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Brigit Astar
08-07-2011, 05:06 PM
Kathy Mathson sat at the kitchen table, sipped tea, and thought about her husband and her marriage. That day marked their seventh wedding anniversary, but her husband had not mentioned it, had not acknowledged it.

She sighed and a frown crossed her face. It's not as if he forgot the anniversary, she thought; it's as if he ignored it, as if it didn't mean anything to him.

Seven years...and he...She sighed again. Of course, Terence had a lot on his mind, and he was a pastor, and he naturally...She wagged her head as she thought about her husband, and about the past few months.

Terence had gradually stopped showing any affection for her, or even any interest in her. He spent more and more time away from her, ministering to his “flock,” visiting the sick, the infirm, the aged, preparing his sermons. And sex—forget about it. She gave out a sardonic little chuckle.

A virgin when married, Kathy had known only one man—her husband. And from the first day of their marriage, Terence had been squeamish, finicky, prudish when it came to sex. It almost seemed as if he looked upon sex as being distasteful, as a painful duty to perform. And gradually, he had shown, he had made it clear, that he wasn't interested in sex.

When was the last time we did it? she asked herself. Three weeks ago? Again she gave out a wry chuckle. And even then, it was...She wagged her head as she thought about it. Terence had mounted her, given her a dozen strokes, shot his load, and then had rolled off her. And that had been it...

If anyone had asked Kathy “Do you love your husband?” she would have answered “What kind of question is that? Of course I love him.” But in reality, she had married him because it was the thing to do, and because he had asked her to marry him. It was that simple. She did like him; he was a nice enough guy and he was a good provider; but did she love him passionately? No, she did not. But she had determined early in her marriage to make the best of it, so she had been a faithful, dutiful wife.

The fact that her husband did not satisfy her sexually was something that she had convinced herself came with the territory; it was an unavoidable part of being a pastor's wife. It was something she had determined that in the overall scheme of things was secondary.

Her husband, being forty-five years old and an ordained minister for twenty years, was, to say the least, set in his ways. As far as sex went, he looked upon it as a duty, as something to perform every now and then, but under no circumstances to view it with unadulterated pleasure. To him, sex was something to do every few weeks or so, no more or less. In fact, he felt sex to be something not exactly unpleasant but overall a task and a duty that was expected of him.

In a few words. Terence Mathson could be described as short, chubby, conservative, inhibited, incurious, and horrified at the thought of experimentation of any kind—especially sexual experimentation.

His wife Kathy on the contrary was liberal and wanted to experiment and have some variety in sex

She had a secret life of which no one, especially her husband, was aware.

She got off on viewing herself naked.

She masturbated quite a bit, and sometimes she fantasized about being fucked—even raped—by a stranger, by a dark entity.

She suppressed and excused any guilt she felt about masturbating or fantasizing by rationalizing it as a normal thing and fantasy that most women felt and indulged in at some time or other...


Kathy went to the bedroom, slowly undid her robe, and slid it off. She stood naked in front of the mirror. She knew she would not be interrupted by anything, least of all by her husband, who had left that morning to go on a three-day religious retreat.

She felt somewhat guilty, but not that much. She felt that it was a small sin at the most to view herself naked. And in the past year she had begun doing it quite a bit. She was not an exhibitionist by any means, but she felt a compulsion every now and then to view her naked body, and she felt there was no harm in it. It wasn't as if she was committing some unpardonable sin. She was simply observing her body.

As she looked at her naked body in the mirror, she automatically checked herself out, and carried on a one-way conversation:

Hmm, twenty-five years old, how am I doing? I'm attractive, no doubt about that. I must admit in all honesty and with no exaggeration or pride that I do have an attractive face and body. It's no sin to acknowledge it—it's the truth, and the truth is always right.

She moved her hands underneath her breasts and lifted them up a little. My breasts are full, firm and upthrust. No sagging. I am simply stating the truth—I'm not exaggerating. My nipples are rubbery and erect, they need no stimulation—although it does feel good when I stroke them.

She began almost unconsciously stroking her breasts and nipples and squeezing the nubs.

“Ooh ah,” she breathed out. This can't be a sin, she thought. I'm just stroking a little. Nothing wrong with that.

She began rubbing her titties and her nipples, breathing hard at the sensation that stabbed through her body. Ah, it feels so good, she thought. This cannot be a sin. It simply can't.

As she rubbed her breasts, she checked the rest of her body out: Shoulder-length raven hair, dark eyes, wide mouth, full lips, large breasts—the size and shape of coconuts. Curved flared hips, full smooth legs. She half-turned to view her butt. Her rump mounds were big, rounded, and smooth, but not fat.

Kathy was as far from being vain as one could get, but in fact she had been told on more than one occasion that if she were not married to a preacher she could make it as a movie actress or model. She had shrugged it off, for she was indeed a modest person; but she was not immune to statements that were truthfully made. And she could admit to herself with no false modesty that she was indeed attractive. She accepted it as a simple fact. There was no sin involved in acknowledging the truth.

Her hand moved down of its own accord, down her tummy, past her navel to the top of the thatch of raven hair. She hesitated for a second, and then shrugged and wagged her head. It can't be a sin to do this, she thought. It's not hurting anyone or anything.

She ran her hand on down between her legs and pressed. Ooh, that feels good, she thought to herself.

She began sliding her hand up and down, stroking her cunny. Ah, that's so good—ooh yes, it feels so good. She began rubbing vigorously, using four fingers to stroke up and down.

Oh yes—so good, she panted. I wish something would fill me up. I want it. I want something deep in me—filling me up—all the way to my core. I want something long and thick and stiff deep in me—all the way...

She stroked and rubbed her clit till a mini-climax jabbed through her pussy, up through her tummy to her breasts. But even at the instant of her mini-orgasm, she felt regret at the thought that it wasn't the real thing, that the real thing was something she would probably never experience, given her position.

She thought about her husband. He's really a good man, but he just doesn't understand. How can he, given his situation, position, his make-up. There's no way he can understand what I want—what I need. And he would be horrified if I suggested trying something sexual...And he's...so small too...he's really very short and thin between his legs...and he doesn't last very long—at the most a minute...and his cum is not very potent—it's pretty thin and watery—and meager...

Although they had been married for four years and wanted children, so far they had not been blessed. She had at first placed the blame on herself, but finally, after four years of marriage, and knowing she was fertile, she had finally convinced her husband to be checked out. And it had been discovered that he had a condition that resulted in his having a low sperm count. It had at first injured his self-esteem, but he had finally accepted it and attributed it to the Lord's Will. Kathy had mixed feelings about it, and considered it had nothing to do with the Lord's will, but was actually a deficiency in her husband. In some ways, Kathy was more realistic than her husband....

She took a shower, fixed dinner, and then wondered what she was going to do for the rest of the day. She finally decided to splurge and buy a big bottle of potent wine, turn on some good music, and just relax on the sofa.

She ended drinking a third of the bottle. She got a delightful buzz from it.

She finally went to bed and fell into a good deep sleep...


Such a nice dream she was having; such a nice wet warm dream. Something warm was stroking her body, sending delicious waves tingling and rippling through her pussy and breasts. Oh, it felt so good, so warm, sliding and stroking and pressing upon her.

She awoke gradually in the pitch-dark room, becoming aware that something actually was stroking her body, something warm and smooth was sliding back and forth and stroking between her legs, on her rump and upon her breasts. Hands were rubbing her.

At first she thought it was her husband, but as she grew more awake she realized that it couldn't be him as he was gone on a religious retreat. Who could it be?

It was too dark in the room to see who it was rubbing her. She could only hear his heavy breathing and feel his hands stroking her.

She felt him slide a big blunt finger into her pussy. It felt heavenly.

With a groan she gave herself up to the feeling. She raised her legs and drew them back and moved her pussy up.

He began finger-fucking her cunt, and she gasped with the sensation of it. Then she felt a warm wet sucking mouth on her breasts, and a long thick raspy tongue flicking and twirling on her nipples.

“Oh, ah, ooh, ah,” she panted and thrust her cunny and breasts up.

“Oh god, oh yes!” she gasped as she climaxed.

She grasped its head, and for the first time she felt what it looked like.

It had a goat head.

She stroked her cheek upon its face and felt its rough goat goatee and the wiry hair of a goat. She felt the two horns on the top of its head.

And even though it had the head of a goat, its body was snakelike—thick and scaly.

Suddenly it began to shrink and deflate; it was as if the air was being sucked out of its body, deflating it. It began to fade, becoming insubstantial. Then she was holding on to nothing. It was gone; it had faded away.

She let her body relax and just lay there, savoring the feeling of its big finger sliding in and out of her cunny, and its warm wet mouth and long thick tongue licking and sucking her breasts....


She awoke the next morning thinking of the dream of the night before. It had been so intense, so vivid, so exciting...so real. Was it a dream? In a way she felt it had really happened. But how was that possible?

She thought of the entity and its bodily make-up. Goat head and snake body. “Wow,” she exclaimed. Where did that come from? Dreams are so weird.

Periodically through the day she thought of the dream and the entity. She thought of the way it had made her feel. It was so incredibly vivid and intense, she thought. And real. She tingled all over when she thought about it.

She spent the late afternoon and evening lounging on the sofa, listening to music, and sipping wine. She drank another third of the bottle.

By the time she went to bed her head was humming...

Again she dreamed. She floated in darkness.

Suddenly something pressed upon her, weighing her down. She floated down to the bed.

The weight followed her, pressing her onto the bed.

She felt as if she couldn't move, as if she were frozen. The weight effectively kept her covered.

Then she felt the dark weight ooze into her, pervading her body. She felt an incredible warmth.

Then it was there. The entity.

It clutched her thighs and drew them back. And then it buried its goat-face between her legs.

It rubbed its thick lips up and down on her pussy. She gasped at the sensation of its wiry hair and thick lips rubbing on her cunt.

Then it slid its tongue into her pussy.

Its tongue was fat and raspy, the size of a cock. It swirled and squirmed up her cunt.

She grasped its horns and thrust her pussy up to give it full access.

It dug every inch of its thick tongue up her cunt. Then it began tongue-fucking her, zipping its tongue back and forth the full length of her channel.

“Oh god, yes!” she cried. “Oh, unh, ah, oh god—don't stop!”

She thrashed and hunched as the long thick tongue jammed her pussy, all the way to her core. Bolts of wet fire stabbed up her cunt through her tummy to her breasts.

“Oh yes, I'm cuming now,” she gasped. “Oh ah, hot cum!”

She jerked and humped as a climax ripped through her body.

It slipped its tongue out and slid it down between her ass mounds. It swept the fat raspy tongue back and forth, and then slipped it in her butt.

She jerked at the feeling of the rough tongue sliding into her rump.

It didn't halt. It dug its tongue up her ass in one continuous sliding stroke. Then it began moving back and forth, sawing her butt.

She reared her body up and mashed her rump on its face. “Oh god, lick me, suck me, fuck me!” she cried.

Another orgasm tore through her body as the long thick raspy tongue jabbed back and forth.

As it tongue-fucked her ass, with one hand it squeezed and pinched one of her buttocks and with the other rubbed and squeezed a breast. Its hands were scaly and its nails long and tapered. She gasped at the stinging jolts of pleasure/pain it was giving her when it squeezed and pinched her ass and tits.

It slipped its tongue out of her ass and moved up her body. She felt its snake-like trunk—scaly and thick—sliding up past her tummy to her breasts and up to her face.

It clutched her head and guided its cock to her mouth.

She gasped when she felt the big slick rigid prick pushing on her lips.

It pushed forward and slid its cock into her mouth.

On and on it slid its long thick prick. She almost gagged at the thickness of it. She opened her mouth as wide as she could and loosened her throat muscles to accommodate its cock.

It slid every inch of its dick in her mouth down to her throat. Its testicles were the size of golf balls, and it heaved forward, mashing and grinding its bloated balls on her chin as it began fucking her mouth.

“Ah, it's been too long,” it suddenly spoke as it humped her mouth. “Suck well, my princess. Suck every inch of it.”

Its voice was a deep vibrant rich baritone. It somehow thrilled her body when it spoke.

She sucked eagerly on his cock now, swiping and swirling her tongue around the shaft as she sucked it with her lips. Its prick was so rigid and yet smooth, hard and yet slick—and so warm.

It pumped its dick down to her gullet, fucking her to her throat.

“Ah, here it comes, my princess,” it panted. “Suck my cum.”

It heaved up and drove every inch of its cock in her mouth and let her have it. It pissed a hot stream of cum down her throat.

She gulped and swallowed. Its cum was thick and creamy and it kept spurting gobs of it down her gullet.

She kept sucking and gulping, trying to swallow every drop.

Its thick creamy cum flowed down her throat to give her a warm glowing balm in her tummy.

“Ah,” it gave a satiated sigh, and sank down beside her, its coils enveloping her. She had emptied its balls, drained them dry.

She still couldn't see him clearly; his body was shrouded in dark shadows. She touched his head and his horns, moved her legs to sweep upon his snake-like trunk.

“I have questions, “ she said.

“Ask,” he replied.

“What are you? Are you a demon?”

He gave a deep smooth chuckle. “Some have said so. But I prefer the term demigod, or incubus.”

“Where are you from?

“From the Netherland. Hades, the Elysian Fields, the Underworld—it has been called many names.”

“How did you get here?”

“Through your dreams. You called me, you invited me in, so I was able to enter you.”

“Can you come at any time?”

“Alas, no. I can only enter you through your dreams.”

“Are you a dream? Or are you real?”

“I am real. Can you not feel me?”

“Yes, but this could be a dream.”

“Believe me, it isn't.”

“Why can I not see you? I can feel you, but your body is indistinct, in shadow.”

“Each time I come, my body becomes more solid, more substantial. You will see me soon enough.”

His body began to shrink, to deflate. She grasped at him but his body faded in her hands. She was left holding on to nothing....


She awoke the next morning thinking of him, and wishing he were there.

She got up and prepared breakfast, and then went to her bedroom to change into clothes. It was Sunday morning, and she planned on going to her husband's church.

As she slipped off her robe, she noticed her breasts in the full-length mirror. There were marks on them; pinch and squeeze marks. Red stripes streaked across them.

She half-turned and examined her rump. It was pinkish-red. Squeeze and pinch marks striped her ass.

It's real, she thought. It's not a dream. He really exists. An incubus...a demon? From hell? I don't care. I just want him to take me, to enter me, to ravish me.

She dressed and went to church.

As she sat in one of the church pews and watched the guest preacher as he delivered a sermon, she thought: This means nothing to me. I no longer believe in it. It is nonsense.

She looked at the other people in the congregation. They all sat in rapt attention, listening closely to the preacher.

This is unreal, she thought. What is real is him, my incubus.

She left the church and went home, feeling good, feeling liberated.

She fixed lunch, and then she wondered: Can he come during the day? If I take a nap? As long as I dream, he should be able to come.

She settled down on the sofa and closed her eyes, and she drifted into a nap.

A half-hour later she awoke. She hadn't dreamed. There had been nothing. He hadn't come.

She got the bottle of wine, turned on some music, and lounged on the sofa, and whiled away the rest of the day. She went to bed early.

She dispensed with any nightclothes and lay naked on the bed. Soon she went to sleep--and dreamed...

Something pressed upon her, weighing her down on the bed. Hands began stroking her flanks. Then she felt something rubbing between her legs.

She brushed her hands and legs upon the body pressing her down. She felt the thick snake-like trunk. She swept her hands to the head and felt the goat. She clutched its long thick curving horns.

The cock rubbed up and down on her pussy. Delicious bolts stabbed up her cunt.

She locked her legs around the snake trunk and thrust her pussy up.

He grunted and began sliding his prick into her cunt. He relentlessly dug his dick in, never halting. He stuffed it up her pussy in one continuous stroke.

“Oh god, yes!” she cried, humping and jerking. “Oh ah, you're filling me up. Oh god, your cock's so long thick and stiff—oh unh ah—fuck me! Fuck me forever!”

He pumped his prick deep in her cunt, mashing and grinding his bloated balls upon her ass, as she grasped its horns and hunched and fucked back at him.

“Fuck, my princess, fuck!” he panted. “Ah, yes, fucking that sweet hot tight married cunt of yours.”

“Oh god, this is heaven,” she gasped. “Ah, my pussy's yours, I'm yours, my body, all of me—all yours.”

He pounded his cock into her cunt, reaching her core with each thrust.

“Oh, ah, I'm cuming,” she panted. “Oh yes, cuming now.” She hunched her body up and then froze rigid, and then fell back down as the climax ripped through her body.

She opened her eyes, and she saw him. He was now fully solid and substantial. She saw his goat head, and his snake body. She felt a momentary sense of dread and terror, but it was overcome by the fucking she was receiving, and by a sense of perversity within her. She felt a thrill that such a being was fucking her. She surrendered herself totally to it.

He kept ramming his dick in her cunt, and orgasm after orgasm racked her body.

“Oh sweet fucking god!” she cried. “What I wouldn't give to be fucked by you every night—every day.”

“Here it comes, my princess,” he rasped. “Hot cum deep in your cunt.”

He drove every inch of his dick up her pussy and let her have it. He pissed a stream of hot cum in her core.

Her cunt sucked greedily on his cock, milking it, sucking the cum deep in her pussy.

“Oh, ah, keep cuming,” she gasped. “Give me all you've got—fill me up with thick creamy cum.”

He spurted gob after gob of cum deep in her cunt's core.

He finally sighed and dropped down. She had once again drained him dry.

She felt him shrinking and deflating and fading.

“No, no, don't go. Please, don't go,” she pleaded.

“I'll be back—the next time you dream,” he said.

Then she was holding on to nothing. He had faded.

She relaxed, letting her body stretch out, and just savoring the fucking she had gotten.

She finally slept....


She awoke the next morning, thinking of her incubus and of the fuck she had received. She had never dreamed that fucking could be so good, so heavenly.

He'll be back tonight, she thought. He'll fuck me every night. Fuck my pussy, my ass, my mouth.

She got up and fixed herself breakfast and showered. Then she arranged a bedroom for herself—separate from her husband's. Things are going to be different around here, she thought.

When her husband returned from the religious retreat, he found his wife lounging on the sofa, sipping wine and listening to music. She smiled at him, and he instinctively knew that something had changed—something about her was not the same.

She kept that little satisfied fulfilled smile on her face, and her husband kept wondering. He never did figure it out.

Go4it
08-07-2011, 09:10 PM
Excellent story as usual. I love the way you write.

While you used mutiple words to describe both the wife and the demons sexual organs, I found it a little disconcerting that a good ol gal from Tennessee would use the British word "cunny" for the first time description of that delictable pussy. I don't really know why, but that word is a big turn off for me.

And for someone who does such an excellent job of background and explaining lots of nonsexual things, I thought it was strange that you didn't spend more time developing the idea of that 18 yo marrying a 38 yo preacher( He is described as 45 and she is 25 and they have been married for 7 years). How did they meet, what was the attraction to bridge that age difference. Might he not have had some pedophilia desires to stalk her at such a young age. Especially for a preacher. And, of course that could lead to a whole new sequel (prequel) to this story. The preacher is a pedophile sexually excited by the young members of his congregation. Can their marriage be a cover for his deeper transgressions? Can his lack of desire for his wife actually be nothing more than she is too old for him? Is his 3 day religious retreat nothing more than a cover up for a weekend of debauchery with the young?

And --- when he returns home, is it possible for the demon to provide him with the sweetness and desires of the young and thus the two of them begin to have sexually satisfying moments together - but with others?

Lots of room for development here.

GREAT STORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Brigit Astar
08-07-2011, 09:15 PM
Thank you. I'm glad you liked the story.
The reason I use the word cunny is for variety. It gets rather tiresome if cunt and pussy are the only two words used to refer to the vagina.
I agree that there is lots of room for development. This story could easily have a sequel--or two.

Brigit Astar
09-02-2011, 04:59 PM
I'm going over in my head how I could have a sequel to this story. The story is really open for a sequel. There are a number of directions the story could take. I'm in the process however of working out a couple more stories right now. But something tells me that I will write a sequel to A Pastor's Wife.