Read this at your own risk ~ Rev. Wesley Halifax

I know not how long I lay on Oliver kissing him everywhere from the top of his trousers to the top of his head and back again. I was in a kind of erotic trance and time meant nothing. He meanwhile was threatening to burst through his trousers and was moaning very prettily. On several occasions he attempted to wrap his arms around me, but I would not let him - a whispered "don't" was enough to instantly move his hands away. I wanted to revel in him as long as possible, to make up for all the months of privation, and allowing him any further response would bring the proceedings to a sudden ending, I suspected.

But at last my conscience got the better of me and I wished to give him relief. And I wished to see him, finally, entirely naked.

"Oliver darling" I said, standing up "kindly remove your trousers for me." He removed his boots first, and then slowly slid his trousers down. His member was at full mast - it bobbed a little as it was released from its fabric enclosure. I looked at it for long moments - it was larger than my late husband's, the only other engorged male organ I had ever seen. Once again I stepped back. There he stood in full naked glory, like a god of heavenly delight. I ached to mount him, to introduce him into my little thatched hut, but once again my conscience dominated. Dread monstrous conscience that can master even my own augmented will! What sin had I committed to be damned with such a pitiless conscience? It told me that what I had done was bad enough, to take Oliver so far against his will, but to risk becoming pregnant by him, against his will would be to go one step too far down the left-hand path.

I had heard of a practice in France, something they called "faire une pipe" and resolved to attempt to perform this myself. I knelt before him as if praying at the altar of an obscene pagan god. I buried my face for a moment in his groin, breathing in his savory masculine aroma, and then took his organ's shaft in my right hand, and with my left hand I lightly tickled his bullocks. I tilted the head of the member towards my mouth and licked the tip, around the opening. Oliver groaned, gasped suddenly and immediately my face was baptized by a great deal of male essence. I choked and gasped for air from the deluge.

"Betsy! I do apologize!" he said, as if he had committed a terrible faux pas. He found his handkerchief in his jacket pocket and handed it to me. Then he collapsed back onto the sofa.

(To be continued...)