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The Temptation of Eve
Part 1

By Jolie Cain | Erotic sex art by Samarel


'Vintage Sex'

Canvas print size 18"x28"

He was the forbidden fruit. A man of God. And every time she went to church and sat in the pew, gazing up at his face as he proclaimed the truth and the word, she craved him with a need that was bordering on obsession. Instead of listening to the sermon that held the rest of the congregation spellbound, she would imagine herself, nude and kneeling at his feet, pushing aside his robes to get at the hot, naked flesh beneath. She could almost taste the salty skin of his cock and feel the clasp of his hands around her head as she pulled him deeper and deeper inside her mouth. Surely she would go to hell.

The first day the church members had been introduced to their new pastor, she had felt it, this drawing, this urgency. He was young and beautiful, more beautiful than any pastor had any right to be, with his wavy brown hair and piercing blue eyes. She wasn’t the only female in the church who had noticed. Many of the women were sneaking peeks and fluttering their lashes at him. When she had finally been introduced, when he had shaken her hand and said hello in that deep voice of his that was so stirring in his Sunday morning sermons, a shiver had run down her spine. She had been stunned by her reaction because, not only was he her new pastor, but he had to be about fifteen years younger than her own age of forty-five.


Her words of welcome had frozen on her lips, and she had just stood there, staring at him like some brainless robot. He had prodded her with a gentle nudge and a “Nice to meet you”, and she had finally forced out the words, “Welcome to Edgewood, Pastor Grierson.” Unbelievably she had felt herself getting wet, pulses of moisture coating her panties as his thumb had briefly stroked across the back of her hand. Her face had burned, hoping that he could not tell the effect he had on her. Then thankfully, she had had to move along to make way for the next person in line.

When she had gotten home that afternoon, she had gone straight to her bedroom. Quickly shoving up her skirt and stripping off her panties, she had lain on the soft quilted coverlet her grandmother had made, her legs parted wantonly, her hands urgently stroking her painfully swollen clit, her fingers driving up into her wet pussy. Her other hand had haphazardly unfastened just enough buttons on her blouse so that she could push her hand inside. Tugging down the cup from her throbbing breast, she had covered the eager flesh, pinching and pulling the taut nipple almost painfully hard. Pictures had raced through her head…the pastor fucking her, his face straining, lips pulled back in a grimace with the effort of each thrust…the pastor moving behind her, mounting her, his hand slapping at her ass, reddening the skin as he pounded into her…Her orgasm, when it had hit, had lifted her hips from the bed, and she had not even attempted to muffle her scream as she came. Afterwards, she had lain there in stunned disbelief. What had just happened to her?

Thank God her children were grown and gone. No telling what they would have thought if they had seen her stumbling up to her room, dazed and aching, had heard the unrestrained gasps of pleasure from behind her closed bedroom door, her sobbing moan of release. And not only that one day, either. Every Sunday, like clockwork, she sat in the pew next to her mother, eyes focused on the pastor as he spoke of God and love and truth and purity. Then she went home and masturbated like a thirteen year old boy who had just discovered sex, masturbated to illicit fantasies of fucking and sucking and licking the man who could help save her soul from eternal damnation.

She had lived alone for the past few years, her husband having divorced her ten years earlier, after he’d met and fallen for a young receptionist with size D cups and collagen injected lips. Not that she was bitter or anything. Not at all, really. They had grown apart, as too many married couples do, he more interested in the bottom line at work, and she more concerned with the kids and the house. Their sex lives had slowed to a trickle, and even that was uninspired, done more out of habit than of real desire.

Years had passed since the divorce, and she had not felt the need to take a lover. She had purchased a vibrator to take care of her ‘womanly cravings’ when she required it, and even that wasn’t something she used very often. It had been gathering dust, shoved into the back of her underwear drawer. She had decided that she must be frigid. Until the new pastor had come to town.

She’d burned the vibrator up the night the church had had the supper social in honor of his arrival. She had been seated next to Pastor Grierson at the head table because she was a member of the church advisory board. He had talked to her a lot, smiling down into her eyes, and she had gotten so hot she was afraid she might burst into flames. She had even thought for a moment…. only a moment... that he was feeling something as well. It wasn’t anything particular. Just the look in his eyes when she’d nervously dampened her dry mouth with her tongue. The way he’d leaned closer as she’d spoken of her work with the Community Literacy Project, his attention completely focused on her.

Oh how she’d wanted to take his hand, the hand that lay next to hers on the spotless white tablecloth, and place it on her stockinged thigh. To urge it under her skirt, hidden from the eyes of the curious, higher and higher, until his fingers brushed over the crotch of her panties. She had wondered what his reaction to that would be? Would outrage and shock have filled his eyes? Would he have stood and denounced her to the smiling crowd? Or would he have pushed her panties aside and pressed his finger deeper into her, pinched her clit between his fingers, and tantalized her with the threat of a public orgasm? Would he have smiled, lifted his hand to smell her warm, womanly scent on his skin?

Later, when they had stood to leave, his hand had moved to her waist as he’d guided her around the empty chairs—had it caressed her briefly before he had withdrawn it? Surely she had imagined the way it had lingered just above the rounded curve of her ass, the husky undertone of his voice as he’d bent to speak into her ear over the loud conversation of the gathered guests. Had his lips brushed against her hair before they’d been interrupted by Dr. Henderson and his wife? Obviously her own dark fantasies were hindering her perceptions, were causing her to see things that weren’t really there.

That night she had been so horny that she could hardly wait until she had reached the privacy of her home. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d orgasmed ….again and again… until she was sore and exhausted. Her mind’s eye had pictured Pastor Grierson standing over her, watching her as she plumped her nipples, as she’d rubbed the vibrator over their peaks and down across the quivering skin of her abdomen until it nestled in the warmth between her thighs. She’d imagined the look on his face as she’d arched up, spreading her legs wider and wider, so that he could see each fold, each wetly gleaming hair, as she’d pushed that vibrator up into her over and over and over, the wet cum from her pussy gleaming on the slick silver surface.

She had to get control of herself. If she didn’t, she was afraid others would notice her distraction. At first she could control her fantasies, surrounding only on Sundays when she had been around him, and he was fresh in her mind. But gradually, thoughts of him had begun popping into her mind with disturbing frequency even when she had not seen the pastor for several days.

And now not a day passed without her feeling that tugging low in her belly, the moisture gathering in her eager channel. She masturbated at least once a day, sometimes more. Most of the time, the need struck when she was home alone. At least there she had some measure of privacy, and no one could possibly know what went on behind her closed doors. But sometimes she would be driving along, and all of a sudden, she would think of him. His face, his body, would fill her mind, and as soon as it did, that tickle between her thighs, that throbbing pulse would begin. A few times, she had actually had to pull over behind some building or other and bring herself to orgasm with her eager hand, ashamed of her actions, hoping and praying no one would notice her car and stop to see if something were wrong.

And once, it even had happened in Laura’s Boutique. She had been trying on a new dress. When she had caught a glimpse of her bra-and-panty clad body in the mirror, she had immediately been struck by a vision of Pastor Grierson standing behind her, clad in his long black robes. She pictured him moving to cup his hands over her breasts, to stroke down over her stomach and sink his large fingers inside her panties, inside her. She had leaned back against the cold walls of the changing room and stroked herself hard and fast until she had come, biting down on her lip until it bled so that her cry of satisfaction was muffled and none of the store’s employees or customers would hear her.

Yes, she definitely had to do something to end the frenzied arousal that haunted her day and night.

Part 2 >>

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