Reverend Corman was exhausted; it had been a very wearing day. He could still hear his wife moving around in the kitchen. Then she walked into the bedroom and snapped the light on and unzipped her housedress and let it fall to her ankles, bending to pick up the modest garment at her feet, and he saw the thin nylon strip of her panties tighten snugly between her firm full thighs, slipping tauntingly into the crease between her buttocks, catching there as she straightened up. The tall beauty walked across the room towards the closet, the dress folded over her arm, her smoothly rounded asscheeks quivering voluptuously.

Reverend Corman gaped at her, his mouth open. He'd never seen his wife like this. She was a modest prudish woman, embarrassed to undress in front of him even after fourteen years of marriage. And now she turned around, as quietly as before, slipping the straps of her brassiere down off her shoulders, unhooking the clasps at the back, sliding it off, so that her full, resilient breasts fell free. Just as nonchalantly, as gracefully as much at ease, she slipped her panties down over her firm quivering thighs. She stood before him for a moment, and he thought he had never seen anything quite so beautiful. The sight of her magnificent breasts, the breath-taking contours of her body, even the little triangle of golden hair at the base of her smooth white belly sent little shivers of joy through him, set his loins on fire.

Julie stood with her long legs spread apart, her head and shoulders pulled back, her hands knuckled provocatively on her proud, flaring hips. She was smiling at him with her mouth parted, her teeth slightly bared, the tip of her quivering pink tongue showing. The wet, petal-like, hair-lined lips of her cunt were presented to his eyes like a pagan virgin on a sacrificial altar, waiting for a huge, plunging weapon to stab into her.