Grace Wilkinson - The minister_s family

Reverend Corman was exhausted; it had been a very wearing day. He could still hear his wife moving around in the kitchen. Then she walked into the bedroom and snapped the light on and unzipped her housedress and let it fall to her ankles, bending to pick up the modest garment at her feet, and he saw the thin nylon strip of her panties tighten snugly between her firm full thighs, slipping tauntingly into the crease between her buttocks, catching there as she straightened up. The tall beauty walked across the room towards the closet, the dress folded over her arm, her smoothly rounded asscheeks quivering voluptuously.

Reverend Corman gaped at her, his mouth open. He'd never seen his wife like this. She was a modest prudish woman, embarrassed to undress in front of him even after fourteen years of marriage. And now she turned around, as quietly as before, slipping the straps of her brassiere down off her shoulders, unhooking the clasps at the back, sliding it off, so that her full, resilient breasts fell free. Just as nonchalantly, as gracefully as much at ease, she slipped her panties down over her firm quivering thighs. She stood before him for a moment, and he thought he had never seen anything quite so beautiful. The sight of her magnificent breasts, the breath-taking contours of her body, even the little triangle of golden hair at the base of her smooth white belly sent little shivers of joy through him, set his loins on fire.

Julie stood with her long legs spread apart, her head and shoulders pulled back, her hands knuckled provocatively on her proud, flaring hips. She was smiling at him with her mouth parted, her teeth slightly bared, the tip of her quivering pink tongue showing. The wet, petal-like, hair-lined lips of her cunt were presented to his eyes like a pagan virgin on a sacrificial altar, waiting for a huge, plunging weapon to stab into her.

The golden triangular bush of her sparse pubic triangle glistened lewdly in the artificial light of the bedroom. Her high, perfectly rounded breasts, startling alabaster white against the deep tan of her other parts, jutted out like two ruby-crested, snow-capped mountain peaks, waiting to be climbed. Her legs, so slender, so satiny smooth-looking at their inner thighs, were moist with the warm flowing juices of her passion-flowered cuntal mouth.

"Bradley?" she asked, "Do you like what you see?"

"Julie" her name choked past the minister's swollen throat, but that was all. He couldn't say anything else. He could only stare at her loveliness, at her completely lewd, wanton pose and his maddeningly hammering cock began to assert its mastery over the mind and take control of his body.

Slowly, slowly, his voluptuously naked blonde wife lifted her hands, her eyes fastened on his, and began to slide her palms up and down, up and down, along her silky sides from the outer swells of her ripely straining breasts to her flanks. Brazenly, she cupped the firm white mounds of her breasts, kneading them lightly, pushing them out toward him as if presenting him with two forbidden but delicious gifts of flesh.

Then, her hands were stroking her taut little belly, moving down ever so slowly until the tips of her fingernails were just touching the fleece of her inviting pubic triangle. She held that pose for a long moment, thumbs pressing against her slender, sculptured sides, fingers splayed obscenely across her naked belly.

The young minister stood as if transfixed, unable to move, unable to speak, captured totally and completely by the strange, fascinating allure of this wildly seductive woman who was his wife. His frantically jerking penis seemed to be screaming with his ever-increasing arousal.

Slowly, Julie's hands began to move again, the fingertips dipping lower through her softly curling pubic hair, blazing a path toward the narrow pink slit up between her outspread legs. When she reached it, she placed the thumb and forefinger of her left hand on either side of the wetly glistening pussy lips and spread them slowly apart, revealing the trembling red bud of her erect little clitoris to Brad's lust-ridden gaze.

With her outstretched right forefinger, then, she traced down, down, until the tip came in contact with the miniature phallus. She began to stroke it, titillating it back and forth, round and round, sending more rivulets of her lubrication trailing down her inner thighs. And while she stroked her clitoris, rubbing her finger in a maddening cadence along the gaping crevice of her wet, visibly throbbing cunt, she began to talk to him in a droning hypnotic voice.

"I want to fuck, lover. I want to fuck you like we've never fucked before. I want to put my finger in your asshole while you're fucking me, and I want you to do the same for me. And afterward, I want to suck your big, throbbing cock, suck it until I milk you dry, and then I'll lick your asshole, I'll put my tongue in it until I make you hard again. I want you to eat my cunt, I want your tongue where my finger is now, licking and biting and kissing my clit"

On and on she intoned, and the words the absolute perverted obscenity of what he was hearing lashed Brad's mind into a swirling frenzy of wild, implacable lust.

He watched her finger cease its rhythmic motion on her clitoris as he approached, and her smile turn to one of triumph as she claimed her victory beyond any doubt. His hand went out to her, touched her warmly rounded shoulders but then she was moving back away from him, saying softly. "Not here, Brad. On the altar let's go down to the chapel"

Suddenly, Reverend Corman was shaken rudely awake. "Brad for heaven sakes, you were yelling your head off! Were you having a nightmare?"

"Huh? What?" He sat up in bed wiping his sweat-soaked forehead with the arm of his pajamas. Julie was standing over him looking concerned and he realized he had been having an erotic dream. The woman standing over him was the same woman in the dream but her actions had strictly been the stuff that dreams are made of. His wife, Julie would never have behaved as she had in the dream. Not in ten million years!

It was odd, the young minister mused, his wife was a beautiful sensuous woman but she considered sex lewd Oh, she let him take her all right that was her God-assigned wifely duty. She always did her duty like the well-brought up, wife of a minister should yes, she did she most certainly did. But somehow, she never seemed to let Brad forget that that was just what she was doing her duty. There wasn't much joy in it for either of them and although Bradley was an ordained minister and he thought that chiefly it was a reproductive function, he secretly dreamed of lewd orgies and other depraved activities.

"Okay, Julie, I'm getting up to have a drink. Whew, what a dream. Last time I'm going to bed at eight o'clock."

Reverend Corman gravely listened to the charges that the man made. It was hard to know what to believe, receiving this kind of anonymous information over the telephone. But there it was a disjointed male voice at the other end of the wire telling him the most incredible things and demanding that he as God's representative do something about it. Bradley Corman couldn't imagine himself checking out the facts. They were just too bizarre. How could all these atrocious things be happening on the campus of a private girls' school? He thanked the man on the phone for calling the matter to his attention and then hung up, deeply disturbed.

Reverend Corman had only been at Craven Girls' College for about a month. It was essentially his first job as a school chaplain and he enjoyed working with the young girls. The girls ranged in age from ten to fifteen and his own thirteen year old daughter, Janice, was among the students.

The president of the college was a weird old duck named William Lowell and along with the rest of the directors of the small school kept pretty much to himself. Things were very quiet at Craven. That's what made the anonymous caller's charges all the more outrageous, for if what he said was true, the quiet belied a rotten core and a perverted undercurrent. Why, how could it be so? Dean Lowell was a pillar of the community. He was not only connected with Craven but also sat on the Board of Education and held various other honorary titles from the Chamber of Commerce and other business clubs. The school enjoyed a good reputation and many a graduate at Smith and Radcliffe had come from Craven.