The Preacher’s Wife Watched Me Every Sunday

The first time I caught her staring at me was during a hymn. I was standing in the fourth row, the songbook open without much conviction, and when I turned my head I discovered that Mariana—the preacher’s wife—had her eyes fixed on me from the other end of the hall. As soon as our gazes met, she lowered her eyes, embarrassed, like a little girl caught with her hand in the sugar jar.

It was no accident. I confirmed it the following Sunday, and the one after that, and the one after that. Every time the preacher raised his voice and the congregation bowed their heads, I felt the weight of her attention on the back of my neck. And I liked it.

Mariana had to be in her forties. She was of medium height, generously built without being fat, very fair-skinned, with straight black hair that fell to her shoulders. Her eyes were a restless green and she had a wide mouth with full lips that almost always curved into a smile. She wore long, modest skirts, but no fabric in the world could hide the shape of her hips when she walked down the aisle toward the exit, or the heavy sway of her tits beneath her buttoned-up blouse. I followed her with my eyes until she disappeared through the door, and as soon as I got home I slid my hand between my legs thinking about her.

I like older women. I always have. There is something about the calm of a woman who already knows who she is, in the way they occupy their own bodies, that undoes me. And Mariana, with that blend of sweetness and repression, had become the star of every night I spent alone in my bed, with two fingers buried in my cunt and the pillow bitten down so I wouldn’t scream her name.

It took me three months to gather the courage. I knew, because she had mentioned it once over coffee after service, that on Sundays she spent them alone: her husband stayed at the temple until late at night, organizing, praying, receiving the stragglers. So that Sunday, as soon as the sermon ended, I went up to her before she could leave.

“Mariana, could I walk you home? I need to talk to someone, and I don’t know who else.”

She looked at me a second too long before nodding. We walked the four blocks between the temple and her house in silence, our arms brushing against each other by accident, or on purpose.

***

Her living room smelled of polished wood and dried flowers. She offered me a glass of water and sat beside me on the sofa, hands in her lap, wearing that expression of someone ready to listen to the troubles of the whole world.

“Tell me, what’s bothering you?”

I lowered my head. I didn’t have to fake the nerves too much; I felt them for real.

“I’m so embarrassed to tell you. I’m afraid you’ll think badly of me after you hear it.”

Mariana took my hands in hers. They were small, warm, with short, well-kept nails.

“You can speak freely. I won’t judge you.”

I lifted my gaze and, without letting go of her hand, slid the other one until it rested on her thigh, over her skirt. I felt her tense.

“Is it a sin to desire another woman?” I asked softly.

The green in her eyes faltered. Color rose to her cheeks and she took a moment to answer.

“No… it’s not a sin to desire. It’s natural,” she said, and her voice came out rougher than she’d expected. “Are you attracted to some girl?”

“To a woman,” I corrected, pressing my palm a little harder against her thigh. “I think about her all the time. And I touch my cunt thinking about her, almost every night. I shove my fingers all the way in imagining they’re hers.”

I noticed her breathing change. She did not pull my hand away.

“And who is she?” she murmured.

“She’s someone from the congregation. She’s married. I don’t think she wants anything with me… though sometimes I catch her looking at me during the service. And that look leaves me soaked.”

The silence that followed was long. Mariana sat very still, her chest rising and falling quickly, and I knew she understood. I knew it from the way her fingers involuntarily closed around mine.

“Do you like me?” I let out, not taking my eyes off hers.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, but the lie trembled on her lips.

“I know you look at me every Sunday. I know you search for me in the crowd. I want to hear you say you like me. I want to hear you say you think about me too when you’re alone.”

She swallowed. Never, in all those months of stolen glances, had she imagined that the young woman she was secretly spying on would confront her like this, in her own living room, with a hand sliding up her leg.

“I think you’re… beautiful,” she finally confessed, almost in a whisper. “I enjoy looking at you. That’s all. I don’t think about anything else.”

Liar, I thought. And a sweet one.

I slid my hand up another couple of inches, taking the skirt fabric with me, and leaned in until my mouth was a handspan from hers.

“I do think about much more,” I said, and kissed her.

***

At first it was a slow kiss, almost a question. Mariana went rigid for a moment and then gave in, parted her lips, and kissed me back with a hunger she’d kept locked away for years. I bit her lower lip, sucked it, slid my tongue deep into her mouth and she chased it with her own, awkward and eager, whining softly as if it hurt to let herself be carried away. I took the chance to slip my hand beneath her skirt and trace the inner side of her thigh. Her skin burned. When my fingers brushed the edge of her underwear, she spread her legs just enough, as if her body had decided for her. I pushed the fabric aside and ran one full finger along the slit of her cunt, from bottom to top, and found her so wet that the pad of my finger came away shiny.

“You’re dripping,” I whispered in her ear, and showed her the finger before putting it in my mouth and sucking it slowly in front of her. “Delicious.”

Mariana turned scarlet and looked away, but I brought her face back to mine by holding her chin.

“Does your husband make you come?” I asked against her neck.

“He hasn’t touched me in years,” she admitted, and there was an old sadness in the sentence. “I suppose I don’t seem attractive to him anymore. When he does, he comes in two minutes and rolls over to sleep. He’s never… he’s never put his mouth down there.”

That confession lit me up even more than I already was. That a man had this woman in his bed every night and didn’t know what to do with her seemed to me an unforgivable waste. I’d been dying for months to eat her pussy until she was hoarse.

I kissed her again, deeper, while two of my fingers slid under the fabric and sank into her at once. Mariana gave a choked cry against my mouth and clutched my shoulder with her nails. I started fucking her with my hand right there on the sofa, her skirt bunched up to her waist and her panties shoved aside, feeling how her cunt tightened around my fingers with every thrust.

“That’s how he should be fucking you,” I murmured in her ear as I curled my fingers inside her. “Every night. Until you had no voice left.”

She was moaning with her mouth open, eyes closed, head thrown back against the sofa. I unbuttoned her blouse button by button, unhurried, savoring the way her chest rose and fell. I slid her bra straps down, freed her tits from the cups, and revealed pink, delicate nipples already hard as stones. I lowered my head and took one into my mouth, sucked hard on it, nipped it carefully and then less carefully, all the while still pumping my fingers in and out of her cunt. She threw her head back and let out a sound she hadn’t made in a long time, a long, animal moan that broke into a gasp when I rubbed my thumb over her swollen clit.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, almost apologetic, her voice broken. “I’ve never been with a woman. I wouldn’t know…”

“You don’t have to do anything,” I told her, lifting my eyes from the nipple I was sucking. “Just spread your legs and let yourself get fucked. I’ll take care of the rest.”

And I understood, at that moment, that Mariana needed exactly that: for someone else to decide for her. All her life she had been the obedient wife, the woman who settled for crumbs. That afternoon she wanted to surrender, stop thinking, obey. And I was more than willing to guide her.

***

I stripped her completely right there on the sofa and admired her naked in the golden afternoon light coming through the curtains. She was even more beautiful than my fantasies had drawn her: wide hips, soft belly, full thighs, big tits hanging slightly under their own weight, nipples hard and glossy with spit. Between her legs was a patch of thick black hair, soaked, and a thread of slick ran down her thighs. I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her ass with both hands, pulling her toward me, sinking my fingers into her cheeks.

“Take me to your bed,” I asked. “I want to eat your pussy where your husband sleeps.”

She obeyed without a word, eyes glassy. She took my hand and led me down a hallway to a simple bedroom with a double bed covered by a woven bedspread. I sat her on the edge, knelt on the floor between her legs and spread them wide, pushing her knees outward until she was completely open in front of me. Her swollen cunt, pink inside, gleamed with how wet it was. My mouth watered.

Before touching her, I looked up at her. Mariana watched me with a mix of fear and desire, cheeks flushed, lips parted, tits rising and falling with her unruly breathing. Then I tipped my head and ran my entire tongue flat from the entrance of her cunt up to her clit, licking her all at once in one long stroke.

The scream she let out almost made me smile. She gripped the sheets with both hands and arched her back so hard her ass lifted off the bed. I wasn’t in any hurry: I wanted her to feel every single thing her husband had never bothered to give her. I opened her cunt lips with two fingers and buried my tongue inside, fucking her with my mouth, tasting how much she’d gotten wet for me. Then I sucked her clit, caught it between my lips and sucked gently, then hard, flicking it with the tip of my tongue. I drew circles, alternated pressure, licked her with my whole tongue and then just the tip, and when I felt she was on the edge I slid two fingers inside her. She was soaked, burning, so tight she clamped around my fingers like a fist.

“I’m coming,” she gasped, thighs trembling beside my face. “I’m coming, oh God, I’m coming…”

I looked up at her from below without stopping sucking her clit, with two fingers buried to the knuckles, and watched her come. Her whole body spasmed, her cunt clenched my fingers in waves, and she let out a very long moan that ended in a sob. She stayed trembling, breathless, chest rising and falling and nipples pointing at the ceiling. I kept licking her slowly as she came down, sucking up the slick escaping from her until she pushed my head away because she couldn’t take any more.

“Had you ever come like that before?” I asked, climbing onto the bed beside her with my mouth and chin shining with her.

“Never,” she panted. “Never like that. I thought… I thought I was the problem. That I wasn’t good for this. That I was frigid.”

“You were never the problem,” I told her, and kissed her mouth without wiping myself off, so she could taste herself on my lips. At first she resisted, then she found my tongue and sucked my lips as if she liked the taste of her own cunt.

***

I didn’t let her rest for long. I made her pull her knees up to her chest, spread her legs again, and buried my mouth in her once more, now even more swollen and sensitive. I licked from her little hole up to her clit, long and slow, and felt her shiver when the tip of my tongue touched the other opening. I went back there, played for a while, soaked her well with spit, and then went back up to eat her clit again while I worked her with my curled fingers, pressing forward until I found the spot that made her twist inside, that rough area that swells when a woman is about to come hard.

Mariana clung to my head, shameless now, pushing her cunt against my mouth, begging for more with broken breaths, moving her hips to fuck my face.

“Like that,” she moaned. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop, eat me, eat it all…”

The preacher’s modest wife, the one who lowered her eyes during hymns, had become a wild female between those sheets, begging with a dirty mouth for what she had been keeping silent for twenty years. And seeing her like that, enjoying herself without guilt, with her cunt dripping into my mouth and her tits bouncing with every thrust, was the greatest pleasure for me. I slid in a third finger, stretched her, fucked her harder, faster, sucking her clit mercilessly, and she came a second time, harder than the first, driving her heels into my back and pressing my head against her cunt with both hands. I felt a warm little spurt escape against the palm of my hand.

“Oh my God,” she whispered between gasps, tears in her eyes. “Oh my God, what have you done to me…”

When she finally calmed down, she pulled me toward her and, with awkward, lovely shyness, tried to give back what I’d given her. She lay me on my back, spread my legs, and stared at my naked cunt for a long moment, almost fearfully. Then she lowered her face and gave me her first lick, uncertain, as if tasting something forbidden. She moaned at the flavor, and that turned me on more than her tongue itself.

She didn’t do it well at first; she licked everywhere without finding the right spot. But I guided her patiently, burying my fingers in her hair.

“Higher, my love… there, there, that little button, suck it for me… like that, with your lips… now stick out your tongue and put it inside… that’s it, just like that, very good…”

She learned fast. Within minutes she was eating me with hunger, sucking my clit with pursed lips while she slid two fingers into my cunt, copying exactly what I’d done to her. And the idea that I was initiating her, that I was the first and the best, that I had corrupted the preacher’s wife until she became an obedient cunt-eater between the sheets where she sleeps with him, drove me over the edge at once.

“I’m coming in your mouth,” I warned her, gripping her hair with both hands. “Swallow it all…”

I came over her mouth with a tremor that ran through me from head to toe, pressing her face against my cunt, soaking her. She didn’t pull away. She stayed there, licking, sucking, swallowing, until the last wave left me limp on the quilt.

We stayed wrapped around each other for a good while, naked and sweating, listening to the hallway clock and the distant sounds from the street. The bed smelled of cunt, saliva, of the two of us. The afternoon was slowly fading behind the curtains.

“He’ll be back in a few hours,” she murmured, her head on my chest and one finger drawing circles around my nipple.

“I know,” I replied, stroking her hair. “That’s why we’re going to make the most of every Sunday he’s out. And next time I’m bringing something to fuck you properly with.”

Mariana lifted her face and looked at me. There was no shame left in her green eyes anymore, only a new promise and a newly discovered hunger.

“Every Sunday,” she repeated, and kissed me again with a mouth that still tasted like me.