Paul Gruber rubbed his forehead and starred at the doodles he had jotted down on his yellow pad. There was no denying he had made the connection between Sierra Gold and Pamela Jennings, now the issue was what to do with that information. He could contact TMZ. It would get him fifteen minutes of fame, but not much satisfaction. He could send her a letter and let her know that he knew her secret. Certainly she would meet with him to discuss it, but then what?
Paul rubbed his head harder. It seemed to ease the headache coming on. What he needed was more sleep and less time staring at his computer screens. A dark thought seeped into his mind. What if I got her to agree to fuck me in exchange for keeping her secret? His conscience wrestled with the lusty idea.
There's no way she'd agree to that!
She might, especially if she wants to protect her naïve husband. He probably has no idea about her history, he thought. Information like this could cause a helluva uproar in the congregation.
Shit, Paul, you could go to jail for that. It's blackmail for crying out loud!
Not if you do it right.
He looked over at the one screen with a naked picture of Sierra. Her blue eyes sparkled back at him. Long flowing blonde hair. And big ass tits on her slender frame begging to be squeezed and sucked. Damn he wanted to fuck her.
I can do this, he thought.
Paul, don't go there, his conscience warned. You'll go to jail for sure.
He tore the top page of the legal pad off and quickly began scribbling some ideas.
X x x x x x x x x x x x
John took off his sneakers and slapped them on the cement slab outside his back door. Clumps of dark earth popped off his shoes and covered the walk. He loved gardening on Sundays after lunch. It allowed his mind to relax after preaching. It was also the most he wanted to exert himself on a day of rest. He left his shoes outside and stepped through the door in his socks. While he got himself some lemonade, he noticed Pamela sitting at the kitchen table staring out the window.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked, walking over to sit down across from her.
"Oh, I was just thinking about your sermon today."
"And?" he asked.
She turned and smiled. "I found it amazing that God would tell a prophet to take a woman who had been with so many men, as his wife. It's wild that stuff like that is actually in the Bible."
He took a sip of the cool, tart drink. "Do you think it was too racy for the congregation? I'm almost positive I heard Mrs. Thompson gasp. I didn't mean to disturb the poor woman."
She giggled. "No, I thought it was pretty tame."
"Well, that's just the opening. I'm going to be preaching on what happens after they marry over the next few weeks."
Pamela reached across the table and placed her hand gently on her husband's dirt covered hand. "Do you love me?"
John looked at her quizzically. Then his furrowed brow relaxed and he put his other hand on top of hers. "Honey, I love you with all my heart. I made a vow to you, before God, three years ago and I feel even more strongly about it today."
Pamela pulled her slender hand out from between his. She stood up and walked around the table behind him. Then, she lowered her head until it was right next to his ear and whispered. "You're dirty and sweaty. Let's go take a shower..." She let the last word linger, "...together."
John's mouth opened but no sound came out.
Pamela grabbed one of his hands and led him through the family room, down the hall and into their bedroom.
"Why don't you get in the shower and wash that dirt off. I'll meet you in just a minute."
John bolted into the bathroom, tugging his clothes off as fast as he could. He stopped briefly to turn on the shower, so it would warm up, and then continued removing the last of his garments. He stepped into the shower and began scrubbing the grime off with a washcloth.
A few minutes later the shower door opened and his wife slipped in.
John's eyes widened as he took in the beauty of Pamela's naked body. They typically made love with the lights off at night. He felt his wife's body, but rarely saw her naked in the daytime.
"Wow!" Was all he could muster.
Pamela smiled, and then turned him around. She pressed her full breasts up against his back and reached around to take the soap away from him.
John felt her soft, firm breasts mash into him. He surrendered his soap and Pamela used it to begin lathering up his chest. Her small hands rubbed around his pecs and then slowly began moving lower. She stopped just above his public hair. John closed his eyes and moaned.
A flashback of her first porn shower scene popped into her head. She shivered as she recalled the scene in which a neighbor sneaks into her house while she's showering. She had her eyes closed and was lathering up her big breasts. When she opened her eyes, Tyrone Boner, the biggest black man in the business was opening up the glass shower door. He was the biggest, not only in height, at 6 foot 5, but he also had a legitimate ten inch cock. She would never forget the thickness of his enormous penis as he wrapped his muscular arms around her and crushed her slim body up against him. Her boobs pressed out in all directions against his rock hard abs as she buried her face in his granite pecs. Tyrone had reached around and grabbed her small buttocks, letting his fingers curl up into her young pussy.
At 19, this was her third film and Tyrone had specifically requested that his manager set it up. She later found out that he was eager to break in a new girl in the business. Break in had been right. She remembered walking around in pain for a week.
Tyrone lifted her in one smooth motion. Her soapy tits sliding up from his six pack abs to his hard pecs, until she was face to face with him. His dark eyes bore into hers and he gritted his teeth when he grinned. "You're gonna feel by cock in your stomach," he said in a low, bass voice.
She felt the tip of his cock at her small opening that his fingers pried apart. She was glad she had soaped up her pussy before he entered the shower. Her eyes flew open as the head of his cock entered her and he began lowering her onto his meaty pole.
"Awwww, fuuuuuck!" she grimaced. Her eyes reflexively squeezed shut.
As he lowered her further, Pamela wrapped her legs around his waist and locked herself in place.
She finally bottomed out and he left her there to adjust to his size as he got a better grip on her ass. It didn't last long. She felt his biceps flex as she moved her hands up and around his thick neck to hold on.
"You're one tight bitch," he hissed. He lifted her up so just the head of his cock was in her and then dropped her down again.
The entire scene lasted ten minutes as he continued jack-hammering into her naïve pussy. She knew it wasn't physically possible, but she swore her stomach ached afterwards from being battered inside. A few days later Tyrone's agent had contacted her agent about doing an anal scene and she flatly refused. She hadn't done an anal scene yet and she certainly wasn't going to have her ass turned inside out by that brute.
Her husband moaned as she lowered her hands to his penis, which was sticking straight up. It has half the length and girth of Tyrone's, but it did the job and certainly didn't cause her any pain. She rubbed the bar of soap up and down the length of his cock, and then dropped it so she could use both hands. One hand caressed her husband's balls while the other gently gripped his penis, slowly sliding up and down the length of it.
"Oh, oh... Pam, that feels soooo good, honey."
She smiled, knowing how much pleasure she was giving him. In her porn days she had started out trying to give her partner or partners pleasure. She put so much emotion into each scene. It took her almost a year to realize that none of the men who fucked her really cared about her. The business was about putting on a show, plain and simple.
She slid her tits down her lovers back until they rested on his cute butt. The warm water sprayed down on them and washed off the bubbles as she twisted him around. His dick hit her in the cheek. Pam opened her mouth and inserted his penis. She twirled her tongue around his shaft as she sucked him in. She felt his pubic hair on her upper lip and wondered if that was what if felt like to have mustache?
"Oh, my gosh," John cried, "This is heavenly."
Pam let his cock plop out of her mouth. "I thought you said there wouldn't be sex in heaven?" She questioned him.
"Huh?" John asked, coming out of his bliss.
"You said this felt heavenly. I thought you told me there wouldn't be sex in heaven?"
"Figure of speech, Figure of speech," he said, somewhat frantically, "Please don't stop."
She continued her teasing as he looked down at her. Pam bit her lip as she glanced up at him. "Oral sex isn't a sin, is it?"
"No, no, no," He said, catching his breath. "Nothing about sex is sinful between a married couple."
"Really?" she asked, "Because there are some things I wanted to try, but I thought you might think they were dirty."
John looked into his wife's brown eyes. His penis was less than an inch from her luscious lips. "We can try anything you like," he answered, wondering what she had in mind.
Pamela slowly stood up. She allowed her breast to slide up his body until she was kissing his neck. "Good, let's dry off and get into bed."
John was still awake an hour later. Pamela was lying next to him, asleep and breathing softly. He stared at the ceiling and relived the previous scenes again and again in his mind. His wife had asked him to stick his penis between her breasts, while she pushed them together. He had never imagined doing something like that. He had warned her that he was going to climax and she just smiled and licked her lips. His sperm had shot out across her neck and mouth. He thought she would be appalled, but instead she had laughed and swallowed his penis, licking up all the semen. After they turned off the light, she had given him a kiss and whispered in his ear that she wanted to try anal sex next.
John tossed and turned in his sleep. The little devil and angel that he imagined on his shoulders, reappeared in his dream.
"That's some hot ass you have their preacher man," the devil said.
"She's a very classy, lady," the angel replied sternly.
"There's no way to have tits like that and be a lady," the red man grinned while jabbing his pitchfork at his adversary. "I'd love to get me some of that!"
"They're married. A union between one man and one woman," the angel retorted. "Faithful to one another."
"Ha! She sure seems to know a lot about sex. I bet she's had all sorts of men. What do you think preacher? Don't seem like no virgin to me."
John woke up and looked at the clock. It was 3:23 am.
X x x x x x x x x x x x x
Pamela blew across the wispy steam rising from her coffee mug. She loved opening the office. As the receptionist for the property and casualty insurance company, one of her many jobs was opening the office, preparing the coffee and checking and forwarding any voicemails that might have come into the office after hours. She loved the stillness before the agents started rolling in around 9 am.
In a male dominated field, she relished the fact that everyone knew she was the wife of a pastor. No one flirted with her. She remembered the first time one of the agents had made an off-color comment to her. Another agent had quickly commented, "You know, Pamela is the wife of Pastor Jennings over at the First Baptist Church." The agent had stumbled all over himself apologizing.
Her husband had told her that happened to him all the time. He would be invited to golf with a member of the congregation and they would pick be put together with another random twosome prior to teeing off. Typically the two men who joined them would be cursing through the first three or four holes, until the topic would come up about what vocation everyone was in. As soon as he said, "pastor," the men would apologize and clean their language up for the rest of the round.
Pamela smiled to herself as she turned on her computer. 'Funny how people get a heightened sense of morality around religious people," she thought. 'I wonder why?'
She had already forwarded voicemails. Taking another sip of her coffee, she opened Outlook to check on her e-mails. Two were from clients wanting to know when their annual premiums were due. The third one was from a name she didn't recognize... Peter Paul.
She clicked on it to open it up. Her eyes widened.
