The Reverend’s Wife

That evening, Sidney announced that he had wonderful news.

“We are to be honored with a visit by none other than the Reverend Timothy Sackart and his wife. They are eager to become associated with our crusade. Isn’t that fantastic?”

“Absolutely,” smiled Chelsea, hoping she did not look too disheveled.

Five rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson would probably have proven less bruising than her passionate encounter with the politician, though not nearly as much fun. She wondered how much “solid backing” from such men she could handle. Quite a lot, was the answer.

With the Reverend Sackart on the way, Sidney resumed control of the crusade, pushing Chelsea back into the supporting role he felt looked more appropriate. Posters announcing the visit were distributed nation-wide and full-page adverts taken out in newspapers. A donation from Sackart’s American Salvationist Service paid for the rental of a football stadium, in which both Reverends would conduct a joint service.

In preparation for the visit, Chelsea busied herself with getting screwed as much as possible. With Reverend Sackart and his probably tedious wife to play hostess to for four days, there would be scant opportunity to sin. Inspired by a sample of the filth that awaited burning at the end of the stadium service, she picked up a pair of young men in a bar and lured them into an unforgettable threesome. Two cocks, she concluded, were definitely better than one.

Reverend Timmy Sackart was a tall and heavily built Texan in his sixties, with a flowing mane of silvery hair. His wife was at least half his age and far more beautiful than Chelsea could ever have imagined.   

Most of the first evening was given to passionate discussion of the evil of pornography. Sackart’s fanatical hatred of sexually explicit entertainment almost exceeded Sidney’s. Rosanna Sackart scarcely spoke at all and Chelsea followed suit. With their Reverends in full flight of self-righteousness, it seemed the most polite course of action.

Later that night, when Rosanna had retired to bed and Sidney working on the mother of all sermons in his study, Chelsea found herself alone in the lounge with the Reverend Sackart.

“Damn, all that talk about porn has made me hornier than a bishop in a whorehouse!” he declared, squeezing the prominent bulge in his trousers.

Chelsea gasped.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you, Mrs. Godstone,” he said hastily.

“I’m not offended,” she replied. “Just surprised.”

“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” he grinned, unzipping his trousers.

The good Reverend possessed a monster devil staff that elicited a further gasp from Chelsea. He had barely time to rise to his feet before she had fallen to her knees before him, both hands grasping eagerly at the majestic tube of throbbing meat. With an expertise born of devotion to her craft, she administered to him with her lips and tongue, sensually tormenting him until he begged for mercy. Only then did she open wide and slip her full, pink glossed lips over his glistening purple crown.

Afterwards, as she rose to her feet, licking her lips like a cream filled cat, he swore she was the few women to ever give him a decent blowjob. Even his devoted Rosanna was unable to accommodate his full length in her mouth, but Chelsea had made it seem effortless. She decided she liked him after all and promised to make his visit a truly memorable one.
   
“To hell with this filth!” bellowed Sackart.

Cheers echoed throughout the quarter filled stadium as he touched a blazing torch to the gasoline soaked mountain of pornography behind him. Smiling ecstatically, his wife held his hand. Chelsea smiled too, remembering herself on all-fours less than two hours earlier, receiving his thrusting rod from behind, like a bitch in heat. As she watched the flames lick towards the night sky and heard her husband and the evangelist scream dementedly “burn filth, burn!” he felt the familiar warm wetness between her thighs again.

Following the service, there was a banquet in the most exclusive hotel in town. While the invited dignitaries awaited the guest of honor, Chelsea found herself alone with Rosanna, in an upstairs room. Dressed only in her underwear, the perfectly formed young woman was sitting before her dressing table. Red silk bra and panties, Chelsea noted, with surprise.

“So, how would you rate my husband?” Rosanna demanded suddenly, shutting her makeup case.

“What?” blurted Chelsea.

“Do you think he’s a good fuck?”

For once, Chelsea was too stunned for words. Rosanna stood up, turned around and unclasped her bra. Her full breasts spilled out, like two lightly tanned mini mountains capped with coffee brown stiff cocks. She was obviously savoring Chelsea’s embarrassment.

“Ever done it with a woman?” she asked.   

Chelsea shook her head.

“You’ve thought about it though,” Rosanna persisted.

“Your husband is due any minute,” Chelsea stammered. “We’d better go down.”

Rosanna smiled. “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”

When the younger woman kissed her on the mouth, Chelsea did not resist. Nor did she object when she began sliding the straps of her purple satin dress down off her shoulders. This was the sort of thing that sometimes happened in her fantasies, but she had never seriously contemplated going any further with it. Her dress slid down over her body and pooled around her ankles. When she felt Rosanna’s silky soft hand slip below the waistband of her panties and cup the neatly manicured mound of her sex, she responded with a passion usually reserved for roughly groping sailors.

By the time she joined the guests at the banquet, she felt like a new woman. The fingers and tongue of the other woman had given her all the pleasure of a cock, but in a much more exotic fashion. She would not go as far as Rosanna in saying she preferred women, but she was determined to swing both ways, from now on.

Much to her husband’s surprise, she was sorry when the Sackarts left.

“I got the impression you didn’t like them very much,” he said.

“I found them…… interesting,” she replied.

The support of the Texan evangelist and his satellite TV channel raised the crusade to new heights. Funds and filth flooded in and the Reverend Godstone’s Crusade Under New Troops became a best seller.

Meanwhile, Chelsea gave free rein to her nymphomania, gorging on sex with men and women in a manner that would put the average pornographer to shame. The ever-present danger of being discovered by her husband or the press merely added spice to her amorous adventures. Lady Sin’s ability to resist temptations of the flesh had never been one of her strengths, but now she realized she was losing control of herself.

Three months later, her worst nightmare came true. The crusade fell victim to a sex scandal. But it was Sidney, not his nymphomaniac wife, that proved the harbinger of destruction.

A male prostitute approached a tabloid reporter with claims that the Righteous Reverend had participated in gay orgies, at which pornographic films were shown and illicit substances consumed. When Sidney Godstone vehemently denied these “wicked lies”, photographic evidence was produced. His disgusted transsexual lover of four years then exacted retribution by dishing out the dirt to a rival tabloid. The fall of the moral crusade was swift and painful.
   

“What are your feelings now, towards your ex-husband?” enquired the chatshow presenter.

“I forgive him and wish him well, wherever he is,” Chelsea replied, blinking back tears. “As far as I’m concerned, the matter of the missing crusade funds is between him and God. I’d like to thank the many people who have supported me through this traumatic time and ask for their continued support in the war against pornography.”

“Self-righteous, hypocritical bitch!” snapped the presenter, using the remote control to switch off the video.

“I love it when you talk dirty,” moaned Lady Sin, lowering herself onto his waiting hard-on.