Holy Mass, Heated Embrace

The Sunday morning sun streamed through the stained-glass windows of the small rural church, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. It was Christmas morning, and the congregation was packed, bursting with holiday cheer. My husband, Chris, stood before the pulpit, dressed in his new Christmas sweater, a crisp white shirt, and a neatly tied navy blue tie. The ensemble, put together with a care I rarely witnessed, drew my attention immediately. As he led the hymns, a familiar heat bloomed between my legs, a potent reminder of the previous night’s passionate encounter. Visions of his touch, his strength, his utter abandon swirled in my mind, overwhelming my composure. With a sigh, I looked up at him, allowing the dampness to flow freely, lost in the intoxicating memory of our shared intimacy.

He caught my eye, a blush creeping up his neck, and continued his sermon, reading scripture with unwavering conviction. But I couldn’t help but notice the way his trousers strained against his erect member, a blatant display of his power. A small, wicked smile played on my lips. It wasn't entirely inappropriate, not in the least, and it certainly added to the visual spectacle.

After the service, Chris engaged in conversation with a couple of women, their animated discussion a pleasant distraction. Then, unexpectedly, he turned to me, a triumphant glint in his eyes. “Miss H____ says I’m really put together nicely!” he announced, a hint of defensiveness underlying his words.

As a rule, Chris wasn't one for fussing over appearances. So, this compliment on my ability to dress him in coordinated outfits felt like a genuine acknowledgement of my efforts. However, I couldn’t resist a pointed correction. On the drive home, I gently reminded him that he should have taken the time to adjust his trousers. A playful scolding, intended to tease, but it clearly caught his attention.

The afternoon unfolded as expected: visits to relatives, the joy of unwrapping presents, and the inevitable task of helping our son extract a front tooth. Once the children were tucked into bed, exhaustion washed over me. The thought of slipping into my long flannel gown and preparing for prayer with Chris was immensely appealing. I felt a sense of peace, a quiet anticipation for the warmth of his embrace.

And then I saw him. Lying naked on the bed, bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. He wore his sport coat, sweater, new shirt, and tie, pulled up to his waist, a mischievous smirk plastered across his face. "So, do I still look well-put-together?" he asked, tossing back the covers to reveal his bare torso, complete with a vibrant purple rod standing proudly erect. The color matched his Christmas sweater, a surprisingly fitting detail.

A burst of laughter threatened to erupt from my throat, but I managed to suppress it, my clitoris already throbbing with anticipation. It was an absurd image, a man in a full Sunday outfit, yet undeniably alluring. As he leaned in, his lips hungry for my attention, teeth nibbling playfully at my tongue, my senses heightened. The light from the lamp cast long shadows, adding an edge to the scene. It was a strange, decadent feeling, a delightful combination of embarrassment and desire.

Without a word, he lunged, pulling me onto the mattress in a swift, passionate embrace. It felt incredible. The warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the raw energy of his body – all of it heightened my arousal. The initial thrust was deep, powerful, and utterly satisfying. I wrapped my legs around him, clinging to his hips as he bucked against my grip.

As he continued his assault, I fought back with a fierce determination, pushing him away, pulling him closer, relishing the friction and the heat. The sport coat flew off his shoulders, revealing his naked body in its entirety. And as he did, another wave of pleasure washed over me. It felt like a release, a primal urge that demanded to be fulfilled.

With considerable effort, I wrestled the remaining clothes from his body – the necktie, the dress shirt, the undershirt – each article of clothing triggering a fresh wave of pleasure. As he pulled back, his erect member brushed against my womb, sending shivers down my spine. I continued my assault, pushing, pulling, twisting, until I found the perfect angle, the sweet spot that brought me to the brink of climax. The first wave crashed over me, a torrent of sensation that left me breathless.

His eyes were still smirking, a silent invitation to continue. With renewed vigor, I stripped him of the rest of his clothes, leaving him completely naked. He persisted, driving deeper, harder, each thrust a testament to his skill and desire. It was an intense, almost violent experience, but one that left me completely consumed.

Finally, I managed to subdue him, keeling him over, pinning his hips between my thighs. As he struggled, his body arched, his breath coming in ragged gasps. It was then that I reached for my fingertip, inserting it deep within the folds of his flesh, a final, exquisite touch. The pleasure intensified, building to an overwhelming crescendo.

He came, a powerful, earth-shattering eruption that shook the bed. I felt the spray of his seed against my skin, a warm, moist deluge. His hips thrashed wildly between my legs, his muscles contracting in response to the intense stimulation. A guttural moan escaped his lips, a sound of pure abandon and release. As he came again, and again, I lost all control, surrendering to the pleasure, allowing myself to be consumed by the moment.

In the aftermath, we shared a quiet moment of tenderness, a silent acknowledgment of the intensity of our encounter. We wished each other a Merry Christmas, then knelt together in prayer, seeking solace and guidance. Slowly, my body returned to normal, the remnants of the pleasure fading into a blissful sense of contentment. Lying against his chest, his arm wrapped around me, I felt a profound sense of peace, secure in the knowledge that I was loved, desired, and completely satisfied. It was a perfect Christmas morning, a celebration of intimacy, passion, and the joy of being completely, utterly taken. And as I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't help but smile, knowing that my husband, despite his usual lack of effort, had once again proven himself to be a truly exceptional lover.

Did you like this story? Holy Mass, Heated Embrace look, but like these, here Story taboo sex.