Glory Holellujah

"Oh gracious," said Kimberly beaming. "You are such generous employers. I wish I was allowed to tell people. The two of you are providing such an important service, it seems unfair you don't get any credit."

"Listen Kimbo," said Cindy, dropping the smiles for a moment, "you will never tell anybody about this place, you got it? We don't want credit, we are doing it for the Lord. Credit will come later. In Heaven."

"OK," said Kimberly.

"Oh and here's some money to buy refreshments for clients when they are waiting," said Michele, giving her colleague another $50. "We don't want people getting antsy in the line."

"What should I buy?"

"Just some suitable snacks and a hard drink."

***

It wasn't long before the studio became so popular that there was a line outside of up to fourteen men at any given time.

The girls' first thought was to extend the hours of operation for another hour, or even add an extra night.

But they were worried it would become more difficult to justify their increased absence from home.

Pastor Gregory was already under the impression that Cindy was working harder on her studies right now - during summer vacation - than when her exams had been approaching.

There would come a tipping point when he would grow too suspicious.

It was Tom, once again, who had the light bulb moment:

"What you need is more holes," he said, triumphantly, as though he had discovered the Higgs Boson particle.

"We have three already," said Cindy. "And only two are ever in use at one time."

"That's kind of my point," said Tom. "You women are so good at multitasking. You don't realize how skilled you are. I'm not so sure you can't deal with more than one dick at once."

"How would that even work?" said Michele, "I can barely fit one in my mouth, let alone two, and the holes are too far away to reach more than one cock at the same time."

"Just wait and see," he said.

***

Cindy wasn't calling Ubers for herself at the end of the working night.

After Kimberly and Michele had left in their cars, Cindy was calling Tom to come and collect her.

Tom would drive her home, and each night he would pull into a back alley that had become the regular spot for him to receive a blowjob.

He'd cum everywhere by now - down her throat, over her lips, onto her tits and even accidentally a few times into her hair. But she never got used to the thrill of having his cock in her mouth, or making it explode.

Tom was a noisy lover and went out of his way to vocalize how much he enjoyed the experience.

But tonight she felt so horny that she needed Tom's banana inside her for the first time.

"Fuck me," she said, after sucking his cock for a few minutes.

Tom didn't have to be asked twice.

He opened the door of his truck and bent her over the driver's seat.

She was only wearing a tiny thong beneath her summer dress, and he barely needed to move the gusset aside.

He licked two of his fingers and used the juice to moisten the outside of her lips.

"Oh Tom," she said, as his cock entered her. "You can fuck me as hard as you like."

Tom was happy to oblige, but the request was superfluous, given how hard he'd been planning to hammer her already.

He gripped her peach-of-an-ass with his strong, workman's hands and held her in place while he pummeled her glorious hole.

"Holy shit, you're tight," he said. "The guys at the yoga hole don't know what they're missing."

But Cindy couldn't respond.

Her body was studded with goosebumps and the sounds of orgasm were emanating in clucks from her diaphragm.

An evening of minor orgasms had been foreshocks for the earthquake that consumed her now.

The blissful spasms of her convulsing cunt sent electrical waves throughout her body, so that it felt like even her fingertips were orgasming.

Watching her body judder and quake was too much for Tom.

He pulled out and jerked himself off over her adorable little bottom.

"Oh shit," he said, as a jet of cum flooded the miniature star of her asshole.

He had grown more accustomed to his sexual benefits, and Cindy was worried he might start to get emotionally attached.

"Do you want to stay at my place? " he asked, as she was straightening up her thong. "We could say you are staying with Michele."

"We are not an item Tom, you need to understand that. We can fool around, and I will always be grateful for your help, but I have to keep myself available for the great love I am manifesting."

She almost said great cock, but managed to stop herself before she insulted him.

Tom's cock was sublime in its own way.

But she was looking for Mr Right's cock.

Not Mr Right himself necessarily, but definitely his cock.

And Tom was just a distraction.

***

Pastor Gregory had begun to notice an unusual trend while listening to parishioners' confessions.

At first it was one person, then it was three or four.

Now it seemed to be a near-nightly occurrence, that one or more male sinners would sidle into the penance and reconciliation booth, and confess the same sordid tale, which could have come straight from the pages of Sodom.

These men all claimed that they had visited a hidden-away "shack" or "farmhouse" of some kind, near the quarry, over on the west side of the bridge.

By all accounts they had paid a fee and inserted their manhoods through a pigeonhole in the wall, much like members of his own congregation inserted notes into the church suggestion box.

None of the men could describe who, or what, was on the other side of this hole, apart from "mouths," but whoever the mouths belonged to were stimulating the men's reproductive organs to release God's seed.

Many of the parishioners who had confessed were married or in relationships - sometimes they were pillars of the community; and it began to alarm Pastor Gregory that so much lascivious activity was going on in his own parish.

After listening to what had to be the twentieth such confession one afternoon, he felt furious.

He could not contact the police, because he owed confidence to his flock for what he learned during the course of confession, but he decided enough was enough.

He resolved to drive over there himself, and get a clearer picture of precisely what Devil's bordello this really was.

As luck would have it that night, Cindy had taken the evening off.

Her stomach was upset - ostensibly from a rancid ranch salad she'd eaten at lunch, but possibly also from the gallon of cum she'd guzzled a couple of night's earlier.

The Pastor had arrived home and found her laying on the couch with a hot water bottle on her belly.

"I will say a little prayer for your stomach, my dear," he said kindly.

"Thank you Daddy," she said, "but could you also bring me the Pepto-Bismol?"

"Where are you going?" she asked later, when he was about to leave.

"I have to do my rounds," he said. "My parishioners need me and I cannot let them down, even on a Saturday night."

He liked to think of himself as Batman to the indigent souls of Fullerton.

The Pastor wasn't lying to his daughter.

He really did stop off at a couple of churchgoer's homes first.

But once he was done with these visits, he drove to the west side of the bridge.

He wasn't sure where to begin searching for the illegal harem - and didn't want to be spotted in the process, so he'd brought a disguise with him.

It consisted of a dark turtleneck, gloves, and a beanie hat that could be pulled down over his head.

He looked somewhere between a bird-spotter and a mime.

His plan was to park away from the industrial site, and creep up in person, keeping enough of a distance to witness any lurid goings-on without being seen.

***

Poor Michele was having a rough time at the yoga studio that night.

She had blown seven cocks already, including one that simply would not burst.

Now there was an irate line of men accumulating outside the door.

Kimberly had bought kombucha and muesli bars as refreshments for the men waiting - having not quite understood the brief - and she'd placed them in a bucket outside the barn door.

The snacks had been polished off, without being enjoyed, some time ago; and the men were getting louder and more agitated than ever before.

Kim was doing her best to calm them down.

"Don't worry," she kept saying reassuringly. "You will all get your treatments. We are a little under-staffed tonight."

"Yeah, well, you better hurry up," said one man, who was ninth in line. "It's my wedding anniversary and I'm taking my wife somewhere special."

"Oh congratulations!" said number ten in the line, warmly.

"Thank you so much," said number nine. "Fourteen years to the day, and we're still devoted to one another!"

"Aw," said a few others in the line.

A sweet ripple of applause broke out for the man's anniversary.

"So I need to get a damn move on," he said again, less cheerfully.

"Let me see what I can do," said Kimberly, feeling apprehensive that the crowd was growing bigger and rowdier than ever before.

She knew it was forbidden to disturb the girls at work - or even to go near their side of the barn - but she figured tonight was an exception, seeing as Michele was on her own, and things were getting so intense outside.

She waited until the most recent client had departed, and then she darted around the back of the studio and tapped gently on the stage door.

"Michele?" she said.

"What is it?" Michele barked through the barn door. "You're not supposed to come back here."

"I know, I'm sorry. But we have the longest line ever out there and it keeps growing. People are starting to get tetchy."

Michele was stressed out of her mind.

Her jaw was already hurting and she still had over an hour left to gobble a daunting number of men who were waiting.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, she figured, and unbolting the door, she opened it a crack and pulled Kimberly inside.

"Wow!" said Kimberly, "what a beautiful space. I love what you've done with it!"

She surveyed the room, taking in the pretty lights and the straw-based seating area.

And then her eyes landed upon the holes in the wall.

"What are those for?"

"Listen Kimbo," said Michele, "and listen hard. I need you back here helping me out until we can clear this line."

"But I don't know the first thing about administering yoga," Kimberly said.

"Forget yoga," said Michele, "how's your blowjob technique?"

"I beg your pardon," said her astonished employee.

At that moment, as if to underline the question Michele had just asked, an enormous cock appeared through one of the holes in the wall.

Kimberly began to scream.

Michele put a hand over her mouth to silence her.

"Be quiet!" she said, refusing to remove the hand until the girl had calmed down.

"Is that a...?"

"Dick? Yes. A pretty big one. I need you to blow it for me."

"Do what?"

"Kimberly. You are not a stupid girl, and I wish I had more time to spring this on you. But I'm going to be quite clear: we are not doing yoga on these men. They are sticking their cocks through a hole and we are sucking them until they blow. Tonight is our busiest night yet and Cindy's laid up in bed. So I will pay you better then your front of house duties, but right now, I need you to get down on your knees and put that thing in your mouth until it erupts. You got it?"

Kimberly looked in horror at the upright phallus emerging through the hole, and then back at Michele.

It went against every instinct she had - not to mention every ability she thought she might possess; but she was courageous, and nothing if not agreeable.

She was also not in the habit of letting down her bosses.

And so, smoothing her long skirt, she knelt down valiantly in the straw, in front of the eager cock, and closing her eyes - which on balance seemed the least traumatic way to proceed - she opened her mouth as wide as it would go, and swallowed the large fleshy head.

Michele was impressed.

The girl was a natural.

But there was little time to admire her employee's fellatial skills, because a second dick had appeared through another hole, which Michele quickly turned her attention to.

Kimberly might have been new to sucking cock, but she wasn't new to pleasing people, so she allowed the owner of the foreign object in her mouth to guide her.

It felt satisfyingly warm and alive, and much less threatening than its idea.

In fact, before long, she was rather enjoying having a cock in her mouth.

She didn't have a lot of technique, but her valor was impressive.

She found that she could almost just surrender to the thing, and let it determine its own course of action in the hole of her face.

It seemed to be growing bigger and harder all the time, and thrusting more carelessly into her dutiful mouth while she struggled to keep up.

And then suddenly whoosh!

The dam broke and the next thing she knew, she was swallowing multiple mouthfuls of hot salty sperm, which although it was overwhelming, she understood to mean she had been successful.

She spluttered a little and made an understandable fuss, but managed to get most of it down.

Then, wiping the milk-mustache from her upper lip, turned to Michele beaming, "I think it worked!" she said. "But gosh there's a lot of it."

"No time for chatter," said Michele, indicating the arrival of another cock, this one with a $100 bill wrapped around it, through the hole to her left. "You can take a victory lap when we're done."

"Oh my gosh, it's like spinning plates," said Kimberly, and darted over to the new erection.

The two girls worked fast, with plenty of saliva and elbow grease.

Within an hour the long line outside had dwindled to one remaining man.

Strictly speaking, the studio was closed, since it had gone 8 PM, but they didn't like to leave any customer hanging, let alone sticking up in the air.

So they agreed to go a few minutes over, to clear the last backlog of dick.

"You can go home now," said Michele. "You earned $500 tonight! Go get your Uber and I'll finish the last one off."

"Are you sure?" said Kimberly. "I don't mind staying!"

"Don't worry, I've got it. You're a doll!"

Kimberly beamed with pride, momentarily forgetting that her belly was filled with the cum of eleven strange men.

***

Pastor Gregory parked a few blocks away from the industrial estate.

Dressed in near-camouflage gear, he cut back to the site through the woods, and observed several cars departing the lot as a new one pulled in.

The new car parked, and the silhouette of a man got out and began to walk.

From a safe distance the Pastor followed this solitary man through a maze of huts and storage units, until he stopped at a barn where a faint glow of light emanated from beneath the door.

"Bingo," said the Pastor, feeling certain he had located the barnhouse whorehouse.

The man went inside for approximately 4 minutes and 9 seconds before he re-emerged, refastening his belt buckle.

The Pastor, concealed by shadows, watched, as the just-serviced man ambled back to his car, whistling I Can See Clearly Now.

A few minutes later, a buxom girl in pale denim shorts and a yellow blouse entered through the same door.

This girl was attractive and presentable, which wasn't something the Pastor had anticipated, having imagined a much more unfortunate looking woman, like his own wife.

As she re-emerged from the barn, the girl checked the status of her Uber and the light of the phone momentarily lit up her face.

Pastor Gregory gasped.

He recognized her at once.

His pulse quickened and his blood pressure surged; the same way they did when he ate Mexican food.

Michele was only 19 years old.

He'd once awarded her first prize in a coloring contest. He had baptized her younger brother. He'd helped her father out of a DUI.

He watched the girl's shadowy form leave via the trail, and disappear into the darkness of the woods.

He followed for a few paces but she was moving too fast, it was difficult to catch up.

By the time he emerged onto the street, she had been picked up by a car that quickly drove away.

As he wandered back to his own car, the Pastor's mind was racing with things he had learned.

Three, in particular, stood out:

First, that his parishioners' stories of illicit behavior at the brothel-hole were true, and something needed to be done before the devil himself took over the town of Fullerton.

Second, that poor Michele clearly needed support from a moral guide. She'd been raised in a broken home, and couldn't be blamed if she was broken in the process. Perhaps a ruthless pimp was coercing her into doing this.

He resolved to keep a benevolent, watchful eye on her from hereon.

It was his moral duty to look out for the souls of Fullerton; even the wayward ones who were not savvy enough to seek his counsel.

But the third thought - the one which haunted him most, and more or less eclipsed the other two - was more of an image that he could not shake off.

An image of the beautiful, busty young Michele, in her cropped blouse and delightfully slender, olive-skinned legs; down on her knees in a barn, giving anonymous fellatio to a stranger through a hole in the wall.

To a less chaste person, it might have been a sinful, salacious image, but for Pastor Gregory it was important to look Satan in the eye, and so he decided it was fine.

When he arrived home, his daughter was lying on the sofa where he'd left her.

"How are you feeling, sweet-pea?" he asked.

"A little better," she said. "Mom's been taking care of me."

"I'm so glad," he said.

He seemed to want to ask her something and lingered in the doorway.

"How were your visits?" she asked.

"Good," he said. "Um... Your friend, Michele..."

"What about her?" said Cindy.

"Is she OK? I mean, how is she doing generally?"

"She's doing great," said Cindy, her stomach starting to fill with butterflies. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," he said. "I just saw the two of you at church the other day and thought I should check in on her more often."

"She's fine." said Cindy. "But she doesn't tell me everything."

"Ah, good," said the Pastor, cryptically. "Very good."

He wasn't suspicious his daughter could be involved in anything illicit because he had raised her too well.

God was omnipresent in her life and their household.

Jesus would have tipped the Pastor off if there was anything untoward going on.

But it did cross his mind that she might know more than she was letting on about Michele's involvement in the whorehouse.

She could be covering for a desperate friend.

He knew he had to shut the illicit sex-hole down.

But it was crucial he protect Michele's soul at the same time.

He lay in bed that night, restless and unable to sleep; listening to the horse-like sounds of his sleeping wife.

He couldn't resist getting up and stealing his way quietly to the study, where he didn't turn on any lights.

He opened a fresh page of Google on the PC and, after checking over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, disabled Safe-Search and typed: penis arriving through a hole in the wall.

As the first search results came back, it was difficult to read the Pastor's expression in the ghostly blue light of his computer screen.

Was it horror or enchantment?

Peaches and Cream

Over the course of the next week, the Pastor became unusually obsessed with Michele.

He sought her out in the crowd from his pulpit during the next morning's service, and had to consciously stop himself from delivering the entire sermon to her alone, among the hundreds of people in attendance.

The subject of the sermon was God's plan for Sodom.

He made sure that none of his congregation were in two minds about the destination that lay in wait for them if they chose sin.