Epilogue
Rune
Five Years Later
I sit in the last pew of the church, a worn leather Bible in my hand. I’m supposed to be mentally preparing for the sermon I’ll deliver this afternoon, but I can’t help but look at what I’ve built and marvel. I couldn’t have built a church from the ground up and assembled a congregation without my wife at my side.
Thankfully, I’ll never have to know what it’s like to be without her.
We’re never apart and we’ll never be apart.
The spine of the Bible creaks in my hand and I slowly release my grip, breathing deeply and reminding myself Farrah is only in the supply room arranging fresh flowers for the service. Only fifty yards away. Still, it’s not good enough.
“Farrah,” I shout, my voice echoing through the still, empty church. “I need you where I can see you, please.”
A beat later, I hear the sound a door swinging in the right wing of the church and Farrah walks out into the open, holding a golden vase of flowers…and I’m transported back to our wedding day. We spent that night at an inn just outside of town, her aunt in the room next door. God help me, I don’t think I let Farrah close her legs for ten hours, taking her mercilessly until sunup—and it would be far from the last time I did that. Now that I’ve freed myself of the notion that sex will turn me into a dishonest degenerate, I am insatiable. That hunger is only aroused by one woman, though.
I don’t see anyone but her.
My beloved. My mischievous redhead. My Farrah.
I watch her walk to the altar of the church and place the vase of spring blooms down in front of the pulpit, bending forward as she does so, the blue material of her dress stretching over that tempting ass. I must lean back in the pew and flex my thighs open to accommodate the gathering girth between them, the rush of blistering lust that punches me in the stomach, elongating my cock. The fact that I tried, even for a short while, to hold onto my celibacy once I’d met Farrah is laughable. I never stood a chance in hell once she started licking that chocolate in the field, her knees opening to show her Daddy what he’d spend the rest of his life obsessing over.
Farrah walks up the aisle toward me, a draft fluttering the hem of her dress, teasing the long, loose strands of her hair. The dress is nearly indecent. Not fitting for the preacher’s wife whatsoever, but this is who we are. We are dark and light, Farrah and me. We launched this congregation to spread goodness together and that’s what we do. We help those less fortunate. We organize charity in the town I once served as a priest, her aunt feeling well enough now to head two committees.
But behind closed doors, my wife and I are anything but holy.
Farrah makes slow progress in my direction, tossing her hair back as she approaches, running fingertips down the front of her throat. Lower. Drawing my attention to her sweet, supple tits where they’re plumped together in her neckline.
I hear myself swallow. Sweat dapples the trail of hair beneath my navel. Not for the first time, I field the impulse to recite a Hail Mary, but I remind myself I’m no longer a priest, but a preacher. A preacher who is allowed a wife, thank Christ. A preacher whose dick is swelling so rapidly, he has no choice but to unfasten his pants and lower the zipper, shuddering when his need is out in the open, rigid in his lap, stiffening further with every step Farrah takes closer to him.
Sunlight beams in through the south window behind her, while the other side of the church is buried in shadows. Light and dark. We are definitely that. Our lives are full of light. Good. Service to the community. But in our private time, we live to indulge our fantasies. You might say we’re religious about it.
“Hi there, preacher,” she drawls, reaching the end of my pew, trailing her finger along the wooden back of the bench as she saunters toward me. “I don’t mean to interrupt your quiet time, but I wondered…” She stops right in front of me, bracing her hands on the pew behind her, arching her back to show off the titties she can barely keep from popping out of her dress. “…if there’s anything you might need before this morning’s service?”
As if she can’t see my cock pulsing eagerly against my thigh.
As if we didn’t arrange for her aunt to babysit our sons for an hour, so I could burn off some of my incessant and obsessive hunger for this woman.
“There’s nothing I need,” I say, but there’s a very clear burr of tumultuous need in my voice. “Why don’t you go outside and wait with the rest of the congregation for the service to start?” I rasp, starting to breath hard.
She bites her smiling lip and pushes off the pew, bringing that incredible body closer, the fingers of her right hand slowly sinking into my hair, dragging her nails over my scalp. “We both know I’m not like the rest of your flock, preacher. Don’t we?”
The pulse in my neck is hammering. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” she leans down and whispers against my mouth, licking my upper lip in such a seductive way, my balls turn to stone. “I’m the only member of the church you can’t seem to stop fucking.”
“We have to stop,” I say raggedly, because oh lord, she’s walking her fingers down my chest, my belly, and wrapping my cock in her fist, jacking me off in a firm, perfect way that contracts every muscle below my neck. “I’m supposed to be setting an example for worshipers.”
“But you worship me so well,” she purrs, setting one knee beside my hip, followed by the other, until she’s straddling me in a kneel, still beating me off in her fist while our mouths venture closer, closer. “You might preach about salvation to them, but…you show it to me, don’t you? And I show it to you right back.”
It’s taking every iota of my willpower not to pin her down and stuff my cock up that tight slit between her legs, but damn…she loves this. Loves playing the bad girl who seduces the holy man. And it’s not really an act at all, is it? She’s so much more than a seductress, but when we’re playing like this, that’s all she wants to be. My bad little whore. If I wasn’t assured beyond measure that she knows the opposite to be true, I would have a hard time engaging in these fantasies, but my wife knows she’s my treasure. Knows I would burn the world down for her. So I absorb the pleasure in her eyes when I snag her wrist, ceasing her torturous up and down strokes of my cock.
“You force me into sin with your harlot’s body,” I manage on a hot shudder, perusing the body in question. “You give me no choice but to partake.”
“You do have a choice,” she murmurs, pulling her wrist from my grip and slowly slipping free the buttons of her dress, tugging wide the neckline to show me her young, aroused tits. “And you always choose to bed me like an animal.”
“Don’t say these things,” I choke out. “We can’t do this.”
“But I need it so bad,” she pouts. “You make sure every member of your flock gets what they need, preacher.” She rakes her indignant, open mouth up the side of my face, whispering, “And I need my Daddy.”
“Stop,” I rasp, but my hands are sliding up beneath her dress, up the outsides of her smooth thighs, finding her without panties and groaning up at the rafters, my palms fastening to her ass and jerking her down onto my lap, our mouths locking and moving in wet slants, her thighs opening so blessedly wide, I feel the downward pressure of her pussy where God intended, her hips moving in tight, little humps. “Stop,” I say again, even as I’m molding her sexy bottom in desperate hands. “No.”
“Just the tip?” She whines the question, nips at my bottom lip. “The tip is my favorite part. It’s how you put your pleasure in me.”
“No,” I pant, but hell if I’m not angling my hips, holding the base of my cock for her to sit on top, watching an exhilarated flush spread on her face when she wiggles her hips to work my thick head inside her narrow opening, an excited gasp falling from her mouth, her tits heaving up and down, eyes momentarily losing focus. “No more than that,” I grit out, slapping her ass hard with my free hand. “I’m warning you.”
“But Daddy, I want to sit on the whole thing. Please. ”
“ No .”
Yes. God yes.
“Just a little more,” she cajoles, sliding her knees open wider on the pew. “Nothing makes me feel closer to the lord than your great flood. Give it to me.”
“Oh God ,” I moan when she scoops her hips and squeezes me in to the hilt, leaving me in danger of spilling prematurely. “ Don’t move! ”
Too late. She’s riding me like she wants to make me blow, bucking and bouncing in turn, her sweet ass slapping off my upper thighs, her mewling sounds going to my head like the finest wine. I can’t even allow myself to look at her jiggling tits or I’ll probably launch her ten yards from the force of my climax. All I can do is clutch her spread ass cheeks in my hands, drop my head back and feel the push and pull of her cunt, the wet suck and slide of it on my sensitive shaft, my balls preparing to give up the fight. Of course they are. She’s not merely a woman, she’s an experience. A daily resurrection.
The love of a lifetime.
As deeply and profoundly as I love my wife, I know what she likes to hear. What’s going to make her come the fastest and with the most intensity.
“Ride it faster for Daddy,” I say through clenched teeth. “My tight little whore knows just how I like it, doesn’t she?”
A loud sob breaks from her lips.
Her pussy seizes up around me and begins to spasm, but I bring my hand down on her ass nonetheless, the successive slaps resounding through the empty church, her wetness seeping and gathering around the throbbing width of my cock, her body tensing on my lap and shaking violently. But her eyes, they’re locked on me, trusting and brimming with bliss, and that total trust along with the rhythmic squeezes of her sex bring me off with a roar, my hips jerking off the pew to combat the intensity, my frenzied upward pumps verging on beastly, my spurts releasing in heavy loads deep in her recesses, one after another, hollowing out my stomach and piercing my vision with light.
“Oh God, oh God, thank you for making her so sweet and tight,” I grind out, unable to stop coming, and she loves that, too, her hips ticking up and back, her fingers playing with her rosy nipples, encouraging me to unload more than ever, right there in the back of the church. And when I’m finally, finally emptied of tension, I pull my beloved wife down to me, kissing and stroking her the way she needs after sex. The care I love giving to her. Crave giving her. I take her mouth in a slow, thorough kiss, looking her in her eyes while stroking her wild, red hair back from her flushed face. “Sometimes, when I’m preaching at the pulpit and I see a skeptic in the crowd, I want to tell them, if you question the existence of God, look no further than my wife. She’s proof enough.”
Her face softens even more. “I would say the same about my husband.” She kisses my chin. “Who I love more than anything.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart.” I wrap my arms around her. “You didn’t just steal chocolate in the market that day. You stole my heart and soul.”
She presses our foreheads together, our bodies beginning to heat again, her thighs restless on the pew. “And I’m keeping it,” she whispers. “Forever.”
I lick a pathway up the front of her throat. “Halleluiah.”
THE END