Despite the distance it takes to drive to her incall, I’ve been visiting Betty almost every week for the past few months. Her tall slender figure, pretty face, and pleasant, professional demeanor make her an attractive playmate.
Today she was attired in a demure black dress which nevertheless accentuated her ample bust. We settled into a few minutes of pleasant, innocuous conversation as I undressed her with my eyes. Then it was time to get down to business. The black dress finally came off, we both got “comfortable,” and we moved to the bed. I rubbed her shoulders, and we started to kiss. I was already rock hard. She wrapped me with a condom and started to perform a CBJ. I ran my fingers through her silky hair. She got on top of me and established a nice rhythm. I enjoyed how tight she felt. As she was riding me, I kissed her glorious tits, losing myself in the sheer eroticism of the moment. I had completely succumbed to the desire to sin, crossing the threshold between good and bad, purity and impurity. I asked her to flip over. She got in position for doggy style. I started slowly, then started to thrust harder. It was so dirty, and because of that it felt so good. One Freudian writes that “the sexual emerges as the jouissance of exploded limits, as the ecstatic suffering into which the human organism momentarily plunges” into a realm of self-shattering. I ended up on top of Betty. My body was in a frenzy by this point. For this transgressive act I had risked it all. Then came that point in which I lost control of my body, in Shelley’s words, that certain “faintness” and “abandon.” For a moment my consciousness was obliterated.
Betty retrieved a warm washcloth to clean me up. We lay in bed for several minutes and chatted. Then the alarm on her cell phone went off. It was time. We dressed in silence. She gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek goodbye, a pledge until our next rendezvous.
Lutheran Guilt 