Tasting the Forbidden - A Mayhem Erotica Anthology (6 page)

He pulled back against the wall so he could watch privately. If she deserved to be fucked in the middle of the day, well, he was going to enjoy the show. Just because he couldn’t bring himself to fuck her didn’t mean his cock was out of commission. On the contrary; he handled his business every morning in the shower, visions of Selena and her firm ass and supple tits behind his lids as he jacked himself off.

He stroked his cock slowly as he listened to her beg that guy to spank her. He’d never even thought about doing such a thing, but fuck, maybe that was the problem. He wasn’t listening to his wife, or reading her correctly, obviously. He’d always been tender, gentle, and loving. She was his wife, for God’s sake! Even when she threw her temper tantrums and yelled and screamed, he’d never thought about raising a hand to her.

She sure deserved that spanking, though. Plumber was right—she was a dirty little housewife slut to allow him to fuck her in the middle of the day . . . in their house. It was scandalous, but so fucking brave. She clearly was desperate, and he felt ashamed.

His thumb rubbed over the swollen tip of his cock and he raised his hand, licking his palm to lubricate. Filthy wife of his sure knew how to scream, and damn was it a beautiful sound. He missed it, and he had never wanted her more.

When he met the piercing blue eyes of the fucking handyman, he lowered his into slits, letting him know he’d been caught, but making sure he continued what he was doing. If he had the balls to fuck another man’s wife, he should have the balls to do it in front of him. Alex wasn’t going to stop them. No fucking way. He wanted to watch the entire thing, and he needed to come. He wanted to spray the evidence all over her immaculate terra cotta tile so she could clean it up later.

She looked glorious, bare as the day she came into the world and pink on the cheeks. She was enjoying it, and that made him happy in some sick, twisted way. He wanted her to be happy—that was all he ever wanted. He worked his fingers to the bone every day at a job he absolutely hated to provide for her. Her heart’s desire was his to give, which was why the doctor’s revelation was a blow he couldn’t take.

He’d been thinking about it, though, and there were other options. Part of him wanted to live in denial, but look where it had gotten him—standing in a dark corner watching his wife getting banged by a blue-collar lothario. He’d do what was right by her, and if it meant she’d find pleasure in another man’s arms, he’d give it to her.

Besides, it was pretty much the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen in his life.

His back leaned against the wall, and he stabilized his legs so he could get a better grip on his cock. Her mouth had fallen open in shock, and he wanted nothing more than to shove his cock inside of it. The vision of the two of them manhandling her was almost too much. He’d watched plenty of porn, but that was just something else. He wanted her head bobbing and her throat clenching as he fucked her mouth relentlessly.

“Alex,” she choked. “I’m . . . we . . .”

He covered his lips with a single finger and shook his head while stroking himself with the other. He didn’t want her words or explanations. He wanted her to watch him fuck his hand, knowing it turned him on to see the plumber screwed her like a whore. He wanted her to know that he wanted her to feel everything, to enjoy it, and most of all, he wanted her to know he loved her and he wanted that for her.

She seemed to understand, and her eyes widened. Curling her lips into a salacious grin, she dampened her index finger with her tongue and swirled it around her swollen nipple. He groaned, his cock so hard it was painful. That was his girl . . . that was the little sex kitten he’d married.

“Come,” he mouthed to her.

She threw her head back and grabbed handfuls of the plumber’s hair, shoving him between her legs and ordering him to eat her.

She writhed and squirmed as the guy went down on her, and the sound of her wet flesh and his eager lips was too fucking much. He knew that sweet taste. He knew how her pussy tasted like a fresh-plucked tangerine—sweet and tangy with a hint of musk. He’d feasted on her the same way so many times, but not recently, and that pissed him off. She deserved better, and he intended to fix that.

She also seemed to be as turned on by him watching as he’d been when he’d walked into the room. It was a new dynamic for them, and he felt the winds of change rushing through his ears. He found that he wanted to see this again—her with someone else. He liked watching her from across the room, and he liked seeing another man enjoy what was his. No matter what liberties the jerk-off was taking with his wife, she was still his wife. That wasn’t going to change. Ever.

Finally, he couldn’t hold it in anymore and his body tensed as stream after stream of come hit the floor. His breathing was ragged and rushed, but his eyes remained on his wife.

She looked like a rag doll, laying against the counter with her head lolled to the side. She was exhausted, and she looked like she’d been through a war. It was that moment of pure rapture that he’d missed. He wanted to wrap it up and carry it around with him. He loved her that much.

He slipped himself back into his trousers and stepped into the bathroom in the hall. He took a piss, washed his hands, and took a long look at himself in the mirror. Surprisingly, he could do nothing but smile.

It definitely wasn’t the afternoon he’d expected, but it sure beat coming home to argue with his wife over a credit card charge he’d discovered while paying bills earlier.

He wanted to give them a few minutes to get their shit together. He didn’t want it to get awkward, and it definitely would’ve if he’d stayed in there. What did you say to the other man? What did you say to your wife? He found himself puzzled, and the uncertainty was tarnishing what they’d experienced.

He heard hushed whispers from behind the door and realized the plumber was leaving. He had an idea, so he rushed out to have a talk with the guy, man to man, before he walked out the door.

When Alex opened the door, they both looked surprised. The fear in Selena’s eyes stabbed at his heart. He squeezed her shoulder gently and pushed forward, holding his hand out for Tyson to shake.

“Can I have a word with you?” he asked.

He watched the guy’s Adam’s apple bob as he nodded, and they both stepped out onto the porch.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a business card, would you?”

Tyson looked shocked, and then nodded. “Look, man . . .”

Alex held up a hand, stopping him. “Listen, I have this office in the garage, and I’ve been thinking about putting in a bathroom, a small kitchen. Interested?”

Tyson was in shock. This guy couldn’t be serious.

“Um, sure. That’d be fine.”

“Good,” Alex said with a sure smile. “I expect you to get started on that next week. Same place, same time.”

Tyson felt his lips tug into an understanding smile. “Got it, bro.”

Alex nodded and walked back into the house to find Selena pacing across the room. She turned to him, panic and grief in her eyes.

“Alex,” she whimpered.

“Shh. Let’s take a shower, Selena. We’ve had a dirty afternoon.”

ALTERED

Evelyn R. Baldwin

Copyright © 2013
Evelyn Baldwin

Edited by Lynda Martin

Cover Art ©
Mayhem Cover Creations

All rights reserved, worldwide.

Special Thanks to:

Lynda and Bel for their edits.

Father Grady has been happy with his life as a servant of God. He's never questioned what else the universe has to offer until a young woman choses his church for her daily prayers. He's instantly captivated by her beauty, but can't convince himself that his feelings are just those of a lonely man, deprived of a woman's intimate touch. Despite never speaking to her, he's convinced that somehow, this woman has left him altered.

In nomine Patris,

et Filium,

et Spiritus sanctus
…
^ɸ

Ϯ

E
very day she came in and kneeled in the first pew. I couldn’t help but wonder where, or who, she’d been on her knees in front of when she wasn’t here. It was the same vicious circle: I would think impure thoughts and castigate myself in my office or confessional chamber, then count the minutes until she returned the next day so I could repeat the cycle.

Today was no different. She was in the front pew, her hands folded and resting against her forehead as she prayed for forgiveness. I wondered what she’d done that she needed to come here and pay penance for each day. Was she is a bad girl? Did she have sinful thoughts?

I couldn’t help the tainted images from creeping in. It wouldn’t matter how much I berated myself. When it came to her, there was no use in trying to be a man of God. She’s a tree, standing in the Garden of Eden, fruit dripping from her branches. While I know I am forbidden to taste her offerings, the illusory serpent still slithered from her branches, beckoning me to partake.

I still remember what she wore the first day I saw her. The way her lipstick was crisp on her lips, not smudged. She took pride in her appearance, even though her dress was provocative. I must admit, my first thought was she was a prostitute. However, small details told me she was just self-assured—at least I hoped that was the case. Most of the prostitutes I’d seen come through the line at the soup kitchen wore cheap clothing, often tattered and threadbare. I also never saw them in the chapel praying. They were interested in the free food, not the free spiritual guidance.

I’d never seen her before, not in the soup line, the confessional, or in the pews praying. I almost approached her that first day, but her posture suggested she was deep in thought. As a man of abundant faith, I understood the moments shared with Christ, the moments where everything else in the world fades away. It was a moment I wouldn’t want to take from anyone, but that didn’t stop me from watching her from the choir balcony.

Weeks passed this way, her kneeling and praying while I watched from the choir balcony. At first, I catalogued her physical appearance, the clothes she wore each visit, her shoes, makeup. But as the days passed, I began to look past the inconsequential and began to focus on her behavior, analyzing it. Her penitence showed each visit. She was struggling with something, her despondency evident in the way she walked into the sanctuary. Her shoulders were heavy with the burden she carried, but she returned each morning, somehow assured that her time here, along with prayer, would help her find abatement.

After a time, merely watching her was no longer satisfactory. I was thinking of her first thing in the morning, rising early to make sure I didn’t miss her visit, then last thing at night, praying to God he would continue granting me strength to battle her irresistible pull. I began to wonder if the devil had infiltrated our temple, offering me the apple I knew was meant to tempt. My mouth watered for the forbidden fruit so I reverted to my safety net, the only way I knew to gain answers and understanding: prayer.

So when she would genuflect and begin her spirited ritual, I began to do the same. My mind would go to God, searching for his wisdom, seeking answers to unmet questions. But my heart...my heart was never with the Lord during this time. It was still occupied with a woman who I’d become increasingly obsessed with, yet never met.

Ϯ

“Miss?” It had taken me three tries before I was successful in calling out to her. Her startled expression told me I’d been stealthy in my approach.

“Father!” Her eyes indicated she was surprised to see me standing before her, her tone anything but. It was as though her voice was telling me she’d been looking for me for ages.


I folded my hands in front of me, remembering Seminary and the lessons on appearing non-threatening. “Please, call me Grady.”

She looked like she wanted to argue with my attempt at being casual, but held her tongue.
 “I’m Elizabeth.”

Saint Elizabeth: devout and steadfast...

“Are you familiar with Saint Elizabeth...” It was a lame opening on my part, but given my discomfort with the situation, I defaulted to a topic of conversation with which I was most comfortable. “She was the cousin of Mary, you know.”