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From: "Ray" <hoorayray@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} ~Christian erotica
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Dear readers:

As a devout Christian, this sort of thing (thinking these
thoughts, reading or much less writing such a story) was
never considered an option. I'd always tried to minimize
my sexual thoughts and fantasies. Now, we (my wife and I)
are discovering that God is no prude, and that thoughtful,
rational Christians can enjoy sexuality to a much greater
degree than traditional, culture-bound teaching has taught
us.  This, therefore, is a stab at "Christian erotica,"
with the understanding that the phrase is not an oxymoron.
Comments to hoorayray@yahoo.com are welcome.

There's an amusing P.S. at the end. Hope you enjoy.
***************************

                                               God Watches

Adam and Eve had a great deal.  They were "naked and not ashamed."
They
would look at each other, absolutely without embarrassment.  They
didn't
care.  They had an intimacy that looked past the physical and embraced
the
spiritual and emotional.  Their physical love only capped the
closeness
between them.  They didn't have sex, they made love.  Theirs was a
relationship modeled for them by God Himself, based on a foundation of
honesty, communication, and acceptance.

We don't know what Adam and Eve looked like.  We shouldn't really
care,
because they didn't.  They probably didn't care about a lot of things.
Like
the birds of the air, they didn't have to fret about food, because
everything
they could ever desire was theirs for the picking.  Like the other
animals,
making love in the garden was a beautiful, natural, sacred, public and
shared
event.  They could not doubt see the animals practicing procreation,
and
their own lovemaking was plain for all to see.

Maybe the animals didn't fully appreciate what they saw, but God did.
You
see, God could see everything.  In fact, He invented it.  Like
everything God
made, He looked down and "saw that it was good."  An artist admiring
His own
excellent handiwork, I'm sure God delighted in every one of His
children's
loving trysts that He witnessed. God is a voyeur, the best possible
kind.
God likes to watch; He likes to see His children blessed. God loved
Adam and
Eve, Adam and Eve loved God, and Adam and Eve loved each other.  And
God
watched.

God's character has not changed.  He still sees all.  He still
delights in
seeing His children enjoying what He has given for them to enjoy.

My wife and I love God; we also love each other.  My wife loves me
with an
incredibly generous, unselfish love.  She models God's graciousness to
me,
for she delights in blessing me.  She loves to make love to me.  And
God
watches.

I like to watch, too.  It's an incredible turn-on for me to see
someone
enjoying sex.  Nothing is more powerful, sexually, than seeing my wife
aroused.  And it seems like nothing arouses her more than pleasuring
me.
We've got a great deal!  And I watch.  And God watches.

I love to watch her when she's dresses up nice for a special date.
She puts
on a sexy lacy bra, and a dress that buttons all the way up the front.
She
starts with it buttoned all the way, and is the demure mother of
three.  We
go out to a restaurant for dinner.  We talk about the schedule, about
what
God is teaching us, about the kids.  But as the dinner wears on, the
top
buttons somehow slowly come open, showing her very attractive
cleavage.

Now, normally I'm a fairly focused thinker, and if I want I can keep
two or
three different thoughts in my head at the same time.  But when I
start to
see her tits like that, and a little of her push-up black bra, most
everything else leaves my head.  I wonder, Does she know that she's
distracting in a heart-racing way?  It's the best kind of short-term
mental
vacation.  I'm not thinking about work, she's making me think about
something
else. The very slow tease is a delight.  I watch and I wonder.  And
God
watches, but doesn't wonder at all.

I also watch those who watch her. I like it when I catch other men
watching
her. It confirms my own good taste .  I see the way other men see her
cleavage.  I catch the waiter at the restaurant, a nice looking
friendly guy
from the nearby college, glancing down her dress.  I notice the man at
the
next table looking over his own date's shoulder to see my wife, with
the
tease of her tits.  I wonder if they wonder, Would those breasts be as
perfect uncovered as they seem when covered?  I know they are, they
way they
fit my hands so perfectly, they way the nipples grow when I kiss them,
the
way they stand out so firm when I tie her up. I wonder if she wonders
whether
they see.  She pleases me with the sight of her breasts, she pleases
God by
showing His excellent work.  The waiter is pleased, I can tell.  She's
a
pleasing sight to everyone.  Does she know what a delight it is when
she's
showing?  Nothing to be ashamed of at all.  She should be like Eve in
the
garden, not ashamed.

Eventually, after dinner across from a perfect pair of milky white
breasts
trying to spill out of her bra, we'll take in a movie.  During the
movie,
she'll lean over and whisper "I'm not wearing any panties."  A button
or two
or more from the bottom of her dress will "somehow" come undone.
She'll take
my hand, and place it on her exposed thigh.  Can anyone see us in the
darkened theater?  We're a church-going couple, and it's a
church-going town;
would we dare let anyone else see into our private universe, to know
just how
much we love?  God knows; He watches.  Who else watches beside He and
me?
That man behind us?

I don't remember many details of the movie, because I watch.  And I
know that
God watches,  and probably the man at the end of the aisle.  It's a
dark
theater, but you can tell when a person's hand isn't in his own lap.
My hand
is not in my own lap, and my wife's occasionally reaches over to my
lap.  She
gives a squeeze, and she can tell my pleasure at what I see.  I
slowly,
gently stroke her thigh.  Occasionally, I stroke higher on her leg,
pushing
up her dress a little more each time.  Then, I can feel her pubes, the
coarse
kinky hair that offers no protection from my probing fingers.  Now,
she's
getting wet and aromatic; I can tell her pleasure.  I give a long,
slow
stroke through her moist mound, and lick my finger clean of her
juices,
smelling and tasting my favorite perfume of all.

We both anticipate the eventual climax later in the evening, but the
public
foreplay is so exciting!  Sometimes I wish I could step back and just
watch,
to see this couple so in love, to see them aching to give each other
pleasure.  I'd really like to watch some more, but not the movie.  I
try to
picture the picture playing in that other guy's head.  He surely can't
be
thinking about the movie, not with this masterpiece of art just down
the
aisle, escaped from a classical painting.

The movie is over, we'll straighten our collars during the credits.
We'll
stand up to go, while it's still dark.  I have to hide behind her, so
my
bulge won't be so obvious.  She'll give it a quick squeeze just the
same; did
the guy down the aisle see that?  God saw.  He likes to watch.

We'll head to the car, and decide where to go next.  There's a seclude
park
nearby; dare we go there?  Like high schoolers itching to fondle each
other,
but a little worried about whether her father will discover them
making out.
Actually, our Heavenly Father already sees, and approves.  We'll drive
to the
park, walk nonchalantly around the track a turn or two, trying to
appear
casual to another late night jogger.  Then, we'll head down a short
embankment and lay on the grass, our heads pointing up hill, our feet
pointing down.

Her dress will come completely open, and I'll kiss her long and
tenderly, my
hands sliding up and down her chest and belly, teasing but not
touching her
warmth.  Over the rushing sound of my blood in my ears, I can barely
hear the
footsteps of the jogger heading around the track.

In the nearly-gone light of the sliver of moon, my wife's pale skin
takes on
the faintest glow of pearl.  I reach under her, undo her bra clasps,
and push
up her bra, exposing her pink nipples.  They are erect, but whether
from cold
or thrill I can't tell.  I love to watch her.  And I know God can
watch, too,
if He wants.  Who wouldn't want to?

I cup one breast in one hand, and take her nubbin into my mouth; I'll
make
sure it's not cold.  While alternately sucking and tonguing,
alternately hard
and gentle, my other hand completes one more journey down her soft
skin, but
not stopping like before.  I cup her mound with my hand, pressing
firmly on
all her womanhood.  She moans quietly, losing herself in all the
sensations:
The cool night air, the tickling grass on the back of her thighs, my
hot
mouth on her cold titty, my cool hand on her warm pussy.  We're
starting to
make love like Adam and Eve, in the Garden where God can watch.

Is God watching?  I hear heavy breathing.  Is it mine?  Is it hers?
Who else
is watching?  Without letting go of her breast, I lift my eyes up to
the top
of the short hill.  Yes, the jogger is watching.  I smile with my eyes
at
him, pleased that my pleasure, the thought that our joy, can be shared
like
this.

Looking back down to my wife, I see her begin to spread her legs
wider.  She
brings her knees up and spreads them, too, opening her pussy lips for
wider
access by my dancing fingers.  I bend my middle two fingers, pushing
to find
their way into her soaking pussy.  I move my mouth over to her other
tit,
kissing/nibbling her chest on the way. Keeping the palm of my hand
against
her pubic bone, putting pressure on her clitoris from the outside and
probing
for her g-spot on the inside, I slowly rub a little up and down, in
and out.

I look up to her face; her eyes are closed, her breathing heavy, her
chest
beginning to heave.  Making little meowing sounds, she starts to move
her
hips, grinding against my hand.  This is the part I love to watch.
The
jogger, too, apparently, because he hasn't left.  In fact, he's
stepped a
little closer, about 20 feet away, with his hand in his own "lap" now.
In
this display of pleasure my wife is giving, there's an audience of at
least
three.  We are all watching, and we are all pleased. Would she freak
out
knowing we were all watching her?  Would it help if she knew how much
pleasure she was giving all of us?  It's fabulous the way receiving a
blessing so enthusiastically can in turn be a blessing to witnesses.

I'm concentrating solely on her, giving her my best attention.  I keep
watching her face, barely able to make out the look of her own
concentration
on the sensations she's experiencing.  I'm torn between wanting to
heighten
her delight, and the risk of breaking the spell by moving.  I choose
to try
to take her higher.  I leave her breasts, and start nuzzling my way up
around
her neck, tickling the sensitive hairs there, and around her ear.  I
risk a
few words.  "I love you.  I love watching you.  You're so beautiful.
Keep
your eyes closed and enjoy whatever comes."

I then start to move down her body, grazing her chest, her stomach,
her
thighs with my lips.  With the rest of my body lying downhill, I
settle my
face between her thighs.  From here I can still look up and see her
shadowed
face, her white breasts.  I can also see the jogger has moved a little
closer.  He's watching, but probably wanting more.

With my tongue, I begin to lick around her luscious, swollen pussy
lips.
With my hands, I reach up and massage her breasts.  She reaches her
own arms
straight over her head, loving the feel of stretching out, fully
exposed.
The previous pre-climactic intensity has slowed, her hips are stilled.
She's
has settled herself down for what she knows will be a perfect
tongue-lashing.
I start with a quick flick of her erect clitoris, and I can tell by
the short
catch in her breathing that I'm in control of her body.  I continue
flicking
her clit with my tongue, like "licking honey off a butterfly's wing" I
heard
once.

With one hand still on her breast, I wave the stranger in with my
other.  He
approaches, dropping his jogging shorts.  I shake my head "No;" my
wife only
takes it as my face playing with her crotch.  He looks confused.  I
wave him
in again, this time using my free hand to point to my captive's
breast,
squeeze it whole-handedly, point to it again, and point to him.
Another
squeeze, another wave, and he gets the message.

I watch him sit behind my wife's head.  I move both my hands down to
her
stomach, lightly stroking her now hypersensitive skin.  I continue my
tongue's work, occasionally  taking her swollen vulva into my mouth
and
sucking gently, then returning to her clit.  My new friend, my partner
in
providing pleasure, calmly strokes his fingers around my wife's heavy
breasts.  At first she doesn't seem to notice, for she's caught up in
her own
contentedness.  He then begins to massage her breasts, while I stroke
her
belly and lap up her secret juices.

"What?!" she exclaims, and starts to sit up.

I lift my head.  "Trust me," I answer, and press her back down with my
hands.
She complies, and I return to the one true aphrodisiac. The new helper
lies
down beside her to continue the breast massage.  He also starts
nuzzling her
neck and ear as I did before, which I know she finds almost
irresistible.  I
watch her relax, her body being ministered to by four hands and two
tongues.

She starts to talk quietly, whispering so that no other passersby
might hear
her.  "It feels so good.  I never guessed.  Don't stop.  I love your
tongues."  Hearing her be vocal only makes my heart race, and my
tonguing
picks up pace.  "I'm climbing," she says.  I keep my eyes lifted the
whole
time, watching her happiness.

Helper has started flicking her nipples, rolling them gently between
thumb
and finger.  They're now standing up more erect than I've ever seen
them.
Her breathing is coming in little gasps, for she's having a hard time
containing so many erogenous sensations at once.

"Lover I need you in me, now" she hoarsely whispers.  "Ride me like I
like
it; ride the pony."  I lift my head and wipe my drenched mouth on my
sleeve.
She rolls over, brushing off the stranger, while I quickly undo my fly
and
release my cock from his recently painful prison.  She assumes the
position
on her knees, and I scoot in behind her.  I push the bottom of her
dress
aside; her arms are still in the sleeves, but everything else is
exposed.

My dick enters her easily; she's ready-ready-more-than-ready.  I can
see my
hands on her finely rounded ass, and I watch my dick slide in to her.
I know
that if I move too fast I'd  finish too quickly, which would cheat my
lover.
I move slowly, in and out, concentrating on not cumming, and on making
her
cum first.  I watch the watcher watch us, unashamed that he can see
our love
in climax.

I reach up and grab my wife's hair, using it like a bridle to control
her
head.  This is the "pony" part she likes.  I'm in control, and she
loves it.
The stranger moves to his knees in front of my wife's face, then looks
at me
as if for approval.  I pull her hair, lifting her head up level with
his
crotch.  I then nod at him silently.

He drops his jogging shorts, and out springs his erection.  He's
perfectly
straight, not curved up like my own.  "Show him how good you are,
gorgeous."
She tries to turn her head around to look at me, but with my fingers
entangled in her hair, I turn her to face him again.  "Trust me" I say
to
her.

He offers her his "little man," and she begins by tentatively licking
around
the crown of his penis.  I press harder at her from behind, pushing
her mouth
against his dick.  She moans from the feel of the flames stroking her
insides.  She takes him into her mouth.  He closes his eyes and takes
her
head in both hands.  She's receiving pleasure, she's giving pleasure,
and I'm
watching it all.  Unselfishness at its finest.

This must be what God originally intended in the Garden of Eden.
Watching
His children be naked and unashamed, watching them giving pleasure,
and
observing it all would be to His great delight.

The stranger just can't last with all the excitement.  He gives one
spurt in
my wife's mouth, but then she takes his dick out of her mouth and
finishes
stroking him by hand.  With a long drawn out "Oooohh" he fertilizes
the
ground with his seed.  I stop stroking for moment, still in her, while
she
licks him clean.  "Please go now" she whispers to him, so he hikes up
his
shorts and hikes up the hill as we watch him go.

When his head disappears beyond the rise, she lays down flat on her
belly,
leaving my stiffness to hang in the night breeze.  I immediately begin
to
cool off.  She rolls to her back, opens her knees in the traditional
missionary position, and holds her arms out to me invitingly.  "I want
to
finish with you, lover."

I accept the invitation, and press the weight of my chest against
hers.  She
aches down to help guide me in to her treasure box.  I immediately
begin to
warm up again.  I resume my slow stroking, trying to last as long as I
can.
"I'm ready to cum," she tells me in a constricted voice.  Reaching
down and
grabbing my butt with her hands, she pushes me into her at a faster
pace.
"Harder, now," she insists, and I comply.  I start pounding for all
I'm
worth, my manhood reaching her cervix inside, my pubic bone smacking
her
clitoris outside.  Her breath comes in a vowelless "Nnngh," matching
the
tempo of our lovemaking.  Her hands push faster, I try desperately to
increase the pace.  I watch her face contort in that agony of ecstasy,
until
she throws her head back in a breathless, silent scream, her hands
like vises
gripping me to her.  The moment is perfect.  I release myself,
unloading deep
in her in a lengthy, perfectly synchronized climax.

Afterwards, we lay on the grass, coasting in each other arms until the
heat
of our bodies dissipates and the cool of the night chases us back into
our
clothes.  Climbing to the top of the little hill beside the track, we
see no
trace of our anonymous friend, or of anyone else to witness our
passion.  But
I know God watches.  I can bet the nightly exercise routine will be
greeted
with renewed enthusiasm, and Friday nights will never be the same for
us
either.

I silently thank God for my eyes, for the beauty He offers, and for
the joy
of watching.  God likes to watch, and so do I.

**********************
P.S. After I gave this story to my wife, she wanted to put on that
dress I
so admire, try flirting a tiny bit with a waiter, flash a little at
the
movie theater, and take a walk around that track. Was I nervous or
what!?

As it turns out, we did it all, just like in the story. Well, almost
all.
We walked the track for about a mile, with her dress unbuttoned down
below
her bra and open halfway, and unbuttoned up to her crotch, flipping
open
as we walked. We walked counter-clockwise, so any late-night joggers
could
get a frontal view.  It was a new moon, very dark, so any details were
hard
to make out, but the tantalizing hints were there.

There was a lone, late-night jogger. It just happened to be the youth
pastor from our church, a 22-year old college guy.  Can you say
"mortified?" I knew you could.   My wife and I went to
a baseball dugout for "privacy," trembling and nervous the whole time
wondering anyone, especially the pastor, would walk by. No one did,
but
what an adventure! (I did say we did "almost all")

Now my little homemaker/church secretary is becoming quite the sex
engine, and fantasizes about flashing each time we go out. I don't
know,
but we might be tempted to warn you when our next date night is...





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