tagNonConsent/ReluctanceThe New Parishioner

The New Parishioner


Melissa Morgan's female intuition sensed something about this new parishioner, a huge muscular black man named Reggie Johnson, which made her very uneasy. Her husband, Bill, failed to notice Reggie make his way beside her, all the way from across the chapel, during church services.

All houses of worship carried in their air that same musty stench, Reggie despised and found disheartening since his earliest childhood, of old prayer books and Bibles. His eyes contemptuously beheld the large cross -- a symbol of cruel discipline, suppression, sexual inhibition and no friend of his -- suspended from the ceiling above the preacher.

For Reggie, grueling Sunday service was worse than Hell -- and it was here on Earth. His stare lustfully wandered to the delicious curves of Melissa's young, slender figure beneath fine Sunday garments -- a worthier object of contemplation and the only thing making the malarkey spewing from Reverend Doyle's mouth and that infernal book he read tolerable.

Melissa's dress revealed a bosom that filled it nicely, not excessively; a narrow waist; a thin, athletic hourglass figure; and a small, heart shaped ass. Melissa accompanied her husband to church every Sunday. Her face was an elixir of flaxen hair that descended past her shoulders in gentle waves; steely blue eyes, their color taken from heaven; a cute, round nose; a petite mouth with full lips; light, unblemished skin.

A few months back Reggie had placed his drug dealing operation in trusted hands, left the inner city, and moved to this small rural community where he remained inconspicuous. After the prosecution of some high-ranking government officials on his payroll, he needed to hang low for a while.

Reggie missed many things about the city, beautiful women most of all. Although many of his sexual partners became so unwillingly, city life, nevertheless, had provided him with a steady stream of girlfriends. Here in the boonies that stream had gone dry -- no pussy for four months -- which brought him to the Light of Christ Church.

Reggie needed pussy badly, and the Light of Christ Church seemed like the only place he might find some in this small community. The predominantly white congregation contained potential. Reggie particularly enjoyed cultivating a taste for black cock in supercilious white women. While here, he played the role of a good strong Christian deceptively well and no one suspected evil among them.

Services concluded and everyone wished their neighbors peace. "I love you so much," Melissa whispered in her husband's ear. After a big embrace, Bill and Melissa turned away from one another -- she jauntily toward Reggie.

"Peace be with you," Melissa said looking up into Reggie's dark eyes. This gigantic muscular black man towered over her and Bill and gave Melissa a strange vibe.

"Peace," Reggie replied. He noticed Melissa's slight hesitancy as he took her hand to shake it, her diamond engagement ring and wedding band giving him brief glimpses of rainbows in their sparkle. Blood rushed to his penis. As quickly as a teenage boy stealing a first kiss, he formed a very big and hard erection. Attractive young white women had that effect on him. His suit jacket helped conceal the horrific bulge Melissa caused yet failed to see in his pants. She probably never fucked a black man before either, Reggie correctly surmised.

Perhaps by chance or iniquitous intervention, the situation began to favor Reggie's lustful desires. Reverend Doyle was not finished yet...

"Bill Morgan, Scott and Lisa Fridas, and Larry Smith, come on up here," Reverend Doyle beckoned in labored breaths, his fat, bloated gut spilling over his belt.

Melissa's husband left her side to join the other four individuals summoned by Reverend Doyle.

"Let's hear a round of applause for these good folks who have graciously volunteered to be part of our missionary group leaving for Peru next week to spread the word of our Lord, Jesus. We are going to be gone for three weeks, but all of you need to be here praying for us. Brother Tom Gavin will be on the pulpit leading services," Reverend Doyle announced to Reggie's elation.

Melissa's husband was leaving for three entire weeks. Reggie never missed an opportunity to get inside a stuck-up white woman's panties, and the good Reverend Doyle just revealed his next chance. A smile formed on Reggie's face from the good news -- perhaps going to church was not such a bad thing after all, even though he served a different master.

That autumn Sunday, Summer's last gasp, church departed to an unusually mild sunlit afternoon -- a joyous day bathed in amber that perfectly reflected Melissa's radiance.


Bill's luggage packed with clothes, toiletries, and most importantly, a copy of the Bible, sat by the front doorway waiting as he perched on the sofa with Melissa and read a final verse of scripture to her before his departure. Matthew 25:35 -- 25:40 seemed quite apropos given the nature of his upcoming trip to some impoverished village in the jungles of South America:

"For I was hungered, and you gave me meat: I was thirsty, and you gave me drink: I was a stranger and you took me in..."

Melissa heard Reverend Doyle's vehicle approaching up their long driveway from the main road as Bill finished the passage. She had tried talking Bill out of this ridiculous trip. Two years ago, when Bill discovered Jesus, his involvement with the church increased, to where it now occupied so much of their lives. She tolerated Bill's zealousness, even if she did not share it as completely, because she loved him. She had even followed him from their previous home in the city to this backwoods location.

Melissa went through all the motions for Bill -- joining the choir, going to Bible study and prayer groups -- yet the unshakable faith everyone in the congregation shared escaped her, and sometimes she doubted. She was an intelligent woman who found it difficult to be 100 percent certain about something she could not see or touch. On rare occasions a tiny heretical notion she kept suppressed tried to surface from her deepest, darkest thoughts: that perhaps people kidded themselves about God's existence and He was only as real as Santa Claus.

Scott Fridas and Larry Smith sallied from Reverend Doyle's SUV to help Bill load his luggage. Lisa, Scott's wife, sauntered over to Melissa, whose effulgent smile appeared dimmer than usual, as the men greeted one another and began rearranging suitcases.

"Don't worry about Bill. We'll take good care of him," Lisa said hugging Melissa. "You really should have come with us."

Reverend Doyle had invited both Bill and Melissa to join the mission to a small, poor village near Abancay in Peru, but Melissa did not want to spend three weeks battling insects in some third world country lacking civilized amenities. It was bad enough living out here in the sticks.

Melissa replied to Lisa with a canned excuse, "I know, but winter is coming and someone needs to keep an eye on things around the house."

Bill turned to his lovely wife whose beautifully slender figure and gorgeous face had caused heads to turn since her late teens, and still caused the same reaction now in her late twenties, garnering jealousy from a number of female parishioners. Bill hugged and kissed her goodbye. "I'll write," he said hopping into the front passenger side of the SUV beside Reverend Doyle. He hauled the heavy door closed with a thud and waved from the other side of the window as they pulled away.

Melissa watched Reverend Doyle's SUV become smaller as its distance from her grew, until only the faint red glow of its tail lights remained, brighter for a moment as it slowed to take a far-off curve, then disappearing as if swallowed by the surrounding forest.

Once at the airport several flights would bring Bill and his group to that far-away country with limited internet access. For the next several weeks, Melissa's primary method of communicating with him would be reminiscent of an earlier generation that wrote letters on paper, placed them in envelopes and sent them with stamps via Postal Service.

In waning dusk, Melissa stood staring at the empty roadway and the grey trees ascending towards aphotic clouds of a looming storm. A northerly wind caused her to shiver as the temperature precipitously dropped.

A few miles away, the new member of their church planned some missionary work of his own, serving a different master everyone in the congregation knew and avoided.


Isolated among the barren woods of late autumn, beneath a cold, dark, starless sky, the house sat. The wind whisked away puffs of smoke from the chimney and howled of an approaching storm to dormant, grey trees with branches twisted like elongated arthritic fingers. Melissa faced the fireplace languorously balled up at the end of the sofa as snow and sleet began pelting the windows. With Bill away, she took a long needed break from Biblical passages, and decided to find some entertaining reading on her Kindle.

Reggie Johnson went to their church but secretly followed a faith of self-indulgence. He worshipped female flesh, and required a Host to consecrate. A non-believer might call it luck, but it seemed as if an uncanny force protected Reggie. Over the years, he had committed a multitude of heinous crimes, which included sexually assaulting numerous women, yet he avoided all repercussions.

The lights flickered and went dark as the storm brought down a distant power line. In this remote area, cell phone coverage was spotty and Melissa could never get a signal from inside her house. She had firewood and decided to wait until the storm passed to go outside and call the power company. She longed for Bill to snuggle with and keep her warm and safe as she watched the flames dance in radiant yellow and orange brilliance that spilled tall, wavering shadows into the lonely room.

A frantic pounding on the door startled Melissa and interrupted her musings. Alone in the evening, the nearest neighbors miles away, she put down her Kindle to cautiously investigate.

"Who is it?" Melissa shouted from behind the door.

The incessant pummeling on the door stopped.

"I'm Reggie Johnson, your neighbor from up the road. I'm stuck out here and need help, please," a voice that sounded vaguely familiar replied. Melissa did not recognize the name, but the passage Bill had read to her earlier -- "helping a stranger in need" -- spoke to her now.

A clatter from the lock turning brought a momentary smile to Reggie, but he quickly replaced it with a brooding frown when the door opened.

Melissa opened the door to an onslaught of wind and sleet and a flood of chill night air that instantly displaced the warmth inside the house and caused the flames in the fireplace to shudder. In the gloom, she did not recognize the gigantic, imposing figure standing at her doorway. "Come in," she encouraged, moving to the side, guardedly allowing the dark figure to pass and hurriedly shutting the door behind him. "The power's out," she explained leading him with the poise of a ballet dancer from the shadowy hallway toward the warm fireplace.

In light cast by the fire, Melissa recognized the figure covered in melting snow and ice that formed puddles beneath his galoshes as the huge black man who greeted her in Church. He removed mitten-covered hands from the pockets of his dark blue ski jacket and appreciatively waved them above the genial flames.

The uneasy feeling Reggie had given her in church returned, but she ignored her instincts. How could she turn him away in a dangerous storm and call herself a Christian? "What in heaven's name are you doing out on a night like this?" Melissa asked.

In silk pajamas that loosely followed the developed curves of Melissa's young, athletic body, it took every ounce of willpower to stop his eyes from devouring her and revealing his intentions.

"I saw the storm coming and thought I better try to get gasoline for my generator and some firewood. When I got to town, the store had closed already. I tried to get back home but my truck slid off the road and got stuck a mile back from here," Reggie explained peeling off his wet mittens and sticking them in his jacket pocket.

Melissa thought about this situation for a moment -- the inappropriateness of a strange black man alone with her at night with her husband away. She did not like this scenario, but in good conscience, she could not refuse Reggie lodging while the storm raged. She answered sympathetically: "Well you can't go out with it storming like this. You'll freeze to death. Let me take your jacket to dry before you catch cold." She went to help him remove a backpack he was wearing so he could take off the jacket, but he stopped her.

"I've got it," Reggie said. "It's pretty heavy." He placed the backpack on the hardwood floor leaning it against the end of the sofa. Melissa hung his ski jacket over the back of a chair and left his galoshes by the fire to dry.

With his puffy jacket off, Melissa noticed large muscles bulging beneath Reggie's shirt and wondered what type of strenuous physical labor he performed to make them so big. Reggie was handsome, but she was married and not interested other men -- especially black men. His strong facial structure looked like it had been sculpted in marble with smooth dark brown skin; short kinky black hair on top of his head; wet, black eyes like obsidian.

Melissa took a sip of tea she had prepared earlier, now lukewarm, and saw Reggie watching her. "I'm sorry I can't make you some with the power out. Would you like something cold to drink? Ice water perhaps?" she joked.

"Actually, I am a little thirsty, but you can hold the ice," answered Reggie.

Melissa minced her way to the kitchen nursing the fragile flame from a candle. When she left the room, Reggie leaned over to where his backpack sat next to the couch, silently retracted its zipper enough to slide his hand inside, and procured a vial he had brought for this special occasion, spiking her tea with a dose of the clear liquid -- the finest date rape formulation available.

Snow and sleet fell outside and frigid wind strained through crevices in the old, drafty structure as Melissa groped in the dimly lit cupboard for a glass. It began to look like this black man, a practical stranger, might have to stay the night -- a prospect that did not sit well with her.

Reggie was zippering his backpack closed as Melissa returned with a glass of water. "My cell phone doesn't work in the house, but as soon as it lets up, I'll go outside and call for help." It was a tactful hint that she did not want him here any longer than necessary.

"We can't get anyone to come out in this weather now anyway, I guess," Reggie answered as Melissa returned to the other end of the sofa.

Melissa sipped from her half-full cup, the cold giving the tea a slightly different, vaguely salty flavor, she thought, smacking her lips together and finishing the soupçon remaining.

"Have you lived here long?" Melissa asked, forgetting about the bad vibe she received from Reggie and finding herself in a more talkative mood.

"About four months."

"Where are you from?"

Reggie paused a moment not wanting to reveal too much about himself and thinking about his answer. "Ashville," he lied. "How about you," he asked, encouraging a garrulousness uncharacteristic in her the drug induced.

Unusual exhilaration and a girlish silliness she had buried years ago bubbled to her surface in a drunken euphoria and she opened more to him, providing her entire life history it seemed in speech becoming increasingly slurred and less coherent.

Melissa chattered without noticing Reggie inching closer. He comfortably reclined and put his arm around her shoulders, his touch strangely redolent of her first loves, and smiled into her face as he adjusted an extremely large bulge in his pants. Melissa saw the curved outline of his immense manhood strain against the fabric, reach above his left hip, and practically pop out the waistband of his trousers! She realized something was wrong yet she could not think straight. She tried standing and almost fell, but Reggie jumped up and caught her.

"Whoa, you're in no condition to walk," Reggie said, holding Melissa against him. She was everything he sought in a woman -- a beautiful face, a perfect little body and white. Something about stuck-up white women in particular made Reggie extra horny.

Tight in Reggie's arms, she tried to recoil from the hardness of his penis that she felt through his pants pushing into her tummy.

"Get hands off. Let... go," She babbled -- nausea and grogginess setting in on Melissa.

"Are you okay? What's the matter?" Reggie asked with a heinous smile. "You're not feeling well, baby."

She stared at him with a vacant look, like someone heavily drugged and on an intense trip.

"I better get you in bed; you may have the flu or something."

Reggie set Melissa on the sofa and with the candle she had used earlier, searched her house, finding her cellphone, its charger and a set of keys on the kitchen table. In another room, he found her computer and removed its power cord.

When he returned to the living room with the items he had found -- Melissa's phone and keys in his pocket, the phone charger and computer power cord in his hand -- Melissa was gone, the front door left open as an invitation for cold, wind and sleet.

Reggie grabbed a flashlight from his backpack. The darkness seemed to swallow him as he went into the frigid night to find her.

He discovered Melissa slumped over the hood of her locked car. He realized he held the car's keys, along with her cellphone, in his pocket. Snow covered Melissa; still in pajamas, she was soaked and freezing.


Atop Melissa's chiffonier a solitary candle glimmered, her somber bedroom filled with shadows and chill. Behind purple lips, her teeth chattered as she shivered in Reggie's arms. The potent drug attenuated what would have been her violent kicks, strikes, and desperate squirms.

Reggie plopped her into bed, his immense cock hard and aching to bore into her tight cunt and soothe itself. First, he needed to treat Melissa's hypothermia. "We've got to get these wet pajamas off you right away," he said starting to unbutton her top. Several buttons flew off the garment in Reggie's haste to remove it, Melissa's fingers unsuccessfully fighting to keep them fastened. Her gorgeous breasts and tight stomach appeared as Reggie ultimately succeeded in undoing the piece and it dangled open.

"No, leave alone," she slurred, clutching the open, wet garment to her chest as he sat her up and grappled it from her. Off Melissa's shoulders and down her arms the pajama top finally came with several hard tugs, Reggie tossing it from the bed. Her arm shakily crossed over her chest concealing her nipples that had hardened from the cold. Reggie shoved her down. His fingers slid inside the waistbands of her pajama bottoms and panties and bunched them in his fists. He yanked fiercely. The sodden silk garments jerked from her hips came down her legs, and reunited with her top somewhere on the floor. Melissa lay naked on her back beneath him, arm covering her breasts, hand over her vagina, and shivers so severe the entire bed trembled.

Reggie managed to undress himself while straddling Melissa, her body writhing beneath him.

A glimpse in the shadows left Melissa doubting her own eyes -- his penis could not possibly be that large.

"This will get you warm," Reggie said. He rested his naked, muscular body on top of Melissa, sinking her into the mattress.

"Get off," Melissa groaned through clenched teeth, her hands ineffectively pushing at his sides, her nipples poking into his chest. The sensation of his monstrous penis pressing against her, its warmth and hardness reaching above her belly button, confirmed what she saw in the shadows.

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