Savage Urges

by Poppy Deveaux

  He slipped me out of my bra just as easily, and sucked on my tits in a wild frenzy of passion, rolling his tongue around my nipples and sinking his teeth into me, so that electric shocks of sensations were sent rippling through my body, and I had to struggle as hard as I could to avoid screaming out at the very tip top of my lungs. We were in church, after all...

  But God, I hadn't been loved like this for a long, long time...

  Soon, he stepped back, and I gazed in sheer awe as he peeled out of his tightly stretched dress shirt, unveiling to me the body I had long before fantasized about, but had never before witnessed first hand. He did indeed have quite the series of additional tattoos buried under there, rippling across the rugged hills and crevices of his muscles, looping around his broad pecks, dribbling across his six pack, and finally sweeping down beneath the intensely cut V-lines of his Adonis muscles, both the tattoo and the lines themselves indicating the direction of his thick, bulging prize beneath the belt...

  I'd just gotten a good eyeful of him when suddenly his hands were on me, lifting me up into the air, my feet flailing out of instinct as he brought me up onto the sink, setting me down on the counter with my ass jutting out toward him. My heart beat in my chest as I tried to steady myself, and I attempted to disregard the Noah's ark soap dispenser a few mere inches away from my nose as I waited for whatever the hell was happening. Anything remotely religious right now might be just enough to turn me away from the path of my sin, and that was the last thing in the world I wanted right now.

  Another shock to my system, then, as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of my lacy black panties, his fingernails digging lightly into my flesh, and then he pulled the things slowly down, down, down along my ass, unveiling my supple black buttocks, and then tossing the shed underwear onto the nearby towel rack upon which my discarded bra was presently hanging as well.

  He pushed on the cheeks of my ass with the palms of his hands, kneading me up like dough in quite the reverent display of butt worship, and then causing me to yelp in spite of myself as he slapped the palm of his hand loudly against each side of my rump in quick succession.

  I wondered, vaguely, if that was his version of turning the other cheek, but again, tried not to think about anything to do with Jesus or morality or any of that.

  Now that he had me all tenderized, he slowly brought his face into me, spreading my legs wide apart, and pushing his tongue up inside me. I gasped, then bit my lower lip to try and contain myself, as he began the process of eating me out, slurping through the folds of my pussy with a level of expertise that I might never have expected of the kid, though by this point I had to admit that I might have been foolishly underestimating him all this time.

  He ate me relentlessly, beginning to work his face up into me at a steady, rhythmic pace, bobbing and sucking, tasting me as though he genuinely savored the flavor of my sweet, tangy cunt, and working a considerable degree of fingering in there as well, with a particularly generous amount of service paid to my burning, throbbing clitoris, which he seemed to know how to play like a goddamn fiddle. I couldn't even remember the last time my husband had gone down on me, and even when he had it had been nowhere near as cripplingly beautiful as what this young stud was doing to my body.

  I was therefore in no way prepared for the boom of orgasm that came rippling through my system, making the suppression of my screams any longer impossible, as my spine arched, my limbs twitched, and I found myself pressing the front of my body up against the cool surface of the mirror, as though it might somehow keep me from dangerously overheating.

  And at last, the waves of pleasure subsided, and I was left panting, wheezing, trying to keep my eyes open as my heart throbbed in my ears, and I listened to the sound of him unbuttoning and unzipping his dress pants.

  It was time for him to finish the job...

  I felt the immense blade of his shaft come pressing against my back as he climbed up there onto the sink with me, our combined weight so great that I felt certain that he would break the damn thing off once he started. And yet, somehow, call it a Christmas miracle if you will, it remained intact, and I savored the crushing force of his body down onto me, this wholly capable teen showing none of the excess caution or restraint that Bryan had done during our first time together.

  He seized hold of his long, hot penis, and began to push it inside me, startling me with its size, as he crept along deep into my body, and left me shaking all over as I struggled to contain him.

  At last, he touched down inside me, and I waited, holding my breath, ready but terrified for whatever the hell was about to happen, and the feelings of guilt and fear and lust and want all mingling together into something that was wholly indescribable in my mind.

  And then, he began to to thrust, to fuck, smashing his pelvis into me, drilling so far up into my pussy that I thought I would collapse, and ravishing my body so thoroughly that I didn't know how the hell I would make it all the way through this most splendid of rides intact. I stared at the reflection of him pounding my lights out in the mirror, my tits swinging wildly and my head bouncing as he came down repeatedly like a damn hammer, and the sound of our wet, smacking genitals echoed wildly in my ears.

  I closed my eyes, then, and simply allowed the sensations to take me over entirely, shooting through my body like a damn drug as he plowed me, doing perverse and wonderful things to my system as the moments rolled along, and the friction getting hotter and hotter and hotter, until neither of us could stand it anymore.

  He came into my pussy, ejaculating his fresh, sticky seed all over my inner folds and coating me with his essence, pulse after pulse of the stuff filling me up until it dripped into the sink, and in turn, I was blasted through the ceiling with an additional orgasm of my own, jingle bells rattling away in my brain as at last he pulled out of me, and the two of us stood gasping, wheezing, neither of us fully comprehending that what had just taken place could possibly have been a reality.

  Somehow, the two of us made it out of there before the closing song of the service had been sung, both of us fully dressed, and no one else around for as far as the eye could see. Silently, Zach returned to the auditorium, where he'd been sitting with his family and would have lunch with them afterward. I, meanwhile, made a swift retreat to the side door exit, needing to be alone for a good, long while, struggling like hell to decide whether I should feel wonderful and invigorated or as though I'd just gotten done making the biggest damn mistake of my life.

  Chapter 4

  Cheating on your husband, by having sex with a man who's ten years younger than you, in a church bathroom, during services, a few mere weeks before the Lord Jesus' birthday...

  I didn't even want to imagine how many goddamn sins that would count as on Judgement Day, and it would have been bad enough if it had all begun and ended at that one chance encounter.

  But it didn't... Not by a long shot...

  After finally unleashing ourselves on one another after so much unspoken sexual tension having built up between the two of us, we weren't about to let it stop at just that one quick and desperate fuck. That had just been a mere appetizer. Now, in the spirit of the holidays, no less, we were left wanting more than ever before, and there was no reason at all for us to deny one another that which we deeply, truly craved.

  I took some vacation time off from work, under the excuse that I needed to do some Christmas shopping, and over the next couple of weeks I found myself making repeat trip after repeat trip to Zach's college dorm room, for the two of us to engage in sweet, sticky bouts of afternoon coitus with one another.

  I had to admit, I felt incredibly self-conscious about being on a college campus again, some seven or eight years after having graduated, certain that I would stick out like a sore thumb among the students there. Yet, astonishingly, I seemed to blend in perfectly with the other students there, and I found it unspeakably gratifying that many of the other young studs across campus were giving me the lustful eye just as if I was one of thei
r own.

  And then, of course, there was the sex with what was apparently my new boyfriend... God, it was amazing. It just kept getting better and better every damn time, each of us pushing one another far past our limits, and leaving ourselves so worn out and exhausted by the time it was all over that I feared I might fall asleep on the drive back home.

  And almost as much as the sex itself, I loved being wrapped up in his arms in the afterglow, kissing him on the mouth, tracing out the ink of his tattoos with my finger, and the two of us just sitting there, talking for some time, until at last I would decide I needed to leave before Bryan came back home again, and the two of us would slip into bathroom and shower together- and, more often than not, I would end up letting him fuck me again while we were in there. I just couldn't get enough of the beautiful bastard...

  And to my surprise, it turned out that the two of us had a hell of a lot to talk about, as well. For one thing, because our first rendezvous had been almost entirely wordless and devoid of verbal explanation, it seemed necessary that the two of us discuss exactly what had been forming between us, and where exactly it should go from here.

  For starters, I had to find out more about the mystery girl he'd been with during the lighting of the Christmas tree down at the town square. I asked him about it, trying to hide my jealousy (jealousy which I had no right whatsoever to, mind you, given that I was the one in a married relationship including him on the side) and he smiled at me, saying casually that he'd seen me run off that night after seeing him, and that that had been part of the reason he'd finally made his move that following Sunday so as to avoid any lack of complete clarity as to his interest in me.

  That had been an ex of his, he informed me, with whom he still remained close friends, and who was now dating another close male friend of his. He'd been helping her shop for a Christmas present for his buddy that night when they'd noticed the lighting taking place nearby, and had come over for a look.

  That explained that, I thought, and I felt like kind of an idiot for having overreacted to the extent that I did.

  He then went on to explain that he'd had sort of a crush on me ever since I started attending at his congregation, but that he hadn't really meant to begin flirting with me by looking back all the time until he'd suddenly caught himself doing it. And then, the sheer excitement of it, and his arousal at catching me look away in panic all the time, had gotten him into the habit, and he found himself wanting me more and more all the time, until finally I was all he could ever think about through the week, and he'd started actually wanting to come to church on Sundays, instead of simply being dragged there by his family under penalty of scolding.

  I laughed at this, and began to kiss him as I'd done so many times lately, letting my body dissolve into him, and my Christmas season beginning to turn into one of the merriest of my life as the snow fell steadily outside the window.

  The most wonderful time of the year...

  Thankfully, the subject of Bryan and my marriage tended never to come up, really, but for the most part sort of just hung in the air over what we were doing like mistletoe, unspoken and unnecessary to address. That is, at least, until one day, we'd been talking about something entirely unrelated to the fact that I was cheating on my husband with this kid, something about my plans for Christmas or something along those lines, and I just happened to mention Bryan's name in passing. A sort of stunned silence sort of hung in the air almost immediately after, as though a gunshot had rung out on the speaking of my husband's name, and neither of us knew exactly where to go from there.

  Finally, Zach had spoken up uncertainly, not really wanting to pose the question, but knowing it would eat him up inside if he avoided it now that it was out in the open and needed to be addressed.

  “Do... Do you ever feel guilty? About... About this? About me?”

  “I-” I began, but then paused, mulling it over. This was, in point of fact, a difficult question.

  The answer was both yes and no... I didn't go about my days feeling guilty about having the time of my life, no. I mean, I did feel a pang of guilt or two if I thought about it harder than I meant to, and occasionally while sitting in church and staring at the back of Zach's head, but generally speaking, these trysts over at Zach's dorm tended to be the highlights of my week.

  And, what was more, my relationship with Bryan had even improved since I'd started having sex with another man. I know that might sound effed up, but the fact was that my husband was no longer meeting my needs sexually, and I was managing to place a distinction between that particular side of my life and the titillation I'd been craving in the bedroom. I still loved Bryan, and in fact I loved him very, very much. And, now that I was having my vagina serviced routinely to the extent that it needed to be, I no longer begrudged my husband's distraction and apparent lack of interest in sex, so that my love for the man himself began to feel stronger than ever. The two of us had really built quite an impressive life together, and now I could appreciate it more clearly than ever, or at least that was how I rationalized and justified my actions to myself.

  Hell, for that matter, Bryan had even commented on how cheerful I'd been lately, more than I'd ever really been around the holidays, baking Christmas cookies and decorating the tree with him, even singing along with him whenever he would play his Christmas music non-stop in the car on drives together. As far as I was concerned, a holiday affair had been precisely what our marriage had needed, and as long as I didn't need to reveal the secret source of my unexplained Christmas joy, it seemed to me as though it was just fine and dandy to keep it going on indefinitely.

  “No,” I finally answered Zach, smiling at him, “Not at all,” and I leaned in to kiss him.

  But I know he caught me hesitating with my response, and had seen that I'd needed a moment to think about it before answering. And I knew, even in that moment, that that would likely spell trouble for whatever the hell this was moving forward.

  Still, though, we tried to pretend as though it was nothing. I got up from the bed, and brought him into the shower with me, where he loved me one last time.

  But then-

  He stopped returning my texts...

  For about a week, I didn't hear a single word from Zach, and was astonished to note that he hadn't shown up for church for our pre-Christmas service that Sunday. I contemplated stopping by his dorm unannounced to check in on him, but I knew full and well what this was.

  I'd blown it, big time, without even meaning to.

  The fun was over. It was back to reality.

  And back to goddamn Christmas...

  The change in my mood following the demise of my affair with Zach was, I think, abundantly clear. Bryan never really said it out loud, but I could tell he noticed that something had changed in me, and all I could do was try my damnedest at hiding what was really going on under the surface. It was the holiday season, after all, and with family and friends all swarming in around me, I needed to at least pretend that things were normal, that all was perfectly fine, and to smooth over as best I could the emotional damage my infidelity had wrought.

  And, strangely, I began to pick up on a notion in the back of my mind that the change taking place hadn't simply been limited to me. Something, although I couldn't quite name it, had changed in my husband as well. Something in the way he looked at me, or... Well, I really didn't know. Maybe it was just the guilt aspect of things finally kicking in that got my skin crawling every now and then, and it was just causing me to see things accordingly.

  He had no evidence against me, though, I felt certain, and I hadn't gotten pregnant or anything like that. So I couldn't imagine that somehow he knew the truth. I was just going to have to live with this, I decided. Eventually, it would all just fade off into a memory and little more, and I would just have to get used to my life being devoid of excitement and confined primarily to dullness and humdrum.

  And then Christmas Eve had come along...

  Admittedly, I'd finally started allowing m
yself to have a little bit of fun that night, as Bryan had taken me to a Christmas party with a few of our close friends, and there had been some rather potent alcoholic egg nog there to get us both loosened up and laughing our asses off.

  There had been a sort of Secret Santa gift exchange, too, and I'd come out of it with a Starbucks gift card, while he'd been stuck with nothing but a silly looking pair of reindeer slippers, which I teased him about all the way home.

  My life wasn't so bad, I thought, in my inebriated state of zealousness. Times like these were what made all of it worthwhile, and I should just be grateful that I had such a loving husband, who could be so much fun to be around when the two of us were in sync like this.

  Hell, maybe we could even start really diving into the discussion about having kids again. After the holidays, of course...

  Anyway, soon we were pulling up in front of the apartment, and Bryan shut off the engine of the vehicle. I was just starting to unbuckle, thinking he would follow suit, but then I caught him looking at me, quite intently, and I began to wonder what was going on behind his eyes.