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Rose Cusana sat in St Leonard’s church, empty. The air in the chapel felt slow from use. Idols and icons practiced their pose for an upcoming performance, while the Alter existed in a stillness almost too hard to bear.

She began to pray for some relief, but the silence only served as a space for the past week’s drama to torture her, again, and again, and again.

Wondering how it had come to this: Four days ago she found the man she married in this very church, fucking a slight twenty something tramp in their marital bed.

She came home midday to get a brief she had forgotten. Entering an apartment she fully expected to be empty, the panting she heard confirmed the nightmare she had denied too long. It wasn’t like the movies; she didn’t creep towards the room in confused ignorance, she didn’t call out ‘I’m Hoooeme.’ No, Rose knew the sounds of sex when she heard them. She walked to the hardly closed bedroom door, and watched her husband fucking the beautifully cheap, doe eyed slut, Carla, on her Nancy Kolte’s bed linen.

Taking it all in, this scene would be burned into her memory forever; the adolescent toe ring, the lilac lace panties that never made it off her left ankle, the heat in the room, and the smell of their sex.

Peter held her right ankle outstretched as far as he could, obscenely spreading her silken legs as he ploughed his married cock into her swollen pussy. No condom; that wet shine that coated his penis only made the scene more intimate and betraying.

“You like that you hot little slut? You like that? You like Daddy’s cock fucking you, huh?” Peter’s words seemed so vulgar and foreign. She had never been spoken to like that.

Her beastly groans beneath him partnered the slap of his pelvis upon hers. “Fuck yes, fuck, yes, fuck, yes,” Carla was getting somewhere, and Peter was bringing her there.

“Uh babe, I’m gonna come” He said.

“Uh huh, me too…”

“Where you want it?”

“I want to taste it”

“You want to taste it?”

“I want to taste it”

Peter pulled out in a fever, brought his cock to her head as though it were a pale of water that might spill if upended. Bringing forth the orgasm that was teetering within his balls, it held for a moment at the gate of ejaculation. Peter pumped his dick with a panicked whine fearful his climax might somehow be scared away.

Rose tipped her head at an angle as if viewing a museum exhibit: The lipsticked glass of water on the nightstand without a coaster, the family camera on the ground beside her own vibrator trying to hide beneath the bed, the bedspread pulled out from the neat making she herself performed not four hours ago.

Dust particles in the sunny air above the bed gave a halo effect to her husband’s brown hair as he pumped his marriage into Carla’s crimson mouth.

Carla desperately worked the pussy that had been abandoned for Peters need to mark his territory, Her french manicured fingers worked her clit as her wanton mouth undulated beneath his ever swelling cock.

Rose knew the signs of a woman about to orgasm, she saw them in Carla: The veins in her neck protruding, her breathing held, her legs stiffened, and her chest became flush as her fingers molested her erect clit in a manic circular motion.

The first shot of semen exploded onto her top lip as Carla’s wave finally crashed ashore. Her orgasm came like a roller coaster, working slowly to the top before cresting into waves of bliss and adrenaline. Her eyes were closed as Peter aimed his second load into her mouth, but by this point she was barely aware he was even coming. Her orgasm continued as she threw her right thigh over her left and squeezed her cunt like a sponge, both hands covering her pubic hair. She never wanted this coaster to end.

His third and forth shots landed in and around her mouth, a mouth built for sex; Sensual and moist, full and inviting, her lips had been an object of desire for every man who passed since entering puberty. Her’s was a mouth to come on, and smear, and abuse. A mouth to kiss, and lick, and finger. A mouth that begs, and swears, and moans. Some mouths are just built like that.

Their eyes locked as she took his shining head and tasted the combination of his come and her pussy. She slowly mouthed his satiated glans and faintly rocked her hips in a comforting grind. It was a short lived moment of shared ecstasy as Rose tapped the door fully ajar and stepped beyond the threshold.

“Christ! Rose!” Peter rolled off Carla onto his side of the bed. Fully expecting Rose to go berserk, he was struck dumb by her stillness. Her stare was disarming and tortured both lovers in this most awkward of awkward silences. Surveying it all, not saying a word, her observing underlined their nudity.

Carla lay soaked in sperm and sweat, humiliation blooming with every unsaid word. Rose wanted her to feel every bit the cheap slut in her presence. She glowered at her erect nipples, at the heat rash upon her chest, pendik escort at the mound of light brown hair between her legs, at the pantie marks still on her hips. It was a less than subtle torture. She looked her in the eyes, she burned into her decency as the come ran in rivulets down her cheek, behind her ear and onto her Nancy Kolte’s pillow case.

Just when Carla could take no more, Rose closed her eyes and opened them, directed at Peter. She had too many things to say, words all fought for the limelight as she turned to leave. Finally at the door a sentence that had not even been in the running came forth:

“You could have at least taken your ring off.”

Outside the building, unsure where to go, she assessed herself. She felt rage, shame, and betrayal, but the emotion that cut her the most, the emotion that she resented more than the others, the emotion that was evidenced by the growing wet spot on her thong: She felt…sexually aroused.

The following days passed in confusion and uncertainty for Rose, and now she found herself waiting for Father Delfino in his church, honoring a commitment to go over the chapel’s books and finances, pro bono.

Delfino had known Rose since she was a teenager. Now, the wrinkled cleric entered from a small hallway,

“Rosa, Rosa, so good to see you. Sorry I’m late. So, are you ready to whip us into financial shape around here?”

Rose smiled and stood to greet him, she liked Father Delfino. His face was smiling even when he wasn’t. For twenty years she listened to the kindly old priest and was happy to give back to his church, even now in her quietly desperate emotional state.

“Rosa, I am so busy today, I confess I forget you were coming. Is it okay if I point you to the office and let you dig in yourself? I have so much to do, I have some laborers working in the yard, and I have a Missionary staying with me until Tuesday, oh, oh, oh, so busy, so busy, Rosa, you’ll be okay on your own?”

Rose assured him she would be fine, she got directions to the office, closed the door, and sat down in a cherry banker’s chair with a cracked leather seat. She leaned back into a resident creak and took note of where Father Delfino wore blonde rubbings on the arms. The wall to wall books on theology, and family values, and community values, and biographies of holy men and women, and bibles of all shapes and sizes gave Rose a hollow feeling. It was the loneliest room she had ever sat in. The hot sun sneaked in over a tall redbrick wall in the yard, leaving any view she had in complete shadow. All over the world people were laughing, and playing, and having fun. Fun could be had in any corner of the world but here. It was a vacuum, void of energy, void of life. She opened the ledgers, emptied a shoebox of receipts, closed her eyes, and burst into tears.

Some hours later, the financial state of the church was covering every available surface in the tight office. Fr. Delfino put his head in the door,

“Oh boy, Rosa…it’s bad?”

Rose laughed, “I’ve seen worse, but no, it’s not good.”

“Oh dear dear, oh dear. Thank you so much for helping Rosa. So kind, what a mess, Rosa, how bad? How long will you be Rosa?”

“Well, Father, I may be a few more hours this afternoon and I won’t be finished today; these books have been badly neglected.”

Delfino looked boyishly at the ground, “I know Rosa, I know, very poor financial habits, I am so busy you see, you’ll do a great job Rosa. But I have a meeting with a couple about to marry, can I move you to another room? Your own room?”

Rose was only too happy to leave the monk-like atmosphere of the office, although not expecting much better anywhere else, she gathered all the financials and shuffled down the hall towards a small utility room. She passed the engaged couple on their way to sit with the priest. The bride-to-be looked so radiant, her plump body full of joy. Behind her, the boyfriend said hello before wolfishly leering at Rose’s ample breasts. He gave an arrogant sneer trying to convey a sexuality that he simply did not possess.

Taken aback by his audacity, she entered the room angered by the plight of the bride to be. “Uhh! are they all the same?” She did not need this, her world had already been shaken by her husbands unrestrained libido, and now here she was to practice her accounting, for free, in a room containing mops, paint cans, and step ladders. Was the whole world taking what they want, when they want? Was she the only one playing by the rules?

At least she had a key, so she could leave all the papers spread out overnight and lock the door, but this room was worse than the last. She sat on a straight wooden chair at a peeling wooden table. The window looked out onto the same yard but by this point was wider and had some grass. Rose took a break to get a cup of tea in the kitchen. On her return she saw three men working in the yard, moving heavy tuzla escort rocks and digging up dirt.

“Great, now I have to contend with this” she thought. One man was older, fat and obnoxious, another was young and thin, rail thin, the third was muscular and handsome. Rose put her head down and resumed searching for entries in the archaic bookkeeping system. However, it wasn’t long before she was watching the handsome one lift boulders over his head. He wore a white tank top that had become clinging with sweat, and draped his muscles in a very sensual way.

“My” she said audibly. The more attention she spent on this man, the more attractive he became. He was brutally handsome with a quiet nature. The other two seemed closer and he seemed ‘apart’ from them. He held himself with a stoic pride. His back muscles rippled when turning like a sleek panther. His face commanded respect, sullen and brooding, it gave the impression he was not to be messed with.

Returning to the work at hand, or at least trying to, Roses mind would not stop thinking about the unbridled masculinity on display in front of her. And thoughts of a sexual nature came to her. Unconsciously she began to rock her pelvis into the chair. She looked up again to notice the thick veins running down his forearms to his hands, like ripe vines on a branch.

“This is terrible, I can’t fantasize about this man, I’m sure he’s married,” she thought as she looked to his left hand. “No ring, perhaps he’s gay, the gorgeous ones often are.”

Gay or not, Rose became hotter by the second. She imagined what it would be like to be taken here in this utility room by such a brute, to the point that her nipples began to ache against her satin bra. The warm hazy air took on a euphoric mood around the yard. Her face began to glow. She turned and locked the door. Returning to her chair, she lifted her knee length skirt and kneaded her pussy through her satin underwear. The endorphins that rushed in her mind, gave courage to her forbidden release. She watched as her fantasy moved rock after rock with ease. His way was so serene, so present, he was a pleasure to watch. One hand went into her panties while the other went into her bra.

“Oh my God, what am I doing?” But it felt so good and the mood change was a welcome relief to the depression where she had been dwelling. The wide shouldered stranger’s sexual power was unyielding. Rose rubbed her clitoris as she put her high heeled feet upon the table and hung her head back over her chair. Oblivious to his objectification, the man mopped sweat from his brow, wincing at the sun. His colleagues were employed filling a barrow with gravel. The handsome man received some grit in his eye and stood rubbing with the heel of his hand.

Rose drifted away from her worries, how immoral she felt. In many ways she knew she was self-medicating her current anxieties, but with her recent betrayal – justifiably so. This was an act of defiance; if she wanted to rub herself to orgasm, Goddamn it she was going to do it.

Then a thought occurred. A thought so extreme it was a quantum leap in her consciousness: Why couldn’t she get this man in here? Why couldn’t she suck this man’s cock? Have him pound her soaking wet pussy right here in the chapel’s backroom? Her fingers became wild, entering her lips and working her sex into a frenzy. Her moans became audible as her fantasy walked the line between fact and fiction. Glancing up and seeing her man having trouble with his eye, the fantasy tipped into the realm of fact. Seizing the moment before she lost her nerve, she rushed from the chair, cracked the window and revealed her presence for the first time.

“Sir, please come in, there is a sink in here. You need to wash your eye, I can help”

The man shrugged and smiled so much as to say, “I’m fine”

“I insist, I insist, come, let’s have a look, come in.”

He moved towards the backdoor to enter the building. Rose leaned against the deep cast iron sink in her room. Everything was swimming, judgement had been banished. The hard part was over now that this ball was rolling.

She undid one button to reveal her tight cleavage, the cream satin bra with black lace trim flanked her smooth pink breasts beneath her blouse. She unlocked the door, rubbed her cheeks in her hands and tried to calm herself before his arrival.

Entering with a reserved smile, his scent and temperature changed most things in the room, not least of which was Rose. Her balance waved and she felt so heady that she lost all perception of depth. Looking in his eyes, she felt he could have been inches from her or as though they were both in a tiny box, like dolls.

“Come let me wash your eye”

“Really, it’s fine.”

She placed him against the sink, soaked a paper towel and watered his eye. Now was the moment. Her feminine breath lingered on his mouth as she concentrated on his thick lidded hazel eye. She placed ataşehir escort her hand upon his cheek with a lethal tenderness no man could resist.

The strangers jaw tightened as he analyzed the beautiful woman inches from his face, he traced the contours of her face with his eyes as she tended to him on tip-toes.

Rose felt it unseemly to kiss him although her intentions had been made obvious. She had extended more than an invite and had had not seized the moment. As her thigh grazed his groin, it was clear he was not gay, yet his eyes seemed pained by this scenario. She pulled her head back slowly to look directly into his eyes. They locked, and the magnetism took hold. Lust, like two magnets, pulled their lips together. Once they kissed, Rose felt a wave of electricity through her body, starting in her heart, shimmering up into her chest and shoulders before dropping like a cannonball into her needful wet pussy.

The man kissed powerfully, doubling in passion every moment while his monumentally erect penis strained at his dusty black pants.

Rose felt faint and broke the kiss, resting her panting face on his. She hadn’t ever felt a raw passion like this.

He used her body to grind his cock. He bucked like an animal against her, reaching around to grab her ass tight against him.

Her moans into his neck approved his humping. Like an fillie in heat she needed something so primal only the muscled laborer before her could deliver. They kissed again as she undid his pants button.

Suddenly, the heated stud grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her at arm length away from him. Staring into her eyes, he pushed her further away again with his fingers. “I can’t do this,” he said, pleading with his tortured eyes.

Rose stood for an eternal second, what force could stop such passion? she looked at her wounded suitor his body erect and ready yet his mind conflicted. Her own pain was driving a lot of this, she knew, but she wanted him in her, she wanted to be part of him, even for a moment, “I need you.” she said.

The magnetism took hold again, his resistance vanished and he rushed her, he rushed her onto the peeling table and pushed her skirt up before swiftly yanking her panties off.

Rose lay her head back, eyes closed, embracing the feeling of air around her, more than ready, cunt. She looked up to see him dropping his pants and shorts away, his erect cock standing thick and gorgeous. Heavy and pulsing, it bent slightly to the left. Her breathing became shallow as she submitted to this Adonis, his shining black hair framing his tanned features as he climbed upon the table, her legs splayed and resting on his biceps.

With little subtlety or tenderness, he hinged his pelvis and repeatedly coated the head of his cock with her wetness. Teasing her lips apart, he plunged slowly and steadily into her throbbing vagina. His arms, stood planted like two tree trunks each side of her head as he pulled his huge cock out of her pussy and worked it in again.

“Oh my God, Fuck me,” she said Finding his groove and with a laconic detachment, he drove his cock into her, groaning softly. He fucked her with abandon as her wet pussy started to run down her ass onto the churches books.

Feeling tiny beneath the man, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the raw emotion that ran through her soul and the raw energy that was powering in and out of her tight wet hole. Anything she could focus on brought her a pang of erotic bliss, the disbelief that this was actually happening, the sense of revenge over her husband, the sensation of a rigid shaft being drawn from her pussy or the feeling of it driving back in and taking her breath away as his hilt slammed upon her pubic bone.

“Uhhhh, fuck me, I need it, fuck me” she said.

The stranger obliged and used her to savagely satisfy his needs, the coldness with which he fucked her suited her perfectly. She wanted to be used, and to be a user. His engorged cock drove into her like a piston. She could see her pussy lips being drawn along his shaft as he pulled out. He too was watching his shining cock ravage her cunt, he paused upon a withdrawal and Rose suspected he was about to come, but this was not the case. He turned his head up and landed his gaze within her eyes. But more; within her eyes, within her mind, within her very soul. He held his look for a moment before delving deep inside her with his cock.

And then it happened: Rose entered another place. She no longer had any control over herself. He started her on the road to an orgasm, but on the way he tortured her with a sensual overload. Locked into his stare, she felt one with this human. No longer a stranger, and beyond a lover, the two seemed to become one. Indeed, all became one; Boundries vanished and she felt a connection with life that had never revealed itself before. It was pure; a revelation that could leave nobody unchanged. She could tell he felt it too as he fucked her in this most sublime manner. Sensations started to gather in her pussy, like a congregation leaving after a mass. She needed a release, and rapidly it was coming. She started to moan as her sweating stud pounded her into the table. As she exploded into heaven she let out a load roar. He quickly covered her mouth as he too exploded into orgasm inside her womb.

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