The next morning, the pastor arrived unannounced, as he often did. The house was alive with the soft hum of Saturday chores, but this time, the atmosphere felt different—charged, almost expectant. The wife and daughter were dressed in matching bikinis, their attire more suited for a beach than a living room. The fabric was comically skimpy, barely covering their ample curves, and the way it clung to their bodies left little to the imagination.
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The pastor stood in the doorway, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. The wife was bent over, sweeping the floor, her ass cheeks peeking out from the bottom of her bikini. The daughter was dusting a shelf, her F-cup tits jiggling with every movement. The pastor’s breath hitched, and he felt himself growing hard almost instantly. He cleared his throat, announcing his presence.
“Good morning, family,” he said, his voice thick with desire. The women turned to him, their smiles warm and welcoming, as if they had been expecting him all along.
“Oh, Pastor! We didn’t hear you come in,” the wife said, straightening up and placing a hand on her hip. The motion made her tits sway slightly, and the pastor’s eyes were drawn to them like a moth to a flame.
“I was just reading about something… intriguing,” the pastor said, his voice dropping to a lower, more suggestive tone. He stepped further into the room, his gaze never leaving the wife’s body. “It’s called rimming. Have you heard of it?”
The daughter giggled, setting down her duster and walking over to him. “Rimming? Sounds… dirty,” she said, her voice teasing. She bit her lip as she looked up at him, her tits pressing against his arm.
The pastor smirked, his hands resting on her hips as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “It’s only dirty if you make it that way.” He pulled back, his eyes flicking over to the wife. “I was thinking… your daughter could rim me while I… appreciate your tits, dear wife.”
The husband, who had been silently watching from the corner, felt a lump form in his throat. He hadn’t been touched by his wife in months, hadn’t felt the warmth of her body against his. The pastor’s words stirred something deep within him—something he didn’t want to acknowledge.
“But there’s a problem,” the pastor continued, his voice smooth and calculated. “I’ll need someone to hold your wife’s tits up for me so I can… smack my cock on them.” He turned to the husband, his eyes gleaming with a challenge. “Would you like to touch your wife, even if it’s just to hold her tits for me?”
The husband’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to say no, to scream at the pastor to leave his family alone. But the months of pent-up desire, the loneliness, the frustration—it all came crashing down on him. He nodded, his voice barely audible. “Yes.”
The wife smiled at him, her eyes soft and understanding. She walked over to him, her hips swaying, and kissed him gently on the cheek. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s just what we need.”
The daughter was already kneeling behind the pastor, her hands resting on his hips. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ready, Pastor?”
The pastor groaned, his cock already straining against his pants. “Oh, I’m more than ready.” He reached down, undoing his belt and letting his pants fall to the floor. His cock sprang free, hard and throbbing.
The wife knelt in front of him, her tits spilling out of her bikini top. The husband knelt behind her, his hands trembling as he reached out to cradle her heavy, engorged breasts. He felt the warmth of her skin, the weight of her tits in his palms, and a wave of desire washed over him.
The daughter didn’t waste any time. She leaned forward, her tongue darting out to lick the pastor’s asshole. The moment her tongue made contact, the pastor let out a low, guttural moan. His hands clenched into fists, and he began to rhythmically slap his cock against the wife’s tits.
The sound of skin on skin filled the room, punctuated by the pastor’s grunts and the daughter’s soft moans as she continued to rim him. The husband watched in a mix of humiliation and arousal as his wife’s tits jiggled with each slap, her nipples hardening under the attention.
“That’s it, you fucking little slut,” the pastor growled, his hips bucking slightly as he slapped his cock harder and faster. “Tongue my ass like you mean it.”
The daughter obliged, her tongue working in circles around his asshole, her hands gripping his hips to steady herself. The pastor’s moans grew louder, more desperate. He was close—so close.
With a final, primal cry, the pastor came, his cum shooting out in thick ropes and splattering across the wife’s tits and the husband’s face. The daughter pulled back, her lips wet and glistening, and laughed at the sight of her cum-covered dad.
The wife joined in, her laughter bright and carefree. She reached up, scooping some of the sticky cum off her tits and smearing it across the husband’s face. “You look so… adorable,” she teased, her fingers tracing patterns in the mess.