans at the thought.

Damian had forgotten how much he enjoyed playing Pool especially against talented and attractive female players. The game ended when Faith managed to pot her own ball and leave herself in position for a long shot on the black into the corner pocket. Damian had no qualms about losing in such an enjoyable manner and was about to place his cue back on the rack as she pulled back her own to send the back out of sight. Just before the cue tip struck the white there was a cry from the bar in front of her and a loud ‘whoomph’ as a blue flame shot upwards. The ball was struck and the black rattled in the jaws of the pocket but failed to drop.

A short fat man at the bar apologised to the clientele and Suki as his flaming Sambuca had become an exploding one. Faith’s eyes betrayed lethal intent at the instigator of the disturbance and Damian returned to the table. He pulled of a difficult double-shot which deposited his last ball into the middle pocket and then easily sunk the black. He offered his hand to Faith’s slim one, “A pleasure…”

She smiled back at him, “it was… but I hope you’ll stay on so I can take my revenge?”

“I’ll try my best”

Damian managed to stay on the table till Faith’s return four games later and narrowly lost to her this time although his attempt on the black had been hampered by his hard-on pressing against the table edge.

He had also joined in a round of drinks with Sam and Si and had raised a few laughs with those within earshot about his former colleagues and exactly how much they lived down to the term ‘Merchant Bankers’. It was almost two in the morning when Suki ushered them out of the pub and he had found himself the latest recruit to the Goat’s Head Pool team. He hadn’t gotten to play Faith again but there ‘flirting’ had continued till she left an hour earlier with her friends and a vow to see him on Thursday night for the next Pool Match against the local rivals.


Damian woke up nursing a sore head. He had a vague recollection of walking up the rough lane the night before and incredibly not putting a foot wrong even with all the pot-holes. He grinned despite his throbbing head at the memory and the idea that the old lane had seemed level in his inebriated state. He looked down at his body to see it through his tired eyes still dressed from the night before. Gingerly he swung his legs off the bed and lowered his muddy boots to the floor, pulling off his jacket and shirt he gripped the bed head and slowly stood up. The room swam before him and he closed his eyes till he felt the world had stopped turning. “For fuck’s sake, Malone…” he cursed.

Slowly he made his way to the still open front door and blinked into the harsh light of a new day, the dew that had settled from the night before on the old table was evaporating under the sun’s heat, tiny tendrils of ‘smoke’ rising into the still air. He knew what he had to do and slowly walked across to the water barrel beneath the drain pipe. He remembered ducking his head into it in front of Georgia in a totally ‘macho’ display of bravado. For a moment his hands gripped the edge of the barrel and his arms locked solid trying to prevent him from repeating the action. “Got to be done” he whispered and plunged his head beneath the cold water.

The hangover had been severe and the pain in his head increased rapidly as he stared through the clear water at the dark insides of the old wooden staves. He held his head in the darkness till his lungs were empty and his brain felt as if it was about to explode and only then stood up straight. An arc of droplets flew out behind him as he drank down the fresh air. When he opened his eyes the headache was diminishing and by the time he walked back inside to the kitchen it was gone. “Bacon and eggs, I think…” he said as he lifted down the frying pan.


It had gone midday when he was sweeping up the sawdust from the main room floor within the farmhouse when he heard a vehicle pull into the yard outside. It was too late for the mailman and for a brief moment he hoped it was Georgia but the brief flicker of a red car passing the small window put paid to the notion. He stepped across the threshold as a blonde woman stepped out of the small sports car. She looked across the roof at Damian, a smile forming on her lips before she spoke “You’re a hard man to find, D!”

“Obviously not hard enough, Lilith!” he answered his ex-wife.

She looked about the old farmhouse and the surrounding buildings and countryside, “The fresh air seems to suit you, though the threads aren’t quite as smart.”

Damian looked down at his ripped jeans and dusty T-shirt, “Well the mighty will fall,” he answered as he walked across the yard, “blonde seems to suit you.”

She walked around the car in a matching red dress which seemed loose and tight all at the same time. Damian almost whistled as those long legs he had spent many an hour admiring and caressing came into view. The dress ceased only a couple of inches below her hips and the three inch pumps she was wearing accentuated her calves. A small grin appeared on his mouth as he knew there would be a much more practical pair of shoes in the footwell of the car and she had changed out of them before exiting the car. He wondered was still just habit with her or had she done it for his benefit.

“Got a hug for your old man?”

Lilith looked down at her dress and then at Damian’s dusty attire, “Will a handshake do?”

“I guess” he replied and offered his equally dusty hand to her slim, tanned one. She leant in towards him and kissed him firmly on the lips only breaking the greeting as the tip of her tongue flicked out.Damnhe thought, the girl still could press his buttons.

“You’re looking fine, Lil!”

“Feeling fine too…” she looked him up and down, “I have to say you’re looking pretty good yourself” she squeezed the hand she still held, “though those hands aren’t as soft as I remember them?”

“That’s what an honest days labour will do for you!”

Damian dropped his hand away and led her over to the old wooden table which she looked at with a little distain before sitting down; the hem of the dress fell back as she crossed her tanned legs and Damian’s eyes dropped down before he also sat. He hadn’t been quick enough to see her underwear or even if she was wearing any as the thighs closed together. His cock stiffened beneath his jeans at the remembered taste of her sweet pussy. “So to what do I owe the honour?”

“Do I need a reason?” she asked with a feigned look of innocence and then he saw her eyes soften and a hint of sadness wash across her features.

“Papers?” he said biting the tip of his tongue within his mouth.

She nodded in the vague direction of the sports car, “They can wait, show me what a ‘new’ man does with his life.”

Both of their smiles returned and he looked down at the delicate straps criss-crossing across the top of her tanned foot as she gently waved her foot from side to side, “I think you’d be better in your driving shoes for the tour” he suggested watching her cheeks colour slightly at her remembered vanity.


Over the next hour he gave his almost ex-wife a tour of the farmhouse telling off the things he’d found, repaired and thrown away and what his plans were. She listened slightly taken aback by this ‘new’ Damian, any trace of the ‘old’ Damian seemed to be completely gone. He seemed completely at peace, not the faked ease which he had exhibited back in the City, part of his charm which had belied an almost predatory if not sociopathic nature in his business dealings. Here he dawdled and lingered, she couldn’t tell if he had accomplished a great deal since he had arrived here or not but she could see that he was in no hurry about it. His old self would probably have just knocked down the building and sold it to developers.

She liked this Damian a lot more than the husband she married but knew that she would never have looked at him or taken him seriously. Her eyes traced the sinewy profile of his bicep, the muscle had previously been toned in an expensive private gym with a personal trainer and had probably been a third bigger less than three months ago but she knew the muscle she was looking at would have beaten the old Damian in an arm wrestle without even trying. She gazed past him out through the glassless window to the large hay field beyond and knew that she wouldn’t last two weeks in this idyllic pastoral setting.

They returned to the kitchen and Damian placed a kettle on the camping stove beside the window and lifted down a jar of instant coffee from the shelf above, “Sorry” he offered as he watched her nose turn upwards. He looked at her for a moment before asking “Do you fancy going for a meal, there’s a good restaurant about ten miles from here on the coast, has a real good fish selection?”

“I’d like that… but you might have to tidy yourself up a bit, I still have some standards!”

He grinned, “Give me ten minutes and I’ll see if I can manage a little self improvement.”

Lilith was sipping her coffee which she admitted didn’t taste as bad as she thought it would as Damian came back down the stairs carrying a large towel and a small wash bag. “At the moment washing facilities are out in the barn” he said to her raised eyebrow.

“How quaint!” she replied as he disappeared outside.

She put down her coffee when it was empty and stepped out into the yard. The sun was still high in the sky as she glanced towards the barn and then walked across to the little red sports car. Even before she opened the driver’s door she saw that the manila envelope on the passenger seat was beneath the papers that had been in it. A small tear welled up in her eye as she saw Damian’s scribbled signature on the bottom of the form bringing their marriage to an end. She was glad that he had done it without a word and not in front of her. Although she knew it had to be done she was sure that the tears would have flowed far too easily if she had watched it happen.


The cool water ran down his flesh to drain away in the shingle beneath his feet. When his ex-wife had turned up sporting blonde hair instead of her natural light brown he had for an instant thought of a young Georgia and what she might have looked like. What it would have been like to slowly undress her as she stood before him. In his mind he imagined that she had been a highly sexual creature in her early twenties, teasing all the young studs in and around the village and only allowing the most worthy a taste of her treasures. What had she been like back then?

His thoughts turned to Lilith’s ass wrapped in that snug red dress as she walked up the stairs in the old farmhouse in front of him. He was still unsure if she was wearing a thong or no underwear at all and would have loved to have found out but as he’d signed the divorce papers he had felt suggesting a fuck for old times’ sake was a little much. His cock wasn’t in agreement but then it seldom was and with the ‘cum-fuck-me’ dress that Lilith was wearing whether it was for his benefit or not he couldn’t blame his appendage all that much. He looked down at it as the suds from his hair coursed down his flat stomach to spiral around its girth. It was probably only one or two strokes away from a full hard-on and even as he looked at it he felt it throb and try to lead a rebellion of one against the dictates of his mind. “Traitor” he said to it.

“Talking to your penis now?”


He looked to his right and saw Lilith standing there staring back at him, “I’ll let you into a secret, all us boys always talk to our penii…? Penises?”

She stepped forward, “Penises, I’m sure… and I always suspected it! Not that I’m totally averse to a little… conversation with them myself…if you remember?”

He felt a surge run up along his length as his cock stiffened completely and the glans raised up in ‘salute’ of his ex-wife, “I remember…” his hand dropped to his hard-on and slowly pulled on it as Lilith paused just out of range of the water from the makeshift shower loosened the cinched belt around her waist before reaching up to her shoulders and pushing the straps off letting the dress fall to a heap at her feet. “Damn…” whispered Damian as he took in the familiar curves of her body, the grin on his mouth wanted to split his cheeks as she stood there totally naked except for her practical driving shoes which she stepped out of before advancing the last two steps into his welcoming arm. Goose bumps broke out across her flesh as the cool water cascaded over her breasts, her nipples hardening instantly and her teeth gripping her lower lip.

She slapped his hand away from his erection, “Let me do that, I always was much better at it than you…ohhhh…” she moaned, her eyes closing tightly shut as she felt two of Damian’s displaced fingers slip up into her soaking pussy.

“Something we never ever did argue about!” he agreed. Her hand tightened around his cock as his thumb eased her lips further apart and found the hard little nub of her clit. Her other hand reached to his shoulder and he felt her long nails dig into his flesh as she steadied herself and dragged the head of his cock over her stomach.

She opened her eyes and stared into her ex-husband’s dark brown ones, “For old times’ sake?”

He curled his fingers inside her dragging the tips across the small rough patch within, “You took the words right out of my mouth!”

The two of them kissed passionately beneath the spray from the makeshift shower as their hands caressed and stroked each others’ privates. When their mouths parted Damian said “I’ve been out of practice for a while, you’ll have to be gentle with me!”

“Really?” Lilith replied as she dragged her fingernails down his tanned torso, “I thought you’d have been deflowering all the local virgins, showing them this lovely cock and all the hedonistic pleasures from the City!”

“Well, you have to take in to account a lot of the households and by that I mean ‘Fathers’ round here have firearms…” He felt his fingers slip reluctantly from her pussy, his fingertips dragging up through the closely cropped ‘runway’ above as she bent her knees and her mouth locked on his right nipple biting it hard. He groaned deeply before replying “The last taste of pussy I had, tasted just like this…” he lifted his fingers to his mouth and sucked Lilith’s viscous juices from them before the descending water washed them clean.

He looked down at her and watched as she stretched his nipple away from his chest and let it bounce free from her grinning mouth, “Mmmm… my last taste of cock…” she began as she knelt in front of him and held his manhood just in front of her red painted lips, “would have been less than forty-eight hours ago…”

“Ahhh… fuck…you dirty slut” he moaned as her hand dropped from his cock and her lips parted over the head. Her nails once more dug into his flesh as they gripped his ass and forced his length forwards into her mouth. He threaded his fingers through her blonde hair and drove his cock all the way in, his eyes locked on hers as her cheeks hollowed tightly around him. The cascade of water slowed to a trickle as the tank above them emptied and he withdrew his cock till the very tip remained against her lips. “Such a wanton whore!” he drove his hips forward till he felt the head hit the back of her throat forcing a stifled gag from her.

Again and again he rammed his erection back and forth encouraged by her nails digging deep into his ass cheeks. Looking down at her with her blonde hair plastered to her scalp he imagined Georgia willingly sucking on his cock. The image was more than enough as his balls tightened within his sac and rope after rope of thick cum filled his ex-wife’s throat and mouth till it began to spill out from between her lips and his still thrusting cock.

Lilith pulled her mouth away and slid her hands around in front to massage his cock and balls as she tilted her head backwards and opened her mouth showing him the copious amounts of seed within before swallowing it down. She tenderly licked his length clean, flicking the tip of her tongue along his eye before slipping her mouth below and sucking each of his balls in turn into her hot mouth. When she was satisfied with her work she stood up still holding him, “You certainly seemed to have been…saving yourself, not sure I ever remember you cumming so much before!” Damian softly slipped his tongue in between her parted lips, tasting his own saltiness within before Lilith broke the kiss. “My turn!” she stated and led him forwards to the few hay bales resting against the far wall in the warm sunlight streaming through the open doors of the barn.

She stopped just in front of them before releasing him and bending over resting her hands on the bale in front. She looked over her shoulder, “Eat me!” she demanded.

Damian dropped to his knees feeling a couple of strands of hay stab his flesh as he grasped her ass and pulled her cheeks apart. He listened to her moan softly in anticipation as his thumbs parted her pussy lips revealing the soaking interior. His eyes lingered for a moment on the soft beckoning interior before they rose to study the tight puckered hole above. Lilith’s yelp turned into a deep groan as she felt his tongue push into her ass, “Ohhh…my…” his thumbs pushed into her soaking slit as for the first time her ex rimmed her ass. Country living? She thought to herself as she pushed her ass back willingly.

The sensations filling her ass and pussy quickly overwhelmed her and her arms collapsed beneath her raising her ass higher. Her face and chest were scratched by the hay and after lifting her face clear she began to move her breasts from side to side, her juices flooding from her pussy as her nipples were dragged and scratched by the rough hay. The flesh on Lilith’s breasts stung as she felt Damian’s hands shift and her pussy stretch as he slowly inserted three of his fingers. She could feel his soft warm tongue pressing rhythmically into her ass and the rough knuckles of his fingers slide deeper into her cunt.

“Oh…ohh, god, oh fuck” she whispered and spread her bare feet further apart on the hay strewn floor. Her mind reeled as she heard herself whisper “More…” and then louder so that he could hear, “More… please…”

Damian twisted his hand back and forth and slipped his little finger in alongside as he pressed his tongue as deep as Lilith’s previously untouched anus would allow. He reached below her with his left hand and quickly located her hard little nub and squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger. She screamed as he felt her body buck, her back arching up and her ass pushing back hard onto his fingers taking them inside her pulsing cunt completely. He never gone further than teasing a woman’s ass before with a finger and now he was trying to push his tongue all the way inside. His cock was rock hard between his legs, only a momentary softening had occurred after he had shot his load into his ex-wife’s mouth and it had hardened instantly the instant the tip of his tongue had touched her tight rear hole.

His world had shrunk and all there seemed to be was Lilith’s ass and pussy and his cock that knew where it wanted to be next. The next moment she was screaming loudly, he had seemingly lost some time as he pulled his tongue out of her ass and stared at his fist driving in and out of her convulsing pussy, her juices visibly running down her legs. Her shouts echoed out through the open barn doors, filled with pain and pleasure, vague words were discernible, all of them pleading for more.

His point of view seemed to simultaneously rise and fall, he watched from above as he saw himself wrap an arm about her hips and lift her onto the bail as his fist still pounded her cunt. Tears were running down her cheeks as he rolled her onto her side, his hand slipping up her leg and holding it straight up exposing her completely. She twisted her head and her long blonde hair fell away exposing her face. Her mascara was streaked, lines running down her cheeks and fresh ones beginning to run across her nose and down to her left temple. Still her hips thrust against his pumping hand, spasms of pain and pleasure fighting for superiority across her lips. She cried out “NO!” in alarm as his dripping fist pulled from her gaping slit.

A slap echoed of the walls as he watched himself raise the juice-coated hand and bring it down viciously across her ass. “Yessss” she groaned as his wet fingers smeared her juice in and around her asshole. “Fill me you fucking bastard!” she demanded. Her flushed chest rose and fell rapidly, her fingers now gripping her breasts, her fingernails dug deep into the soft flesh.

In his mind, no longer apparently located within his head he gasped as his fist almost punched his ex’s cunt, disappearing almost instantly into the yielding folds. Droplets of pussy juice flew from the impact as he shifted his hips forward, his cock larger than he had ever seen it, sticking out ramrod straight and in no need of guidance, centred between her flushed and scratched ass cheeks.

His ethereal being slammed back into his physical form the instant the head of his cock touched Lilith’s virgin ass. “Now you bastard cunt, fuck me like a whore!” she demanded.

His eyes locked on her face as his cock slammed into her ass, the pressure of that hole’s resistance seemed incredible and yet with his first stroke he filled her completely feeling his fist twisting inside her through the thin membrane between them. He saw Georgia’s face looking up at him from the bale and yet it was Lilith’s voice screaming and howling like an animal.


The sun was nearing the horizon as they stepped out of the barn. Neither said anything to each other as he walked her to her car. The past two hours were already hazy and distant in both of their heads although their bodies bore a myriad of signs from their total surrender to carnality.

Their farewells were whispered and their eyes never looked fully into the others’, Damian finally kissed Lilith on the cheek as if she were a maiden aunt before she climbed into the sports car and pulled around him before driving away into the twilight.


Lilith shifted in her seat, the bonnet of the car rising up as she pressed the accelerator a little harder taking the speed up over ninety. She could feel the mixture of juices seeping from her pussy and she suspected a trace of Damian’s seed might be oozing from her ass. The seat belt pulled tight across the sensitive flesh of her breasts, the scratches all at once painful and pleasurable as she lifted her foot up and the speed dropped back down beneath eighty. She looked down briefly at her nipples, still rock hard obvious through her dress; the smile that had been on her lips from the moment she pulled away from the old farmhouse was still there, the embarrassment the two of them had felt directly afterwards evaporating as soon as she was alone behind the steering wheel.

She still couldn’t believe what they had done. She had gone there with the full intent off having one last fuck, it was definitely a part of their marriage that had never been an issue and was probably the reason they had stayed together so long. She shook her head and wondered why neither of them had stayed faithful. She was sure that Damian’s extra-marital affairs (which she was pretty sure he didn’t know she knew about) had just been about sex just like her own wanderings which she was positive he didn’t know about.

“Fisted and fucked in the ass?” she said to her reflection in the mirror. Her pussy throbbed once again as raindrops began to fall and she flicked on the windscreen wiper dropping her speed once again to below seventy. She was glad there wasn’t much traffic on the road as she found herself squirming in her seat every couple of miles. She was also glad that her current boyfriend was out of the country for the following week so there was a chance the abuse she had happily allowed her body to suffer might have healed by the time he got back. She imagined his cock, an inch shorter than Damian’s but a little thicker and wondered if he liked anal. Again she shook her head as she thought that less than four hours ago it was something she had never considered or wanted.

She looked about the motorway for any sign of the law and then pulled her I-phone from the dock on the dashboard. ‘I think you may have missed a signature? Might have to go over it again!!! X she pressed ‘Send’ and the message disappeared into the ether on its way to Damian. She grinned broadly.

Her left foot ached and she realised she was wearing her heels, her sensible driving shoes nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t remember why she had changed back into this pair and she couldn’t imagine she had walked across the graveled farmyard in her bare feet leaving the other shoes behind at the scene of their debauchery. The rain was also annoying her, not light enough for the lowest setting for the windscreen wipers and too heavy for the next one up so on every back swing there was an annoying squeak. She squirmed once again and watched as her left hand released the steering wheel and reached for her breast. She squeezed the hard nipple between her thumb and forefinger, closing her eyes and groaning loudly above the sound of the engine. Her mind was between her legs as she felt a fresh flow of her own juices rush out to soak her dress and the seat beneath even more. She sensed a shadow pass over her and opened her eyes.

A large petrol tanker was overtaking her, the spray from the wheels momentarily blanking out her view through the windscreen. She felt her hands and feet go cold while her pussy burned and an unwanted and sudden orgasm pulsed outwards through her body. The wiper flicked back and the side of the tanker loomed above her seeming to fill the windscreen. She screamed.


To be continued….


As Mr Rolf Harris (renowned Australian Didgeridoo player and painter) is apt to say, “Do you know what it is yet???” Even at this moment it’s not quite finished but it’s close, might have it up for you by Monday so hope to see you then.


~ by ftfagos on April 19, 2012.

3 Responses to “The Pastor’s Wife”

  1. My apologies to the couple of people who have already been on. I’ve no idea what the problem with my f@*^ing font colour was!!!!


  2. Great sexy story, as many of yours are.
    I’m glad I’m not one of your characters; there does seem to be a high mortality rate!
    I look forward to more of this one.

  3. High mortality rate…? Well,maybe occasionally.

    But thinking about in ‘Welcome to the End of the World’ most survived!!! Anyway…. there’s still part 2!!!

    Thanks for the comment Nick


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