Chapter 4

A half hour after he was on the plane, I received a phone call from Frank Davis.

"Now that Richard's gone off to school, I thought you might like to have some lunch tomorrow."

I thought my head would explode. "Excuse me? Am I hearing you correctly?"

"Now, now, Melissa, Richard tells me everything."

"He swore he didn't."

"If I may paraphrase someone, I don't know who, 'blood is thicker than sperm'. Can you think of a better way to insure that contributions from the Davis family keep coming in?"

I held the phone tightly. Would my lustful needs be satisfied so quickly? Was I lucky enough to avoid the search and seduction I usually required to please my clitoris? Would my submission to Frank-a funny word, since I wanted it so badly-would it possibly increase the Davis contributions and insure my husband's position? Did I really want Frank Davis to fuck me? Oh, yes, that last question required no thought at all.

"Tell me, Frank, just how thick is your sperm?"

"Let's have lunch tomorrow."

Frank allowed himself more money for hotel sex than he gave to his son. The place was fancier and didn't give off that hint of paper sheets that tear off a roll like in a doctor's examination room. I felt like a lover, not like a whore as he held the door open for me to enter the room ahead of him. But in my heart I knew I was a whore; I had no moral feelings about allowing anyone to explore my inner body, caring only that the Reverend Michael, my beloved husband, didn't catch me. And I didn't even know why I cared. Did I really love Michael? I didn't stay with him for the money; my parents had left more than I would ever need. Even Granny would accept my leaving him, if only after lots of tears. Damn, I would have to put some effort into getting Granny laid. We spoke about sex, about my sexual activities, often enough. She said she still could get wet, masturbated from time to time, but just hadn't bothered to find a man with a cock like Michelangelo's statue of David.

It took a while before I got to see Frank's cock. We kissed inside the door, mouths open and tongues intertwined like long time lovers. Maybe I wasn't a whore, if I was willing to kiss the customer on his mouth. And he was truly a customer, for my pussy would be paid for by large tax-deductible contributions from the Davis family. That pussy gushed its welcome as his hand caressed my breasts, soon to open my blouse and wriggle under my bra. I couldn't say why I had worn underwear at all; maybe it was the shock of Frank's crude proposition that made me feel like a rape victim.

But if so, Frank was the gentlest and most considerate rapist ever. He slowly stripped me; when I reached for his pants to free his cock from its prison, he let me know that he could wait, that it was a point of honor with him that I cum first. He stood over me as I lay naked atop the covers, looking my body over like a trainer at a racehorse auction.

"Richard was right. You have beautiful tits. Does your cunt taste as good as he says?"

It was all I could do to restrain my anger. That little bastard Richard had not only told his father about me, but had also given him a clinical description. And why did Frank have to use crude words like tits and cunt? Yes, we were going to fuck, to do things as dirty as we could imagine, but gutter talk was uncalled for. They are breasts and a vagina, ok, a pussy, but not a cunt.

Still, when Frank knelt alongside the bed and buried his face between my legs, all was forgiven. I had gone to the heaven that my husband always promises to the faithful, and I was there while being decidedly unfaithful. Frank nibbled the inside of my thighs, moving his head down to gnaw on part of my butt cheeks. I felt two fingers inside my pussy; when he twisted his hand, it reminded me of the twisting motion of his son's fingers inside my rear entrance. Was this something father had taught to son? Or maybe vice versa? Was I the first female to enjoy, to service both Davis boys, father and son? I thought not.

His mouth moved up to lick my soaking labia, his tongue working around those two fingers as they plunged inside me. When his lips began to suck on my clitoris, I screamed, my first of hopefully many orgasms courtesy of Frank Davis. He stood up, the dew from my pussy glistening on his face, reflecting the overhead light.

"Get undressed, Frank. Let me take care of you."

He removed his clothing slowly, sexily, a strip-tease artist. My eyes focused on the bump beneath his zipper, then beneath his shorts once his slacks were off. As he dropped that last obstacle, I was surprised to note that his cock hung limply. Had he cum just by eating me? I hadn't noticed; what a wonderful compliment. But I had seen no wet spot on his shorts, nor did I see any residue of sperm on his now puny love muscle. Did I not excite him?

I pulled him down beside me and took his cock into my hand. It was soft, and as I jerked it gently, I bent my mouth to take him between my lips; the position of subjugation of a woman turns men on more than a straight fuck. The purple crown was dry, not even pre-cum was present to remind us why we were there. Still, this little slut knows her business, so I jerked and sucked, sucked and jerked, for about five minutes. My mouth and neck were killing me, but I saw little response if any.

"What's the matter, Frank? Are you a little nervous?"

"No, its not you, Melissa. You could give a dead man an erection. It's just that I had some problem with my prostate last year, and this is the result."

"Can't you get hard at all?"

"Usually only by myself, after a lot of effort. And even then, I wind up shooting blanks."

"Blanks?"

"When I do have an orgasm, there's no ejaculation; nothing comes out."

"Well, I guess that means your sperm is not so thick after all."

With this reminder of our previous conversation, he began to giggle. "Don't make me laugh when I'm trying to get hard."

"I'm sorry, Frank; I didn't mean to interrupt your efforts. Let me try again."

I bent to resume my work, for now I considered it a challenge. As I sucked, I kneaded his balls and a finger strayed to his puckered anus, rubbing to excite the sensitive nerve endings without invading his darkness. Reacting like all men to a finger there, Frank was able to deliver a little blood to his cock, and I felt pride in the slight hardness I had provoked. This tiny success inspired Frank to push me onto my back and to straddle my face. He began to fuck my mouth as though he were fucking my pussy, hands and knees supporting him over me, thrusting without abandon as my mouth simulated my vaginal sheath. He kept hitting the back of my throat and it was uncomfortable, yet I had no intention of complaining; I wanted him to cum and was willing to accept whatever was needed.

As he pounded away, I could feel his cock harden more and more, the effect only his hands had been able to produce of late. His breath came in gasps, his hips pistoned his cock between my lips. My hand squeezed his balls, but gently. Suddenly he grunted, "NNGGHH", the slightest bit of moisture hit my tongue, and he immediately pulled out of my mouth and rolled onto his back.

"Did you cum, Frank?"

"I think so." He was gasping and smiling. I reached up to kiss him, to share that little droplet of love juice he had given me. He took it willingly and then began to feed on one of my nipples.

"Touch me, Frank; I'm ready to cum again."

Those two well-trained fingers were inside me again, for just a brief moment, then, "AAIIIEEE." It was not a long orgasm, but at least it was something.

As I sat up, I could see Frank holding his hand on his chest, like he was saying the Pledge of Allegiance. His face was white.

"Are you OK, Frank?"

"Just some pains; I get them whenever I try to fuck."

"Do you use nitroglycerine?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you need some now?" How the heck could I ever explain it if I wound up naked with a dead man? 'Oh, sorry, Michael, I just happened to run into him in this hotel room.'

"I'll be fine."

"Frank, we can't do this any more; I don't want to be responsible for killing you."

"Yes, you're right, but I can still take care of you without straining myself; fingers, tongue, you know."

But it was not to be. The thought that every time we shared a bed might possibly give Frank a heart attack scared me terribly. I followed him home that day to be sure that he made it alive, but I knew that he would not be the one to satisfy me. He had promised that our quick breakup would not affect the Davis family's contributions, and he kept his word.

Meanwhile, my clit cried for attention. It had been a rough couple of weeks; I survived them, barely, only with the help of vibrator and videos. My old stand-bys gave me needed pleasure-no, that's not the right word-they gave me needed relief for a short time. But I had grown so accustomed to the feel of a hard cock spreading my vaginal walls as it plunged into me, rubbing my clit and bringing me to a wonderful orgasm. I had grown accustomed to the taste of spurting sperm swirling around inside my mouth. These pleasures had grown in me over many years, been lost when I lay flat on my back under Michael's wham-bam, and slowly come back as I learned to seek my pleasure outside of the marital bed. If only I could improve Michael's performance.

I was at the kitchen sink, washing my breakfast dishes. Michael had ignored me the previous evening, and I had taken care of myself with the aid of a racy novel borrowed from the town library. I heard him return from an early meeting, come up behind me, felt him kiss the back of my neck and then felt two hands around me, caressing my breasts. I wondered what had impelled him to break his usual routine. Rather than ask, I bent my arm behind me, placing a hand on an erect cock pressing against me.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this, Michael?"

His hands kneaded my breasts. "The meeting this morning was with Mrs. Underwood. I got the distinct impression that she was coming on to me, and while I didn't react to her flirting, she did get me aroused."

I had never met Mrs. Underwood. She was one of those infrequent church-goers.

"So I've noticed." But if Michael was going to break his usual pattern, so too would I. There would be no unrewarding two minutes upstairs in bed. I turned to him, knelt and quickly opened his pants, dropping them and pulling his shorts down to expose 'my' cock, one I hadn't seen up close in a long time, one I only felt, briefly, when Michael's sperm built up.

With but a single lick of the crown, I swallowed him whole and began to suck, one hand playing with his sac of balls. He had never allowed me to give him a blow job, but he was about to learn.

"Don't do that, Melissa." He spoke, but his hand held my head against his groin.

It really is difficult to speak with a mouthful of cock, so I had to remove it momentarily.

"Why not, Michael?"

"It's sinful."

"The Bible says not to spill your seed on the ground. I don't think there's any prohibition against cumming in my mouth." I began to suck even harder.

"No, dear, no, no..." When his protestations became softer and farther apart, I stopped, stood up and took his hand.

"Let's finish upstairs."

He followed obediently, taking baby steps to avoid tripping over the pants still around his ankles. In the bedroom, we were both quickly naked, and I pushed him onto his back. Between his legs again, my mouth was on his cock, but moving more slowly. By now, there were no more protests. As I sucked, I listened to his breathing. When I heard it begin to get more rapid, I lifted my mouth off him and began to walk on my knees up to his hard cock.

"Where are you going, Melissa?"

"We're going to fuck, Michael." As I said it, I lowered my pussy onto his cock, spread my lips with my fingers and guided him into me.

"I have to be on top, Melissa."

"Who says so?"

He had no direct answer. "Why are you changing the way we make love, Melissa?"

"This way, when I feel you getting close, I can lift off you to slow you down, so you won't cum until I do."

Now, Michael is no dummy, and after the first shock of my words receded, he whispered, "I'm so sorry, dear. Please forgive me; I wasn't thinking."

I didn't answer, just smiling inwardly. I actually was angry at myself for not having thought of this earlier; maybe I wouldn't have had to be fucking anything with a cock all that time. Sure enough, Michael put his best effort into it.

"I'm getting close, dear." So I lifted off his cock and let it rest for a few moments, giving it a little kiss and a slow jerk in the meantime. When he nodded to me, I took him back inside and pumped away. We had to repeat the cycle twice more before I got close enough to say, "I'm ready, Michael. Let's cum together."

His sperm blasted up into me as my clit and my entire soul celebrated my own orgasm. It was without doubt the finest fuck of our marriage, actual love making instead of a quick hump.

Michael smiled, but I felt that it still hadn't fully sunk in that this was a valid method of fucking. All of his experience had been limited to being on top, sticking it in and shooting off as quickly as possible, without regard to my pleasure. I didn't know if our sex life would improve, but I hoped that at least it wouldn't get any worse.

An hour later, when I sucked his cock to orgasm and he shot his second load of the morning into my mouth, he was purring like a kitten. Too bad that he couldn't brag to his friends about the new sex maniac that he was fucking. After all, he was the minister. He had fought me at first; the idea of his sex organ inside my mouth was something he could not comprehend. But I know how to suck a cock like a pro, how to jiggle his balls, how to make him feel like a super stud. I had finally converted the minister.

I must admit that he tried, going along with every variation I started, attempting with some but not complete success to hold back until I was ready to cum. He wouldn't go near my asshole, nor allow me near his, but that was a minor issue that didn't bother me. Even grandma noticed the change in my outlook.