Ginny's Withering Faith

Resolve." It's in five easily digestible parts, so can be consumed gradually.

Part 1

"How have you dealt with all the changes in your life, JJ?" I asked my 53-year-old step-father-in-law, with my head lying on his bare chest. We'd just finished making frantic, noisy love in my king-sized bed, taking advantage of a few hours that my – our – three-year-old daughter, Andi, was out on a late afternoon shopping spree with JJ's wife, her grandmother, Lee.

"What d'you mean, sweetie?" he asked, idly running a finger down the slope of my right breast to tickle my nipple, which made me shiver and want him inside me again.

"Well, here I am, divorced with a three-year-old, living with you and Lee, working in your business, and I'm back to fucking you every chance I get," I said, reaching down to stroke his moist, near-flaccid cock. "That's perverted at best, what with the adultery and incest. But worse than that is, I was a devout Christian until a week ago – determined to avoid sex – then Sheila came along and everything went to hell in a hand basket!" I shuddered, as I recalled JJ's beautiful, bisexual woman friend of long standing, whom I knew it was wrong to blame for having seduced me into our threesome on the previous Friday. If I were

really

so devout, I would've refused her tempting invitation. But...I'd lost my head.

"That was your choice at the time, sweetie," JJ murmured in my ear. "But, getting back to your question, I've learned to roll with the punches in life. Three divorces will do that! And, at my age, I try to accept responsibility for my actions...as well as not to abide by religious principles when it comes to sex."

"Well, what guidance do I have but my faith?" I asked, raising up and looking at him. "I was a 20-year-old slut when I met you over four years ago, fresh off the pro skating tour, doing as much fucking as skating. But I married Mike to put that behind me. And now that my marriage has gone bust, all I have is my devotion to Jesus to keep me out of the gutter."

That and masturbation, I should've added. I wasn't fully honest with JJ...that I played with myself whenever I could. What a hypocrite I am! I use my dildo in the shower and even in bed at night, fantasizing about him when he's upstairs sleeping with Lee. I'm especially active on pre-dawn mornings when I hear them making love.

"I'm sorry if Sheila made you so uneasy, Ginny," he stated, replacing my hand on his cock, which had again stirred to life. "She can be very willful."

"Willful?! She's evil! That bracelet with Devil's heads on it! Her black makeup that makes her look like a beast from Hell! It's like she's some weird priestess at a Black Mass!" I ranted. Chilling out after a moment I said, "She called, by the way. Wants to listen to the interview tape she made of you." Then I said sharply, "I want the part on it erased where we're fucking!"

"Sure, kiddo, anything you say," he said, nuzzling me behind the ear and running his fingers down my pelvic creases, which always pushes my hot buttons. "When's she dropping by?" he asked, licking at the base of my neck as he slid from under me and eased me over onto all fours.

"Tomorrow evening, at the office...in the city," I said, glancing back at his erection and feeling the familiar, heated buzzing inside my vagina that's always made me throw caution to the winds. I was still dripping with his semen from our previous rutting. "Will you...be there...with me...so she won't try to...?" I gasped, looking back at him again – pleadingly – as he stirred his erect cock around in my gooey pussy lips.

"I'll protect you, baby...so long as you ask me to," he grunted, as I gasped and welcomed his thick girth deeply inside me. I moaned and, just before I again yielded to my insane sexual craving, I heard him mutter, "Now, let's enjoy this free time for a while, then we'll shower and clean up for Lee and Andi."

I was rather troubled for the rest of the evening, yet I put on a happy face for my daughter and mother-in-law. I had to admit that JJ had taught me a lot. My manners had improved immensely. When I met him I couldn't even handle a fork properly! That, and not knowing what all the silverware and glasses were for in a formal dining setting. And, my vocabulary is ten times greater than it used to be! He'd also helped me with Andi, teaching me "parenting" techniques. But underneath that veneer, I still lacked confidence in most matters...except my skills in the bedroom...a dubious expertise that filled me with profound shame and guilt.

Over dinner, JJ asked Lee if she'd watch over Andi the next night, since he and I would be "entertaining a client," as he referred to Sheila. Lee accepted happily. She'd have some time to spend with Andi, whom she seldom sees given her work schedule during the week.

Toward the end of Friday afternoon Sheila arrived at the office in the city. She was dressed rather unseasonably in a rich, red, Scottish plaid wool dress that buttoned up the front. It was high-necked, long-sleeved and cut below her gorgeous knees, although it showed her sculpted calves and ankles. After the mandatory hugs we adjourned to the studio building behind the office and JJ started the audio tape that she'd recorded of them the previous week. I acted chilly toward her and sat on a love seat with JJ, while she occupied a nearby chair. I realized too late as she crossed her legs that he could see much of her sumptuous upper thighs, as the two bottom buttons on her dress were unfastened.

Her recorded interview of JJ was excellent, and I was so proud of his professional sounding voice. The interview ended, then the speakers began transmitting decidedly more personal questions from Sheila, about his life, his divorces and other things...even his sexual habits. She was really pushing it! Then the sounds changed dramatically. Her voice became much softer – sexier – and I heard clothes rustling. I could almost picture her walking toward him, probably rubbing against him and groping his crotch. The tape went quiet for a while, then I distinctly heard a liquid, feminine moan followed by his throaty, "Oh, yesss!" and I definitely knew what was going on. Then I heard her murmur something about having forgotten how big he is, and then...the unmistakable sound of smacking lips was heard – of oral sex – accompanied by his groans.

My chest hurt from shallow, labored breathing, and my heart beat rapidly. I rose to my feet quickly, nearly losing my balance as the blood left my head, and I walked toward the equipment console, with my back to the both of them. I gripped the counter's edge until my fingers hurt, trying to still my pulse and breathe deeply. From the tape I heard Sheila mouth little, soft, repetitive cries, and I could picture her squatting on JJ's rod, just as she was when I'd caught them fucking a week before. I grabbed the back of one of the high stools next to the counter to steady myself, and remembered when JJ had boned me on it years before. I opened my eyes and looked behind the counter, remembering when I'd sucked him off back there, as my horny friend, Carol, had watched from across the room, just minutes before I'd helped her nail him for the first time. My stomach knotted from a combination of guilty longing and jealous anger as these salacious memories returned, and I spun around – seething – "JJ, is there some perverse reason why we're listening to all this drivel?" I was sick and tired of everyone's obsession with flesh! Including my own! He was now reclining on the futon, drinking in the lurid sounds from the tape as if he were in a dream. Sheila just sat in her chair, regarding me with a bemused look on her face.

"Ginny, I'm sorry," she said, rising and walking toward me to switch the recorder to fast forward for several seconds. "Let's move it ahead," she oozed, frustrating me with her calm, superior tone.

"Here's your damned Devil's head!" I said to her, pulling from my pocket the bracelet charm she'd left behind at the house the previous Friday. I tossed it on the counter in disgust and moved to the futon where JJ was reclining like a pasha.

"

There's

my Lucifer!" Sheila said in a little girl voice, looking at the bauble closely...lovingly. "Did I leave it at your place?" she asked – almost too innocently – turning to see me sitting at the edge of the futon next to JJ. I resisted his gentle pull on my shoulder, as he tried to get me to loosen up a bit. I was also conscious of keeping my legs together and covered with my diaphanous, knee-length, wrap-around skirt, since I was aware of a moist seepage from my pussy.

I cringed when I heard Sheila's seductive voice say from the speakers, "Let's get you ready, sweet Ginny." I hid my blushing face, placing my forehead on my arms that were crossed on my knees, and we were all three witness to my passionate moans and cries on tape for the next several minutes, the result of Sheila eating my quim 'til I climaxed. I was overcome with embarrassment, and sought refuge – as I always seem to do – in JJ's embrace. The loving man just held my blonde head in the crook of his neck and rubbed my back with his other hand, trying to stroke away my tension as we listened.

"You two look so sweet! Like father and daughter!" Sheila cooed – rubbing in the difference in our ages in her saccharine way – as she came to the futon to recline behind me. She caressed my upper arm and breast through my black wool bolero jacket and ruffled white blouse. I pulled away from her, scooting closer to JJ. "Mmmm, here comes the part where we went into the bedroom!" she exulted, listening carefully. "I turned up the volume so it would register!" she added. She acted as if she'd performed a miracle, rather than being just a competent audio technician. The sounds for the next long while were unbelievably carnal, with Sheila and me moaning, then graduating to peals of screaming, while JJ grunted like a buffalo in rut.

I'd gotten up in the meantime, and Sheila had turned away from us in the fetal position, since I'd spurned her seductive physical advances. She was either napping or was carried away by the recorded sounds of our mating...but most likely she was plotting something, I was convinced. When the tape ran out I rewound it to the point where JJ's interview ended and – showing unbelievable nerve – I shrilled angrily, "I'm cutting the tape here and saving the dirty part on a separate reel. And, I insist that it not leave this building!"

Okay, I'd compromised. I'd really wanted to erase the tape, to eliminate from the record what I also wanted to do with the earlier tawdry periods in my life. I shivered when remembering the ugly parts that started when my Daddy abused me sexually, then later when Mom had her disgusting lesbian relationship...then my own slutty behavior before, during and after I was on the skating tour. But, as always, I weakened. I'd let JJ keep the tape in his porno stash, which I knew he had hidden somewhere.

He looked at me with a sudden mixture of surprise, pride and respect. I'd made a decision, a choice...showing some backbone at least, and apparently he approved. As manipulative as she is, Sheila turned toward me, sensing the power dynamic and said, "Oh, well. It was exciting to listen to, anyway! Hey! How about dinner? There's a great place I know that you'll both love! I'll call for reservations."

JJ and I followed Sheila's car to a French restaurant, with me fuming privately at her manipulative influence. Feeling insecure because of my earlier rant, I looked at JJ's strong profile and leaned over to softly kiss his cheek, enjoying his scent, as my fingers brushed his groin. "Lova ya, babe," he murmured, smiling but not taking his eyes off the road.

My mood was improved as we arrived at the restaurant and the hostess greeted us. She was a

tall, exotic looking brunette, so beautiful I could hardly take my eyes off of her. Her long,

dark hair was clipped at the back of her neck to reveal a high forehead, prominent cheekbones, a thin, straight nose and long jaw with clefted chin. She wore small gold hoops in her ears and a thin, braided gold chain around her neck. Her ivory complexion was that of an Hispanic. "I'm Corista," she said, in slightly accented English to JJ and me. She assessed me for a long, uncomfortable moment through hazel eyes – with a tinge of yellow, slightly slanted like those of a cat – then hugged Sheila and murmured, "Nice to see you again." Her wide mouth was very expressive, with moderately full lips, the upper one shaped almost like an archer's bow. Her, full, mature body, I suspected, was a drawing card for the establishment, though for a Friday night the dinner crowd seemed rather sparse.

We were seated at a table for four, with Sheila beside me on my left, our backs to a wall. JJ sat across from me. He ordered a Russian vodka while we women abstained. Nevertheless, when his drink arrived, Corista placed a light green beverage before us. Sheila started to say something and the hostess interrupted, "Our special, on the house. You liked it so much last time!"

While perusing the menu, Sheila explained, "Corista was born in Spain, raised in El Salvador, then moved to Italy to live for seven years until her aged husband, thirty years her senior, died suddenly."

"How did she get here?" I asked.

"He was a wealthy restaurateur," she said. "As the sole recipient of his estate holdings, she came to the States – she'd always wanted to – and started this restaurant."

As I listened, I watched the exotic woman converse with customers. Her body was something! and I found myself attracted to her. I stifled the excited, embarrassing flash that I get whenever I see a woman who appeals to me physically. I continued to watch her though, filling out a long-sleeved, ruffled white blouse with a neckline that plunged to her sternum to reveal full, firm breasts. She was probably a 36-D, tapering down to a 26 inch waist. Below that, I must admit, her hips flared generously – they were fuller than mine. There were more than a few Latin genes forming the flesh that stretched her tight, black pants. Yet she moved with an exquisite grace, gliding to and fro among the diners.

Then she brought a man – a clergyman I gathered, because of his clerical collar – to sit at the next table, against the wall to my right. The three of us smiled and murmured salutations, then placed our dinner and wine orders with our waiter. I noticed that all the waiters and waitresses were attractive people in their twenties...contemporaries of mine. As we made small talk, Corista brought Sheila and me another of the delicious drinks to replace those that we'd just finished. The first one had made me light-headed and warm. I sipped slowly at the fresh one. "What is this?" I asked.

"Mmmm,

absinthe

," Sheila whispered. "Isn't it scrumptious? It's illegal to ship it here from France. Corista gets it from someone in Central America!"

"If I may, ladies, let me caution you on over-indulging," said the cleric to my right. "It's toxic in quantity. I've heard it called 'the liquor of Satan'," he said, toasting us with his glass of the same.

"But artists call it 'The Green Fairy'," replied JJ, jovially.

I looked at the pastor and felt suddenly happy and safe, pleased that a man of God had spoken to us. He wasn't particularly good looking, but appeared kind in a fatherly sort of way. He was lanky, balding, with a few wispy hairs combed across his pate, yet his lined face was very expressive. He was about 50, I thought, as he looked at me and smiled warmly. His teeth weren't good. The shirt cuffs that peeked out of his worn tweed jacket sleeves were slightly frayed, too. Under one I saw an elaborate tattoo, which struck me as odd. He saw me look and crossed his arms on the table, prompting me to look into his eyes. I hadn't noticed before, but they were totally black...all dilated pupil, with not a hint of an iris showing. He didn't blink, but seemed to look through me, then his eyes dropped to my breasts, then further down to my gauzy, black, wrap-around skirt adorned with red flowers. Though I clenched my knees together nervously, I was pleased that I'd worn a black half slip underneath. Otherwise, he could've seen through the wispy material and ogled my legs. I used to not mind when men looked at my muscular skater's thighs and calves, but that was when I was a slut...before I'd found Jesus. Since, I'd tried to be as physically modest as I could. Nevertheless, I was still flattered by his glances. Whew! I must be getting drunk, I thought, and vowed to go easy on the alcohol. He was a clergyman, yes, but still a man, after all! And he was making me a bit uneasy, because I felt fidgety as I continued to feel his eyes burn into my body.

Our waiter brought the wine, which we tasted, and the soup, a delicious carrot-based bisque. Oddly, Corista – rather than the waiter – arrived with the huge, wooden peppermill. Rather than waste my delicious drink, I finished it in a gulp to switch to wine and felt its warmth permeate my stomach, then my entire midsection, which made my pussy flutter. Then my fingertips felt tingly.

I watched with bated breath as Corista stood close to JJ. She brushed his forearm with one of her thighs, causing the possessive hair on the back of my neck to stiffen, and began to grind pepper onto his soup. "I like a lot of pepper," he said softly, "so please don't stop 'til I ask you to." He's a pepper freak, I know, so I wasn't surprised as she continued working the grinder. Not surprised, that is, until I saw his eyes looking at her luscious breasts, the upper slopes and cleavage of which were bare to his gaze not six inches away from his face. I clenched my fists nervously under the table. "Keep going," he said, and she continued her work, until I looked up and caught her watching him stare at her stunning tits. Her eyes never left him until, finally, he murmured, "

Grazie...

thank you."

"Prego, Signore. Parle Italiano

?" she asked, moving between the tables to offer me pepper, which I refused.

"Mmm,

poco

...poco

," he said, smiling, as she moved around the table to Sheila, who accepted a couple of dashes of the spice.

"I will come by later," she responded, beaming at him. "We will talk of Italy.

Buon

appetito!

"

We thanked her, and the clergyman next to us asked, "Isn't she lovely? Quite a history, that one!"

We looked at him and he apologized, "I'm sorry, my name's Aloysius Van Meter. My friends call me Luc."

We introduced ourselves and the next hour or so flew by. Luc reminded Sheila that they'd met before...here at the restaurant, he told us. And I talked – babbling it seems – since I'd now become comfortable with him and his scorching eyes. I had so little chance to discuss the Scriptures with ministers of the faithful. The wine flowed and my face felt hot. I'm

really

drunk now! I thought, as Luc spiced up the conversation, regaling us with tales from the seminary, which made me giggle. It'd been a long time since I'd had as much fun just talking...especially about Jesus...even though Luc shocked me by telling me that our Lord had been married. Then, suddenly, he said, "Something happened a few years ago that caused me to leave the church."

I was truly moved...sorrowful...as I saw his serious expression, and waited for an explanation. It didn't come, so I returned to my delicious cut of veal marsala, and the conversation wandered to other topics. From out of nowhere I said, "But you still wear the collar," continuing to wonder about this mysterious man of God who now sounded like an apostate.

"It's just a costume," he said. "I'm Master of Ceremonies for a little performance art show that Corista puts on every Friday...upstairs."