There aren’t any women near him that I can see, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone waiting at home for him. The way he’s looking at me, it’s obvious what his intentions are. I know flirting when I see it. His intense gaze gives him away. Right now he’s undressing me with his eyes and not being subtle about it at all. How dare him. Isn’t there one single decent guy left on this earth? Probably not. Those kinds of guys wouldn’t stay single for long. Women are like sharks, they can smell a catch a mile away.
I quickly avert my eyes. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea and think I’m interested. There’s no way I’m going to be the other women. I remember how shattered I was when my ex told me about his affairs, and how stupid and humiliated I’d felt when I realized it had been going on under my nose for years. I would never do that to another woman.
I want to turn in my seat and glare at him, or flip him off, or something—anything—that would make him stop looking at me like that, but my father’s warnings linger in my head. If one of his friends in the church saw me being disrespectful in the house of the Lord, I would never hear the end of it, so I do my best to ignore him even though his stare continues to burn into me.
I turn back in my seat, try to follow along in the hymnal as the choir sings another song I know by heart. I don’t need the hymnal, of course, but gives my eyes something to focus on. My fingers turn white from digging them into the pages. Why is it so hard to ignore him? I can still feel his eyes on me. They’re urging me to turn around, to give him the attention he wants, but I refuse.
God, I want to turn around. But no. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I will never give attention to a cheater again. It’s not a very Christian thing to think, but he can go straight to hell.
5
Bernard
That service went on far too long and there are more than a few people sleeping in the pews. They call that a choir? All the voices were off key and several of the members were singing the words at different times, throwing off the whole rhythm. Clearly there were no auditions when they were choosing singers. It was embarrassing to listen to and I was glad when it was over. But it was worth sitting for an hour through the squawking and the boring sermon to see Pippa again. I’m glad she slipped up and told me the name of the church last night. Lucky for me there is only one Saint Francis in town.
As soon as the service is over I go to talk to her, but she seems to be purposefully ignoring me. I don’t want to push it because she’s with—I assume—her parents and son. It doesn’t seem appropriate to go and introduce myself even though what happened between us in the market was innocent—the thoughts going through my head while she was on my lap definitely weren’t, but no one but me needs to know that.
Any chance I see to get her alone, she seems to find a crowd to disappear in. There are so many geriatric people with canes and walkers and wheelchairs, it’s like an obstacle course to get around them. I know she saw me, so why the cold shoulder? I know I didn’t mistake the chemistry between us that night in the market. Or did I? I’m starting to second guess myself. Maybe my worries were correct and I was being too forward when I was flirting with her at the store. Could it be that she wasn’t interested in me at all?
It doesn’t matter. I’ll win her over. I’m determined. I’m not going to let this one get away from me. She’s not like any of the other women I’ve dated in the past and I don’t plan to give up so easily.
There are several different events for the children, and when she takes her son over to the corner to paint eggs, I see my opportunity and take it. I sit down next to her in a row of chairs designated for the parents. Her back straightens, and she keeps pushing the straggling hairs that have fallen out of her bun behind her ears even though it’s not in her face. It’s obvious she’s nervous.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. Not unpleasantly, but not friendly either.
“Painting eggs, apparently.”
“I meant, what are you doing at the church? You said you didn’t go to church.”
“I told you, if there are girls like you at church, I need to start praying.”
She blushes and it’s just as beautiful as I remember.
“Is this your son?” I ask. He’s a cute kid with a shock of blonde curly hair and big blue eyes just like his mom’s.
“Yes, this is Ian.”
I tousle the boy’s hair and he smiles up at me before going back to his egg painting.
“Is this your son?” she asks, almost like an accusation.
“Sure is. This is Trevor.”
She smiles at him and looks a little sad. She continues to avoid eye contact with me.
“Is there a reason why you’re giving me the cold shoulder?” I say, trying to make my words light hearted and playful, but I really want to know.
She nods at Trevor who has taken the seat next to Ian and is painting an egg. They’re close enough to the same age, maybe a year or so difference, and seem to be getting along well. They share colors and help each other drop their eggs in the colored vinegar water and making a terrible mess of it. When the eggs come out they’re a muddy color and will blend in with the dirt and grass, but they seem to be happy with the outcome. Trevor, being older and having more experience with painting eggs, shows Ian how to make two tones, and Ian acts like it’s the most impressive thing he’s ever seen.
“I don’t want to get close to someone who’s in a relationship.” Pippa nods at Trevor to prove her point. But she’s also smiling at the way Trevor is helping her son.
I can’t help but laugh, which earns me a scowl from her that is just too cute to take serious. “What’s so funny?” she asks, clearly annoyed.
“I’m not in a relationship—I’m very single, actually and have been for a long time. I’ve been separated from Trevor’s mom over three years now. She didn’t want to be a mom. I came home one day and all of her stuff was gone—including some of my stuff, and there was a note that said she couldn’t do this anymore. She never even bothered to pick up Trevor from daycare that day. Just left him. He was there an hour after he was supposed to be picked up and I had to convince the woman watching him not to kick us out for good.”
Pippa looks shocked and horrified. I was too. What kind of mother leaves her kid? I can tell by the way Pippa is with her own son that she would never dream of doing such a thing. My ex was never a very doting mother. She didn’t have those parenting instincts that come so natural to some.
I continue to plead my case to her, to prove to her I’m not in a relationship. “You said there was a thing at the church and I assumed it was for the kids, and since the church is near my house, I thought I would take Trevor.”
What I don’t tell her is that the only reason I’m here is to see her and that I’ve already taken Trevor to several different Easter events at the nature center. He seems to be having a great time so I don’t feel too guilty for the small fib, and for using my son to pick up a chick.
Her cheeks are bright red and I’m tempted to reach over and brush my thumb against them.
“You said you don’t want to get close to someone in a relationship,” I say, repeating her words. “Is it safe to say you want to get close to me now that you know I’m not in one?”
This time she’s the one who’s laughing, and it’s a musical, bright sound that makes my heart thunder in my chest.
“You know I’m a single mom, right?”
Is that supposed to scare me off? I guess that would work for some guys, but I know what it’s like to be a single dad. It’s difficult. It’s even more difficult to date, and almost impossible to find someone who can accept you and your child, knowing they will take up a lot of your time. I don’t mind it though. It would be nice to find someone who doesn’t mind going on kid friendly dates and sharing that special time together as a family.
“I see that. And you’re the very definition of a MILF.”
Her laughter is addicting and I wish I were funnier so I can always hear
that sound. Despite being in a church, my dick stirs in my pants and the urge to drag her into one of the many dark rooms in this huge maze of a building is tempting. I’m thinking about tearing off that pretty, expensive-looking summer dress and plunging my stiff cock deep inside of her.
Her gaze meets mine and I know she can tell by the look on my face that my thoughts are far from pure. She bites her bottom lip and my hard-on practically rips out my jeans like the Hulk. I’m not going to make it through the rest of the day without her little pussy wrapped around my cock.
6
Pippa
It’s hard to think straight with Bernard around, but I manage to help set up the Easter egg hunt. My mom, myself, and several of the other mothers hide the eggs all around the yard and parking lot. After that’s done, I help Ian gather a basket full of goodies. This is my parents’ favorite part, so they take him off my hands, parading him around to all their friends. I notice Bernard’s son with some of the other adults who have gathered a group of children to help find the better concealed eggs, but I don’t see Bernard.
I’m starting to head toward the building to find him, when someone grabs me by the hand and pulls me along. I yelp in surprise, but when I see it’s Bernard, I don’t try to pull away. He has a fierce look of determination in his eyes and leads me into the church. I look back over my shoulder and see the kids are still occupied and we are the furthest things from anyone’s minds.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“You’ll see.” His voice is husky and deep, and there’s an edge to it that wasn’t there earlier. I suddenly know what he wants from me and my mind starts to race.
Does he really plan to kiss me in a church? I glance over at him and see the massive bulge in his pants that’s impossible to conceal. I swallow hard. Or maybe he plans to do more than just kiss me. The thought is as thrilling as it is terrifying. What if we get caught? I can’t believe I’m doing this, especially after the lecture my father gave me this morning, which, at the time, I found ridiculous. Now I find myself wanting to laugh because he had no idea how on point he was. My dad has some kind of mystical calling for telling when someone is going to be on their worst behavior. He knows me far too well. I guess I taught him to be that way when I was in my wild teenage years.
Bernard pulls me into one of the confessional booths. I’ve spent my fair share in this room, telling the priest all my secrets and sins. But never like this.
Bernard kisses me. Soft lips press against mine, hungry, but patient even though I can tell there’s an animal in there waiting to pounce. He grabs the back of my hair in a firm grip and tilts my head back. When my mouth parts in surprise by his aggressiveness, his tongue slips in, tangled with mine.
He kisses me deep and long while his hand reaches for my leg, sliding my dress up past my knees.
“I need you,” he says in a deep, throaty voice that’s almost a growl. “I’ve been dying to see what’s under that little dress.”
I part my legs, giving him easier access to what he wants, shivering as his warm palm tickles the tender skin of my inner thigh. He touches the outside of my white cotton panties and I wish I’d worn something sexier, but how was I to know I was going to be fondled at church on Easter Sunday of all days?
He slides my panties to the side and slips a finger in. I gasp at the sudden pressure inside of me as his long finger presses against my g-spot.
“God, you’re so wet,” he says and starts to devour my lips and tongue again with his own.
I pant into his open mouth as he inserts another finger and hooks them at the perfect angle to make me come immediately. I fist his hair and battle against the cry trying to escape my lips. Someone will hear me, and I’m terrified of getting caught, but he’s making it almost impossible to stay quiet.
He pulls his fingers out of me, and forcefully yanks my panties off of me. They fall to the ground in a puddle at my feet. They’re as wet as if I’d taken a dip in the baptizing pool.
He then has me sit on the small bench and pulls my dress up past my naked thighs and spreads my legs and lifts them. The room is so small that I can prop my feet on the wall across from me.
He takes in the sight of my wet opening, studying me as if I were a piece of art. A shadow crosses over his eyes and he is all animal again.
“Spread those sweet pussy lips for me,” he demands, and I do as I’m told.
There’s something in his hand. I catch a glimpse of something shiny. I watch with open-mouthed curiosity as he unwraps pink foil from a chocolate Easter egg the size of a small egg. He smiles mischievously and inserts it into my pussy.
I’m shocked by the odd insertion at first, though I like the feel of it inside of me. He goes to his knees and moves so close to my opening that I can feel his warm breath tickle against my delicate exposed skin. He kisses the outer lips of my pussy, sucking them, biting, teasing in the most perfect way that drives me wild. Each time my muscles clinch, I can feel the egg buried in me. Then he sticks his tongue inside my hot center and I can see that it’s coated in chocolate and my own wetness. He moans with pleasure and eats me out like a starving man.
I grab his head and push my hips toward his writhing tongue, rubbing my sensitive clit against his face, humping it. He pulls away at times, only long enough to catch his breath before diving back in.
“The chocolate is nice, but it’s not nearly as sweet as your pussy,” he says on one of the rare occasions he comes up for air before going back in. He wraps his lips around my clit, sucking it into his mouth until I’m moaning so loud there’s no way someone inside the building wouldn’t hear it.
He laps at my pussy until there’s nothing left of the chocolate and grabs my hips, digging his strong fingers into my flesh as he positions himself in front of me. I help him to unbutton his pants. When I see the size of the bulge in his tight boxer briefs, my mouth springs open in awe.
There’s a large wet spot on the front of them, and when he pulls them down, my breath catches. Holy shit, that’s the biggest, most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen. I’ve never been with a man who was well endowed. I was naïve when I got married and thought my ex-husband was hung nicely, but Joshua was a fun sized Snickers compared to Bernard’s king size. I’m dying to see if it tastes as good as it looks. But he has other plans for me.
He shoves his giant rock hard cock deep inside of me with one long stroke, and I choke in surprise, forgetting to breathe as it bottoms out, hitting the back of my pussy, going in as far as my body will allow. His powerful thrusts cause my back to bang against the wall, and it’s making a terrible clatter that could wake the dead.
His hands brace against the back of the wall on either side of my head, giving him the balance and momentum to push even harder into me. The friction against my clit forces yet another orgasm out of me. This one so powerful that my legs quake with violent spasms. They’re weak and I can barely keep them up on the wall. Bernard seems to sense this. He grabs ahold of me and lifts me up. I’m like a rag doll without bones or muscles and he positions me whichever way he pleases.
He sends me down on my knees to worship his dick. Grabs the back of my head and I open wide for him—as wide as my mouth can stretch by the looks of things—and sinks the head past my eager lips. He tastes like chocolate and me, and he’s right, it tastes delicious.
My gag reflexes are on overdrive as he pushes deeper into my mouth. I’ve never had this problem in the past and prided myself on being able to deep throat without coming up for air. But in Bernard’s case, it’s impossible. Barely halfway in my mouth and my throat is already rejecting the size of him.
“That’s it baby, take it all,” he says to me as he puts more pressure on the back of my head with his palm. The way he says it—barely a whisper, but all command—turns me on and I try to relax my throat to let him in. He goes slow enough for me to get used to his size until I’m no longer gagging, but welcoming him into my mouth with ease. That’s when he starts to thrust faster until he’s
thoroughly fucking my face with aplomb.
Just when we find our perfect rhythm, I feel his body start to tense. At first, I think he’s going to come in my mouth and I prepare to swallow his entire load, but then he pulls out suddenly.
I look up at him, pleading. I want to taste him, to drink every drop. He smiles down at my sad, puppy dog eyes.
“No yet. I’m not done with you.”
A chill races up my spine at the promise of more debauchery inside the tiny confessional.
He stands me up and then takes a seat on the bench. He forces me to turn my back to him, giving him a perfect view of my ass.
“That’s one hell of a perfect ass,” he says as he massages and squeezes my cheeks.
He grabs me by my hips and pulls me down, impaling my pussy on his cock once more. I gasp at the sudden intrusion. I would’ve thought by now my body would get used to his size, but I suppose that only happens over time.
He spanks my ass hard enough to leave a mark, making me cry out each time as I bounce up and down on him, feeling my butt jiggle. If it weren’t for the sounds of approval each time I land, I might be self-conscious about it. He rubs my back in a surprisingly gentle gesture. I lose focus and my rhythm for a moment. When his fingers start to dig into my skin again, I regain my focus and go back to riding him like my life depends on it.
He rises suddenly, without pulling out, taking me with him and bending me over so he can drill me from behind. At this angle he fucks me so deep and so hard that it’s almost painful. I have to force myself to relax, taking deep, even breaths. Once I do, pleasure rolls off of me in waves and I feel yet another orgasm clawing at my insides, begging to let it free. I don’t try to hold it back. Instead, I let go and so does my scream. He cups a hand over my mouth to keep me quiet. With three driving thrusts inside of me, he growls and lets himself go. I feel the pulse of his cock inside of me each time the muscles in my pussy clamp down from my own orgasm.
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