After that, it became something of a friend to him. It was big enough to house a number of bottles – some empty, some usable – which were also his...friends. They could loll around the big feather mattress in much the same way as he did, and were similarly unconcerned by matters of hygiene. They could fall out with a clunk, much like him. And the bed, although it creaked a little, never really seemed to mind. Occasionally it paid host to a little fumbling, grumbling, drunken sex. When he could. Clapping started, rhythmically, in time with Andrew’s thrusts, and it was like I was dosed with a powerful aphrodisiac. The slut, the exhibitionist within me, was for the first time completely set free. I had resigned myself to a chaste life with my husband and prepared to fight the dark urges inside me every waking moment. A fingertip pressed on my pucker. Another finger flicked my clit. Arousal crashed in waves down over me. I came, hard, almost choking on the reverend’s cock, but he pulled. More

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