After a long while I got up and started making dinner. I settled on Miss Mary-Beth's casserole, finishing off the last of it, mainly because I was feeling lazy and I liked tater-tot casserole. I sat on the back deck, smoking cigarettes and watching the sun go down, thinking about nothing. Finally, as twilight set in, I went back inside, put the dishes in the dishwasher, and headed for the computer room.
Tires crunching on gravel warned me that someone had decided to drive up. Curious I closed the door to the computer room and went in and stood in the front room, staring out the big picture window. I stood in the dark of the front room, watching them park in between my trucks. I could tell when they got out it was Miss Mary-Beth.
The coincidence made me chuckle.
She had another casserole dish in her hands as she climbed the steps, walked across the deck, and knocked on the door.
When I opened the door she smiled, dressed in a dark blue, almost black, dress with colorful flowers on it. She had a hat with flowers around the brim again.
"I thought you could use another meal, Mister English, so I thought I would help the good Lord provide," She said, giving me a smile. I could tell she was nervous.
"Just finished off your other one," I told her with a smile that seemed to relax her slightly. "Your casserole dish is in the dishwasher. Please, come in," I moved to the side and motioned.
"The Good Lord works in mysterious ways," She smiled, moving into the front room and handing me the still warm casserole dish.
The only light was from the little lights above the kitchen island as I went in and put it in the fridge. I considered and then discarded the idea of turning the lights on.
"How long would you say it'll take for the dishwasher?" Miss Mary-Beth asked me, taking off her hat.
I shrugged. "Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour? Not sure."
"May I?" She asked, pointing to the couch and setting her hat on the coffee table. I nodded and she sat down, pointing at the cigarettes and Zippo on the table. I nodded and she picked them up, lighting two as I moved over to her carrying a dish-towel and sat down next to her.
"I hope you don't think unkindly of me, Mister English, for what transpired during my last visit," she said softly. She took a long drag off her cigarette and gave a long exhale of pleasure, staring at the smoke for a moment before turning to me and smiling. "The Lord knows my husband hates it when I smoke."
I smiled at her. "I don't mind, Miss Mary-Beth. Bowling league night?" She nodded and I patted her knee. "Good to know."
"How's your recovery coming, Mister English? Well I hope, the Good Lord willing," She said softly.
"I'm a lot better now. Doc Rutheford told me to I need to exercise a bit more though," I told her.
Miss Mary-Beth flushed and slapped my leg playfully. "Mister English, what in God's name are you suggesting?" her voice was mock-outraged as she turned to face me.
"Nothing untoward, Miss Mary-Beth," I told her, still smiling. I reached up, playing with the top button of her dress. She smiled and put her shoulders back, lifting her breasts.
"Good thing, Mister English, after all, I am a married, church going woman," She told me as the first button came undone. She glanced down and inhaled slowly when the second button came undone.
"I wouldn't dream of doing or saying anything that might impugn on your reputation as a God fearing woman, Miss Mary-Beth," I said as the third and forth buttons came undone to reveal a heavy duty white bra.
"I certainly hope not, Mister English," She told me, smiling at me. She leaned forward to flick her cigarette and stayed leaned forward, looking back at me and smiling. "Lord knows you seem a man capable of self-control and discretion."
Taking the time to rub across her shoulders with one hand, I took a drag off my cigarette, watching as she gave a slight shiver. I reached up to her collar and slid the zipper down, opening the back of her dress all the way to the top of her white granny-panties. I slid two fingers under the hooks of her bra, pressed my thumb firmly, and made a snapping motion.
Her bra opened and the ends slid under the dress.
"Did you do that one-handed?" She asked me, sitting up.
I gave her a smile, reaching out to run the back of my knuckles down the side of her jaw. "Me, Miss Mary-Beth? I'd never do such a thing to an obviously upstanding member of the community."
Miss Mary-Beth smiled at me. "I'm glad we understand one another, Mister English, the good Lord knows there is room for misunderstanding."
I nodded, smiling, reaching out and opening the front of her dress, sliding my fingertips under her bra and sliding the dress front and bra under her breasts. She glanced down at the fact that her breasts were free and outside her dress, then gave me a smile.
"It would be a shame if we were to misunderstand one another, Mister English," she said, looking up at me. She gasped as I cupped her breasts, lifting them slightly and rubbing my thumbs over her hard nipples. "Jesus knows that we seem to understand one another, wouldn't you say?" He hand went behind my neck to draw my head down.
When I reached under her to slide the dish-towel beneath her bottom she frowned. "What's that for?" she asked, lifting up slightly to let me slide it under her plentiful fat ass.
"We don't want to get anything on your dress," I smiled.
She shivered in anticipation. "You make such wicked promises, Mister English."
When I moved to her breasts I was silent while she rubbed the back of my head, gasping and whispering to Jesus again. At one point she put out her cigarette and held my head with both hands as I went back to work on her breasts. After a bit I drew back, smiling at her.
"Never had that happen just from that kind of ministration," she said, breathing heavy with her face flushed. "Jesus and the heavenly Father must have blessed you with experience and talent."
"And attention to detail," I smiled.
She laid back on the couch, her breathing steadying as she smiled at me, her eyes sparkling in the dimness.
"Can we talk for a bit, Mister English?" She asked. She pointed at the cigarettes.
"Of course, Miss Mary-Beth," I said, picking up my cigarettes and lighting two. I handed her one and smiled as she adjusted on the couch until her back was in the corner, one arm across the back the other across the arm.
"My husband, understand, has not been an attentive man in a long time, Lord knows, Mister English," she started.
"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Miss Mary-Beth," I told her.
She held up her hand, reaching out and touching my lips to quiet me. When I kissed her fingers and smiled she looked surprised, then made a pleased noise in her throat before moving her fingers away.
"I would like to explain myself, Mister English," she told me. "Having a man listen to me outside of the Our Father's church or the bank is rare for me and I would like to take advantage of it."
I just nodded, smiling at her. "Let me get you a glass of wine and I'd like to get some juice. Keep talking."
As I got up and walked toward the fridge she started talking again.
"As we got a bit older, my husband became inattentive, Mister English," She said softly into the darkness. "That, Jesus knows, was expected in a marriage. However, his attentions have been given to certain women, who I do not hold at fault themselves, rather than me, his wife in the eyes of God and the Holy Spirit."
I opened the fridge, getting the bottle of wine and setting it between the glasses, then pouring myself a glass of tea over ice.
"For decades I have ignored this, Lord knows I have," She told me. "I know that people have been smirking at me behind their hands, Mister English. However, I've always adhered to my marriage vows and the rules set forth by our Lord Jesus Christ."
I set the wine glass down and poured her a glass of wine before I set the bottle down. I smiled at her, then went to get my glass of iced-tea.
"My last visit, I'm not sure why, but not only was I tempted, but for some reason known only to Lord Jesus and the Disciples I gave into that temptation," She smiled, leaning forward to pick up her glass of wine. That made her large matronly breasts hang forward, sway back and forth, and when she say my smile she smiled back before sitting back.
I turned and walked toward my glass of ice-tea.
"I prayed on it, Lord knows I did, to ask Jesus to help me resist temptation," She said softly. She sipped at her glass while I took a sip of my own drink. "Then, to my surprise, my husband chided me for not retrieving the casserole dish and then suggested I bring you another."
That got a nod from me.
"Your scars show that you're capable of discretion, Mister English," She said. I nodded at that. "And, well, my anger at my husband pushes me toward giving into the sins of the flesh with you."
I walked forward until I was standing in front of her. She looked up, flushed, then at my crotch right in front of her, licking her lips before looking up and smiling. I bent down slightly and grazed her nipples with the glass, brushing at them lightly enough so that the cold wasn't direct, but I still left droplets of water on them. She shuddered, lowering her head and moaning softly. I moved over and sat next to her, setting my glass on the table.
Her eyes glowed warmly when she looked at me again. "That was an interesting answer, Mister English."
We were silent for a few moments while she sipped at her wine.
"Does my God given weight bother you, as it does my husband, Mister English?" she asked me.
I shook my head. "You're more over-ripe, plush, than fat," I told her. "Your belly doesn't fold over, your bottom's nice and smooth and rounded. It's matron plump," I smiled.
That made her laugh. "That's a nice way to put it, Mister English," she said. "My husband just says it's fat," she lifted one leg up on the couch, her shoe off, and laid her leg against the back of the couch, her knee bent. Her dress slid down, but puddled between her thighs, hiding her crotch, but exposing that she was wearing garters with stockings rather than pantyhose.
I shrugged. "His loss. His problem. Not mine."
"I do love him, even still," she said softly. "But I'm angry with him, and being sinful with you seems to not only slake my appetite, but lessen my anger."
"I understand, Miss Mary-Beth," I said quietly.
"May I be honest with, Mister English?" she asked, sipping at her wine. She held the glass out for more and I picked up the bottle. I nodded as I poured her a drink. "My body has only felt the touch of two men. My husband," she sipped the wine to increase the tension of the moment. "And you."
I lit a cigarette and gave it to her. "Keep talking," I told her. I slid off the couch, kneeling between her legs, and slid my hands up her thighs. I found her underwear and tugged gently. She lifted slightly to help me and I slid them off of one leg, leaving them around the ankle of her leg on the couch.
"That is wicked, Mister English," she said. She slid forward at my urging and I went to work. She gasped. "Mister English," her hand went to my head. "Such sinfulness," she gasped, "Such wickedness," she shivered, "This, Jesus, is something that my husband has not done in decades."
"Oh, we're going to be that sinful?" She asked. She shivered again. "Just how much sin are you going to subject me to?"
She gasped as my fingers slid into her, and not only where she had expected.
"Oh, merciful God, that's a sinful place to feel so wonderful," she moaned, "Not even my husband has touched me there. I can't think when you're doing such sinful things."
When I was done I got back up on the couch, lighting us cigarettes. I gave her one, leaning back and watched her as she started breathing slower.
"Are you all right?" I asked her.
She nodded. "That was, by God, more intense and pleasurable than I ever thought such a thing could be," she flushed, "It made me say such wicked things," she shook her head at my smile. "You enjoy that, don't you?"
"An upstanding God fearing woman like you moaning such obscene things?" My smile got wider. "Of course."
I stood up, offering a hand to help her up. When she reached for my belt I grabbed her wrist and tugged, pulling her to her feet. She didn't say anything as I led her back to the bedroom.
"May I use the bathroom?" she asked, pointing at the master bathroom.
"Of course," I told her.
She went in, closing the door behind her. I stripped, laying on the bed with my hands behind my head. After a moment she came in, carrying her clothing in her hands, wearing only her garter belt and hose, her hair let down and hiding her. She set her clothing on the dresser, looking slightly self-conscious for a moment till she realized that I was laying there stroking myself.
"Why, Mister English, are you suggesting wickedness and sin?" She asked.
I just smiled. She moved around the footboard and climbed onto the bed. She crawled toward me, her long hair trailing behind her. Her hand replaced mine, warm and soft, and she smiled at me after giving me a long lick.
"Are you going to lead me to Sodom and Gomorrah?" She whispered. "Give me a tour of wickedness and sin?"
I put my hand on the top of her head.
"As far as you let me," I promised.
I could see the goosepimples of excitement on her skin as she opened her mouth and lowered her head.