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David Blake half woke when his wife’s alarm went off. When she climbed out of bed, though, he went back to sleep. By the time his alarm went off, his bladder was full. Jen got out of the bathroom as he entered it. This was Sunday, his day of rest, her day of preaching. He cooked breakfast for the two of them before taking his own bath. He was out and half-dressed by the time Jen came for her goodbye kiss. She walked to the church, no great distance, while he finished dressing. Before service, he drove over. They’d need his car afterward.
He was in church -- on the right side, four rows back -- a few minutes before the service started. Jen’s sermon was fine, sounding a little better than it had on his first hearing Thursday. The rest of the service went well, too. The people of Independence UMC mumbled the responsive readings, but they sang well enough on the hymns.
Dinner afterwards was at the Bryants’. These spoke kindly of Jen’s ministry to them. Jen was the first pastor in a long time that Independence had kept for two years. Mostly, that was because she’d married him towards the end of the first year. Whether they were conscious of the reason, whether they were romantics liking newlyweds, whether they were merely being polite, Jen’s parishioners always spoke kindly to him.
“So,” he said in the car driving back, “tomorrow, we both have off. Want to do something special? Picnic?”
“Sounds great,” Jen said. Then she looked through the windshield at the clouds. “Do you think the weather will co- operate?”
“Man proposes; God disposes. Let’s keep up our side.”
“Okay. Picnic lunch tomorrow. God willing and the creek don’t rise.”
He laughed before correcting her. “God willing and the rain doesn’t fall.”
After the full -- and rather late -- dinner that her parishioners provided, their Sunday supper was always light. The food was his responsibility. So was the Gospel study after supper. Jen was struck by Jesus’ appearing to the disciples who had been hiding behind locked doors. He’d been more taken by Jesus’ granting the power to forgive (or even withhold forgiveness) in heaven.
Afterwards, they cleaned up after their meal together. Once the dishwasher was running, they shared a kiss before adjourning to their bedroom. This was a special time. He, as well as Jen, could sleep in tomorrow. Besides, it was warm enough that they didn’t have to dive under their bed clothes. He’d promised her, way back on their honeymoon, that he wouldn’t try to bring her to orgasm more than twice in one session. But he hadn’t promised to rush to the first one.
He kissed her everywhere as he slowly removed her clothing. “Lie on your stomach,” he said when she was naked. He stroked and kissed her back, working up to the place on her neck where she was especially sensitive. She turned onto her back then, but that only gave his mouth access to her breasts.
He played with the hair on her mound and then with her lips. He climbed between her thighs to kiss her there. Finally, she pulled his face into the juncture of her thighs. “David,” she said as she clasped him against her. It was a little hard to breathe like that, but the taste was delightful, and the aroma was even better.
Her belly tensed under his forehead and her thighs tightened around his face. When he licked her nubbin, she bucked against his head and gasped. When she relaxed, he moved up in the bed to cuddle her. “Sweet Jen,” he said, “darling Jennifer.” After a bit, she recovered enough to want a kiss. After her mouth, there was more of Jen to kiss. Her breasts were as beautiful as ever, but he remembered that her nipples were probably more tender. That went double for her nubbin, so -- when he’d got that far -- he licked it rarely and very lightly.
She tugged on his shoulders to remind him that he’d promised not to bring her to more than two climaxes in a night. And he certainly wanted one of them to be while he was inside. She seemed to want that, too. When he was in position, she grasped him and pulled him to her entry. “Jen,” he said. Then she was warm and smooth and all around him.
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