A Charitable Act Pt. 02

'Yes, the Pastor might do very well indeed'.

Dolly finished-up sweeping the church floor and rested with both pudgy hands on top of he broom shank for a few moments. The fat old black looked carefully around and ensured there was nothing whatsoever out of place; floor all swept, pews all polished and shining and all prayer books in their proper places.

"Yes Sir Pastor Slyte," Dolly sneered to himself quietly, "everything just fine and dandy and ready for Colonel and Mrs Pinkney and young Miss Lucy Snug Snatch Pinkney-Beauregard to sing their lilly white hearts out tomorrow morning".

Dolly sniggered ruefully and then carefully and deliberately spat a large gob of spittle on the pew where Colonel Pinkney would plonk his fat arse down tomorrow to listen to the service.

Dolly took a theatrical step back as if shocked. "Well, bless my soul Colonel, was that your own best seat this dumb nigger just hockled on?" Dolly produced a large cloth from his pocket. "Please Colonel Sir, allow me to wipe up that worthless little bit of nigger spit".

Dolly polished the Colonel's seat clean with a flourish and ambled his short, plump frame out of the empty church and into the early afternoon sunshine and back toward his shack. As the black trudged morosely around the side of the presbytery he noticed the pastor sitting in the window of his book room.

Dolly gave a snort of derision and angled his slow way toward the kitchen door. Every day about this time Dolly was in the habit of getting himself a cool glass of milk and today was no exception. Especially after all that back-breaking sweeping and polishing. Besides, Dolly told himself bitterly, he'd like to get to see the white woman who'd caused the pastor to ban him from the house and make him sleep in the shit hole of a toolshed.

Ingrid straightened-up from loading the oven and turned to see a short, fat, freely perspiring sixty-something nigra staring wide-eyed and slack mouthed at her from just inside the doorway.

"What do you want?" Ingrid said quietly after first checking to see the book room door remained firmly closed at the far end of the hallway.

"Name's Dolly, said Dolly equally quietly, "I'm the Pastor's house nigger. I Just finished sweeping the church out ready for the white folks tomorrow and came for my glass of milk".

Ingrid slowly took off her apron, folded and tossed it on to the table and then beckoned Dolly into the short passageway between the back and inner kitchen doors. The black shuffled in gratefully, his eyes making a rapid, but comprehensive assessment of the blonde's manifest physical charms.

Dolly wished he'd brought his hat so that he could cover the rapidly growing teepee in his pants as the girl drew closer.

'Fucken Hell,' the black thought hotly, 'no fucken wonder the pastor didn't want any horny niggers in the house with this piece of choice white cunt in residence'.

Ingrid raised a sardonic eyebrow as she watched the fat old black boil-up right in front of her. Years of experience watching the very same thing happen times without number had honed the young blonde's perceptive skills in this particular regard to a fine art.

Ingrid slowly closed the distance between them until the pair were almost nose-to-nose, then deliberately put her hand flat in the centre of Dolly's chest and pushed him back against the wall. Even though, at over two hundred and fifty pounds and sixty years of age, Dolly could have easily resisted her push, he allowed himself to sag back against the hard planking. After all, he was very black and she was oh so very white.

"Anyone else working around here I don't know about, like any other nigras?" Ingrid asked quietly, still pushing Dolly backward.

Dolly swallowed hard. The girl was so close to him he could smell her breath as she talked and now the bulge in his pants was brushing up against her dress so close were they.

"Just a dumb nigra girl comes down from the big house 'bout two or three times a week to do the Pastor's washing and cleaning is all." Dolly's voice was little more than a hoarse croak as he stared into the blonde's amazing blue eyes. "She aint here now tho'."

Ingrid looked back over her shoulder and down the hallway to see that the book room door remained closed. Dolly's eyes followed the same path. The pair turned back to stare into each other's eyes for a long minute. The air around them suddenly became thick and cloying with the musk of Dolly's morning labours. In the parlour the mantle clock chimed faintly twice.

"He'll be writing all his prayer shit for the masters tomorrow", Dolly breathed quietly". The black's last syllable turning into a sharp stifled grunt, as Ingrid took hold of his erect cock through his pants and began squeezing.

"Dolly found himself rooted to the spot, he couldn't move for fear of breaking the moment and for the very real fear of being hung for a rapist if the pastor suddenly decided he also wanted a glass of milk and opened that door.

Ingrid slid her hand all over Dolly's crotch, measuring him and squeezing the thick shaft to test his hardness.

"He'll be in there all afternoon" Dolly croaked as Ingrid extended her tongue and licked a wide trail across the quivering black's fat sweat soaked neck and up to his ear.

Stabbing her wet tongue into Dolly's ear she breathed ever so quietly, "where can we go?" At the same time Ingrid deftly popped the button holding Dolly's pants together and slipped her hand in side to grasp his bare shaft.

Dolly's whole body spasmed as she grasped his bare cock and began to gently pump it. "Holy fuck," he breathed and raised both hands to take hold of the blonde's heavy breasts through her dress, groaning, as even his big calloused hands could barely contain each firm, wide, warm gourd.

"The shack out back where I sleep", Dolly managed eventually, nobody goes in there 'cept me," The black was hardly able to think straight anymore as Ingrid covered his panting mouth with hers, chewed delicately on his big rubbery lips and then tonguing him wetly.

"Let's go then," said Ingrid, suddenly breaking their kiss and disentangling herself from him.

The shack was indeed little more than a tool shed and except for a single straw filled palliasse spread out down one wall, had barely enough room for two people to stand-up let alone party.

Nonetheless, Ingrid slipped out of her shapeless cotton dress with the feminine ease born of long practice and had her hand back inside Dolly's pants before he'd quite got his shirt off.

"Now listen to me you fat old bastard," Ingrid said as she shucked her hand up and down Dolly's hard cock whilst ripping his pants down with her free hand, "you blab about this to anyone, anyone and all and I'll yell rape so loud they'll hear me in Alabama and I'll still be yelling when they cut you down, gut you and make a bonfire out of what's left."

Dolly flopped back on the palliasse his legs already beginning to spread shake with pleasure, "I'm an ignorant, lazy ass nigger alright, Sweetness, but I aint stupid enough to tell no fucker about this".

"You know something?" Ingrid smiled dropping her hand to capture one of Dolly's fat balls in her small palm, "maybe you aint half as dumb as you look".

Dolly grunted deep in his belly, as the unbelievable young blonde squeezed his spunk filled plum. "Keep your big nigra mouth shut and you might get some of this sugar regular like." And with that, Ingrid hunched over Dolly's crotch and gobbled the full eight inches of veined cock meat into her throat and slowly began to bob.

"Aww sweet Gawd Awmighty'" groaned the black, his short, thick body shaking as the perspiration literally began to team out of every pore in the stifling heat. In the tiny shack all that could be heard was Dolly's excited gasping overlain by a rhythmic, wet gulping noise as the young blonde sucked.

Ingrid kept up the deep throating for a full five minutes, easily holding the short, fat two hundred and fifty odd pound black in place by his low hanging balls. Each squirming, seed filled plum gripped in one of her small fists, his scrotum held firmly down onto the palliasse and squeezed hard in perfect rhythm to every deep plunge of her hard sucking mouth.

Stimulated beyond control, Dolly eventually unclenched his fingers from the thin mattress and brought his hands up, clapping both palms around Ingrid's head and dragging her face down into his crotch and holding her there, grunting breathlessly.

"Gonna fill your belly up with my nigger seed now you white trash whore."

Ingrid's answer was to increase her two handed grip on his balls and hold it. Dolly, opened his mouth in a silent scream, his big bald head thrown back, his sweat soaked eyes bulging from their sockets, as the inevitable, hard won climax tore through his groin and his thick seed burst from his cock.

"Awww... fucken God...! Jesus fucken Christ...!" The black's thighs shook and twitched as he spasmed half a dozen times, his hips jerking upward even as she held his sack firmly in her tiny fists - squeezing his fat, spunk laden plums, milking out every last drop of cum.

"Oh fuck, girl, you suck harder than a ginmill pump." Dolly moaned, still mouthing fading curses as he finished pumping his seed straight down into Ingrid's belly. No swallowing needed so deeply did she have the cock swallowed.

The fat black collapsed backward, his big belly shaking, his hands falling away to his sides as he released her. Ingrid came up off his cock with a huge gasp, long strands of semen and saliva hanging from her mouth and dripping down on to her sweat dampened breasts as she sat back on her heels.

Ingrid picked up Dolly's shirt from the floor and wiped the sexual effluvium from her face and breasts and then the sweat from her armpits and finally her belly and crotch.

"You may not measure up to Rufus size-wise, Dolly," the blonde laughed softly tossing the shirt aside, "but for a fat old son of a bitch you can still get it up."

To be continued...

Please leave a comment below about any aspect of this story. I genuinely appreciate any and all comments, be they good, bad or indifferent. Readers should feel free to be as obsequious, or as vitriolic as the mood takes them. Indeed, I believe I enjoy gratuitously vicious and acerbic criticism the most.

I am also open to incorporating your plot line suggestions, although I cannot promise to adopt them, especially if they do not lend themselves to exploring raw, rude and outrageous situations.

And as for Pastor Josiah Slyte, that man should be de-frocked, flogged and run out of town on a rail!