Coming down the stairs, I see you are standing at the open front door. The bright morning sunlight silhouettes your body in the white satin dressing gown. I stare from top to bottom and let out a slow, deep breath, feeling my cunt warming in anticipation. I step closer and hear someone talking in an obnoxious, high pitched voice. I come up beside you and drape an arm over your shoulders.
“And who is this, pet?
“Her name is Mrs. John, my love. She’s with the new church in town.”
Exactly what you would expect, she is middle-aged, plump, and dressed in the best Target has to offer. Her eyes are cult scary in red knock-off frames.
“Ahhh. And what sort of salvation do you offer, Mrs. John?” I ask sweetly, staring innocently into her eyes, offering a warm, toothy smile.
She smiles broadly back, waving her hands about, “Oh my, we cater to all things spiritual in mind and body!”
As she prattles on, I slide my right hand into your gown and begin caressing your left breast. You start to moan softly, pushing into my hand.
“I do like the body part,” I murmur, slowly moving my hand out from your chest and down, the loose pink sash dropping open, the silky cloth parting so your naked body is exposed.
“Perhaps we should step inside, Mrs. John, and explore that aspect more closely?” I suggest, returning my hand to your breast, pinching the nipple gently, drawing it out.
“I suppose I can spare a few… ” her words die away as she suddenly comprehends what is happening in front of her. Her body freezes, but her eyes descend, finally jerking to a stop when they reach the strap-on loosely circling your waist, my favorite red girl cock waving with the movement of your hips.
White-faced and struggling for breath, she slowly backs down the walk toward the road, leaving a wake of spilled propaganda. Turning your hips, I drop to my knees and begin fellating the luscious toy, one hand squeezing a tight ass cheek and the other sliding up between your legs, thrusting a long finger into your wet cunt, then quickly, another. With a sharp gasp, you raise your body up on tiptoes and drop down as my fingers drive up, forcing them in as far as they will go. From the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. John stumble and struggle to hold balance, her eyes never moving from our tableau as she tries to escape from perdition.
“Sure you won’t stay?” I call out. “Honestly, she fucks like a woman possessed and the results are always rapturous!”
She gives a strangled scream and crashes through the gate. When I hear her car door slam and gravel skitter in the road, I rip down my pants and kneel across the threshold.
“Now, my sweet bitch!” I cry, dropping my head to the floor. “Fuck me now and fuck me hard! Sanctify my wanton soul!”
