Torments of the Widow McWorter Ch. 07-10

When it finally came, I swallowed the flood of creamy male semen as fast as he spurted into my throat. His taste was ambrosia to me just as he had predicted. When finished at last, he rocked back on his haunches, pulled his dick from my lips, and with his softening penis in his hand, he rubbed the great ball at its end across my cheeks leaving my face marked with a thin trail of his final mucus.

It was then that I first heard stirring off to the side of our bed. It was Carter, and the noise I heard was him rising from his chair. It distressed me to know Carter had now witnessed every episode of my slutty surrender. He had been present as Alexander mastered me and forced my pitiful admission that I was truly a slut who wanted to be fucked. He had heard me beg like a street whore for my master's cock. He had seen me fucked, and finally, he had watched me wrap my lips around that great male tube, and after I had sucked it dry, swallow the gift it had left in my throat.

I felt deeply shamed. Excepting only her master, even a slave woman is entitled to her secrets, but I had none left from Carter. It was bad enough for the man who owns me to know what a trashy slut I am, and how hungry my pussy is for hard male meat. That a black servant knows that as well was mortifying beyond belief.

You might think that I shouldn't care about Carter after the way Maebelle had used and degraded me. After all, on my mistress' orders I had flaunted my body as sex bait before my fellow students. I had shared with her the cock of her Negro boyfriend, and the pussies of her lesbian friends. She had prostituted me at stag parties and at a honkytonk bar where I publicly ate Monique's pussy before servicing the rampant pricks of total strangers.

On that record, why should I care that Carter has seen me grovel in abject submission as I take cock? I did care, however. I was no longer fucking some nameless stranger I would never see again. I was no longer a whore performing before a audience of a faceless men at some stag party or in a roadhouse honkytonk hidden away in the back woods of South Carolina.

No, everything was different now! The man whom I now serve is no casual one night stand. He is the famous Reverend McWorter, a prominent and permanent fixture in my home town, and in my life He is a man to whom I have pledged my eternal submission and obedience. He is the man I mean to worship as my master for as long as he will have me. He owns me. I am his slave I adore him.

All that makes our intimacy a private thing. Although it humbles a woman to beg for her man's cock, it is not an uncommon experience. It is not, however, a humiliation any woman is proud of, and certainly not one a woman wishes to share. For a mere servant, and a black one at that, to hear her pitiful pleading to be fucked is particularly distasteful.

Servants must respect those whom they serve, yet how could I possibly look Carter in the eye after he has seen me in heat. Surely, knowing what a slut I am he would mock me. Even worse, who will he tell about me? What stories will he spread amongst his fellow servants about how he watched me groveling naked at Reverend McWorter's feet shamelessly pleading to be filled with a hard penis."

Yet Carter's face expressed neither shock nor blame as he untied my arms and legs freeing me from the bed. In truth, he seemed entirely unconcerned with my behavior as he handed me a towel and told me that Alexander expected me to join him in the bath. My shower with him was wonderful, something I will never forget. I carefully soaped my new master's body with special attention to his privates. I rinsed him carefully, and toweled him dry when I finished, but I did not insult his magnificent balls and penis by using a mere cloth on them. On my knees I worshipped them with my mouth as they were due, licking away the drops of water with my tongue.

When our shower was done, master and I returned to his bed, and I cuddled nude in his arms as we slept. In the cool of the predawn, he woke me, spread my legs, and fucked me again, long and lovingly. It was the most wonderful ending to the most wonderful night of my life.

The next day, Alexander announced that I would now join his personal choir. I protested and told him I was neither a singer nor musician. He replied that this choir sang only for him. Musical ability and talent was not important or even necessary. He said its qualifications for membership had "different criteria," that were "somewhat unconventional". I had no idea what he was talking about but I was soon to find out.

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9. My master's Choir.

Alexander fucked me almost every day for the next two weeks, but it was only at the end of that time I first met any of the other members of his "choir". It was a Saturday morning when my new sex master called and ordered me to be at his estate not later than 5 o'clock that evening. Carter met me at the door, and immediately led me upstairs to the bath of a vacant bedroom where he stripped me of my clothes, and dumped me into a tub of hot perfumed water. Once I was well scrubbed, he shaved my legs and pussy. His barbers skill made it obvious that I was not the first woman he had made ready to perform for his employer's entertainment.

Once out of the tub and dried with the huge towel, Carter carefully combed out my hair, made up my face, and painted my nipples with rouge. He handcuffed my wrists in front of me, and buckled a broad black leather dog collar around my neck to which he attached a leather lead. With a word of explanation he jerked on the lead signaling that I should follow him downstairs. I can't begin to express how humbling it was to be a southern white woman stripped naked and led away by a black servant like an animal bitch on the end of a leash. I had hoped to be greeted by my master as I arrived, and I felt betrayed and humiliated that he left to me with this Negro to be washed, handcuffed, collared, leashed, and led away in the nude like a woman taken as a spoil of war.

In the front door foyer a pair of marble columns flanked the entrance into another more spacious room Carter called "the chapel". High up on each column was a brass ring. Carter pressed my bare back and buttocks against the cold marble, raised my arms over my head, and lifting me to my toes, he attached my handcuffs to that ring with a short chain.

Carter had said scarcely a word since I had arrived, speaking only as absolutely necessary. With my arms stretched tightly over my head, my body nude and vulnerable, he left me to hang there still without a word of explanation. Twenty minutes or so later he returned with an attractive petite young woman with jet black hair. She was naked, handcuffed, collared, and a led in by her leash just as I had been. Carter chained her to the column on the other side of the doorway with her arms over her head as he had done with me.

At first I did not recognize her, but then who she was came to me in a thunderbolt. It was Melissa, the wife of Carlin, the young preacher who I work for, and had tried to seduce so unsuccessfully. She was a very pretty woman, small but with full and well shaped breasts, a nice ass, and muscular legs. With her arms stretched tight over her head, her tits stood out without the slightest sag, and she presented quite a sexy picture. I was shocked to see her like this. She and always seemed so virginal, proper and demure, and she was married to a preacher, yet here she was, naked and chained to a post, apparently another of Alex's love slaves.

I waited for a moment hoping that she would be the one to start a conversation, but either she didn't recognize me or was pretending not to. When she did not speak, I could wait no longer to find out what was going on here. "Hello Melissa!" I said. "Perhaps you don't recognize me. I'm Mary Beth, the secretary at your husband's church. Why are we here? What is this all about? What is going to happen to us?"

"Please speak softly," she cautioned. "If we are caught talking Carter will punish us with his whip. Anyway, don't you know? This is one of the nights when chosen members of the Reverend's choir will be auctioned off for three days service as sex slaves of the successful buyers. You and I are here as the Reverend's hostesses to greet his guests who have been invited to bid for these women. We are chained to these columns that we might tempt these men's horny into bidding generously for the bodies of our choir sisters. You must be a new initiatate to the choir, or you would know all about these auctions, and how honored you should be to be selected by the Reverend to be his hostess."

"That's very interesting," I told her, "but isn't it a bit unusual for the hostess to be chained naked to a post? "

"Not tonight, Honey," she answered. A more traditional hostess would offer her guests a glass of wine or a cracker with cheese dip. At this party, the orderves are different. Your body is the tasty treat offered to whet the appetite of the guests before the main course."

I pondered her reply for a moment, and then asked, "Is that what I am then, a tableau, something sexy for his guests to ogle like little boys peeking through a crack into the girls' locker room?"

The woman chained to the other post smiled knowingly. "Sister, you are not here just to look at. Your feminine charms are here to be felt and explored. You can be certain our guests will do just that. They will run their hands between our legs, pinch our nipples, and test the softness of our breasts."

"Nor does their license end there. A guest has only to ask, and Carter will take you down, and you will be made to kneel and service the guest with your mouth. No doubt, before the night is over you will be on your knees at least once sucking a strange cock and swallowing its discharge. No sister, lovely is your body is, you are not here only to show it off. You are chained to that column to excite the Reverend's guests into opening their wallets, and short of actually fucking you, they may use your charms in any way they want."

I was not in the least shocked at what I was told. Miss Maebelle had prostituted me too often for the prospect of giving a blow job to a stranger to frighten me. I did want to know more, however. I admitted to Melissa that I was indeed new to the choir, and asked her to explain what else I could expect to happen this evening. Mellisa continued to whisper, not in the least reluctant to continue as long as Carter did not overhear us.

"Other sisters of the Reverend's choir will arrive here shortly. Some will be offered at auction to the highest bidder, and those sisters will serve the men who buy them as slaves for the next three days. Sisters who are not on the auction block tonight will serve food and drink to the guests before and during the auction. They will do so nude, and like ourselves they are female flesh, fair game to be felt and teased by the guests, although they're not required to give blow jobs as you and I are.

Of course those women who are for sale have the most difficult and uncertain fate. The chances are that most will be bought by horny businessmen who have been tempted by the enticingly dirty fantasy of owning a female slave. Such men have not yet learned how to be cruel, and the women they buy are likely to be frequently fucked but reasonably well treated. One or two less fortunate of our sisters may be bought by sadists who get off on beating and abusing a defenseless woman. The worst luck of all tho is to be bought by a pimp who operates a cat house or escort service. Any sister purchased by one of these men will be used as a professional prostitute, and for the three days of her slavery she will be a common whore forced to service a random selection of strange cocks.

"What is the point of all this," I asked. "Why is the Reverend running a slave market? Why do these women allow him to sell them as whores to strangers?"

Melissa reacted to my question so quickly I suspected she was giving a practiced and well prepared reply to questions she had heard before.

"The Reverend's Old Alabama Gospel Hour is an expensive operation. Those members of the choir who cannot afford the mandatory tithes support him and his ministry by allowing him to sell their bodies to the highest bidder for three days of sexual service. They are specially privileged by this opportunity. In addition to the required monetary contributions, all other members of our faith are must periodically perform some severe penitence for our sins. Only the women of the Reverend's personal choir sold at auction enjoy the double benefit of cleansing themselves of their sins and satisfying their financial obligations at the same time."

Amazing I thought, but I knew from my father how strong the influence of a religious belief can be. I had also heard that it was not unusual for a charismatic cult leader to partake of the sexual favors of this female followers, often with the knowledge and acceptance of their cuckolded husbands. Alexander had mesmerized me from the first time I spoke to him, and I can imagine that he has that affect on most women. Add the impact of religious zeal to his dominating personality, and I could certainly understand how he could become Alabama's Rasputin enslaving every poor woman who crossed his path.

Yet this auction Melissa was telling me about was a long step beyond the simple seduction of individual parishioners. Incredibly, the men of the Reverend's church were not only willing to share their women with their personable minister, they also allowed him to sell them as slaves, even as common prostitutes. Surely such tolerance required a leap of faith far beyond any thing I had ever heard of before.

"But what of the husbands of these women," I asked. "Do they approve of their wives being sold at auction as the sex slaves of total strangers, and sometimes even used as whores?"

"Of course they do," Melissa answered quite cheerfully as if it was only natural that they would. "You will see tonight. Every sister brought here will be accompanied by her husband, father, or boyfriend. This will not be the first auction of choir members for either the women or their men. Each man is fully aware of how his woman will be used, but their obligation to the Reverend's ministry is every bit as great as that of their women. You will see, we all understand and accept the sacrifices that must be made along the pathway to salvation.

"This is a religious thing then, something like a sacrament?" I asked timidly, trying to hide my amazement at what I was being told.

Melissa was not shy about her faith. "Of course! Reverend McWorter speaks for God. He is a modern day apostle and his word is law to our faithful. All of us are honored to be selected. As members of his choir, and by performing services that go with it, we honor our men as much as ourselves. By our obedience we prove our faith. But you are here, a member of the choir also. Surely you understand this?"

I did not want to admit to this true believer that although I was a slave to her preacher's penis, I didn't give a damn about his theological doctrine. I avoided her question by only nodding my head, but apparently rather doubtfully, because Melissa seemed amazed that I appeared hesitant about something that was so plain to her.

"Of course our men are agreeable. Some more so than others it is true, but they all know they are climbing the ladder to glory right along with us, and most are delighted that our beloved Reverend would select their wife, daughter, or girlfriend, to serve him so personally." Melissa grinned a little as she shyly added with a blush, "Or should I say 'service him' so personally."

"Tonight, you will understand better when you see these loving men joyfully lead their women to the altar of their redemption. Each man will have already stripped his woman naked, tied her hands behind her back, and buckled the Reverend's collar around her neck. Thus prepared, he will offer her to the greater glorification of the Reverend and his message. When she returns to him after her three days of penitence she will be purified and in a state of grace. Her husband or boyfriend will have sex with her, and cleansed as she is of her sin, that will be a godly thing good for both their souls."

'Maybe so Melissa", I continued to question, "but what of your husband? I have come to know him pretty well and I find it hard to believe he willingly allows the Reverend to fuck you, and even more unbelievable, that he gives you to him to sell like some pimp running a whorehouse. How does Carlin manage all this?"

"I'm afraid not always with good grace," Melissa admitted grudgingly. "As I said, not all of our husbands find it easy to travel the path the Reverend has set for us, and Carlin is…, how should I put it…, among those less well adjusted,"

Melissa frowned as she spoke of Carlin as if she was somehow disappointed in him, yet hopeful. "Nevertheless, my husband accepts the Reverend as his Apostle and master just as I do, and with a little encouragement he is as obedient as I. True, it is hard for him sometimes. He hates it when he is required to watch me take the Reverend's big cock. As difficult as it is for him to see me with my legs spread begging the Reverend to fuck me, however, he suffers much more when the Reverend makes him participate in my sexing."

"On those nights when my husband is in our bed as the Reverend fucks me, he is naked wearing the same collar of a slave as I do. First, he must suck the Reverend's cock. He that is particularly degrading to him because it insults his masculinity that he is very proud of. Once the Reverend is stiff and hard, it is my turn. I spread my legs, Carlin crawls between them, and licks my pussy until my clit is out and I'm sopping wet.

When my poor Carlin has us both ready, the Reverend's hips replace my husband's head

between my thighs. Settled solidly in my saddle, he seizes my wrists, and demonstrating his mastery over his lowly slave woman, he stretches my arms straight back over my head and pins them to the bed there. Helpless under his weight I can only wait impatiently to be stuck with his great cock, but the Reverend never hurries. He knows how much I want him, but he will never fuck me until in my frustration I have begged him for it. That is quicker than it ought to be for a decent married woman like myself, but I become so desperate when he raises his ass and drags the tip of his hard prick over the lips of my pussy."

"Yet, even after I have begged for him to fuck me, I still have one final humiliation. My God, I do so need him so, but he will neither take my cunt, nor free my hands that I might start him in my slit. I lay there under him in heat, and suffering as the fire in my pussy grows out of control."

"There is only one way I can end my torment. I try not to give in, but in the end, I can stand it no more. I always break, and to his delight, I always do the hateful thing he demands before he will fuck me. Overwhelmed with shame, but crazed with lust, I cry out for my husband to take the Reverend's penis in his hand and guide it into my adulterous cunt."

At my wits end, I have neither shame for myself nor pity for my humiliated husband. Pleading with him I ask, "Please, dear God! Please! Please Carlin, help me! I need it! Put it in me! Stick him in my cunt! Give me his cock! Please…, NOW!"

"The Reverend, however, does not ask, he commands. 'Well boy, you heard your wife! DO IT! Slide me into your little woman's greedy pussy'. Poor Carlin is crushed to do that, but the Reverend is pitiless when it comes up to humbling my husband. Sometimes I think Alexander only fucks me because he knows how it humiliates Carlin to have me hanging on the end of his dick."